"O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown." (Hamlet)

...Billy and I picked Rho up at the airport when her plane finally arrived from Newark at 12:24. I am indebted to him because I did not want to drive at that hour alone because I don't trust myself. We took his car, and so he drove. I told him I certainly wouldn't want to get in a car with an 85 year-old at the wheel at night. Funny. When I was ten, I thought 40 was old; when I was 20, I thought 50 was old; when I was 30, I thought 60 was old; when I was 40, I thought 70 was old; at 50, I thought 80 was old. Now that I'm 85, I think 90 is old. If I get there, I'm sure I'll think 100 is old. That way, I think, I'll never, ever get old. "Cogito ergo sum"--I think, therefore I am, as Descarte would say.

...I wonder how many 80+ year-olds there are who have written as much as I have. I've published one autobiography--my memoirs; four books of my blogs; and a book of poetry, and now working on Volume five of my "Pater Noster in Condoland". As I have said prior to this, I hope these books will be preserved after my demise down through the years so that my descendant grandchildren will have the benefit of knowing how their great, great, great++ grandparents lived, and learn a bit, also, about WWII which will be as distant a memory to them as the Revolutionary War is to us.

...No doubt at that time there will be unimaginable advances in medicine and technology. Hopefully we'll have a green planet. Perhaps automobiles will be getting a 100 miles a gallon of new found fuel; perhaps many more families will have their own aircraft, thus relieving traffic on our highways. Perhaps kids will have cell phones allowing them to talk to their counterparts in foreign countries because the voice messages would be instantly translated into each other's language as they spoke. Cancer will be cured. Diabetes will be cured, as well as many other medical problems.

...The good thing is that there will be very few doctors around. Medicare will be a thing of the past. Social Security will not be needed. Obama's progeny will be elected every eight years and the country will be out of debt with a surplus in the treasury. Everyone will have a health plan but would rarely use it. Every high school grad will go to college free of tuition and teachers will be earning as much as lawyers. Republicans and Democrats will be replaced by Mensacrats and Sociocrats. And will someone volunteer to wake me up before I'm dragged off to the looney bin?

"When trouble comes...it comes in battalions." (Hamlet)

...Things are not going too well at this point. Rhoda was supposed to take off from Newark on Jet Blue at 5:25 arriving at West Palm at 8:17. However, her flight has been delayed and her arrival time is now 11:20.,,so at this point the flight is three hours late. Rho called me from the plane which is sitting on the runway, but not ready to take off--apparently because it has to be loaded with provisions, snacks, drinks and what-not sufficient for the flight back to Newark. I don't feel comfortable driving at that hour alone. If I were younger, it wouldn't be a problem. I called a neighbor to see if he would come with me, but I had to leave a message. I know I should get someone before this post is finished.

...The other problem was my dinner. I thought that spaghetti with butter would be satisfactory, but it wasn't. I used too much of it, and when I drained it, some of it stuck together. I ate most of it, but it wasn't pleasant--besides my partial came out and I had to do something to fix it so it would stay on. It has been difficult because the teeth it was anchored to came off. It will take some time, but the dental clinic at the VA Medical Center will eventually take care of it. Meanwhile, some good has come out of this culinary carnival--I lost five pounds. Well then, perhaps this is a good thing; if the partial is never fixed Ill lose more pounds until I get skinny. This is like a mushy diet; I could write a book and suggest to people who have partials to dump them and just eat jello, oatmeal, apple sauce, spaghetti, wonton soup, and Dunkin Doughnuts. I'm sure such a book would go to the top of the charts.

...So, just forget about the problems--I had some fun with Marilyn. I e-mailed her and asked her to tell me how to make a bed. She wrote back that I should fit a sheet on it and then throw a blanket over it. Then I asked her what I should do with the pillows. She wrote that I should fluff them up and put them at the head of the bed. OK, so now I will ask her to tell me how to wash the dark things because Rho always separated the dark things from everything else before she put them in the wash. I am sure Marilyn will know what to do. In order to keep these academic lessons going I might even ask her how to put the toilet paper on the holder. That's a tough one.

Now, I've learned that Rhoda's flight will not arrive at West Palm until 12:20am., so it's 4 hours late up until now. I called Mike to ask if he'd like a midnight ride, but he has a stress test tomorrow so he can't help. I called Billy but he's not home. Maybe they went to a movie. Perhaps I'll call Gary a little later. I called Jet Blue to find out if the plane has taken off, but the agent said it' s taxiing. Baloney. Well, I just made myself a pretzel and I finished a bottle of diet Coke. The plane finally took off at 9:24 and due to arrive at 12:24. Billy called me back and he offered to drive. Well, that's what friends are for. I would do the same for him in a microsecond. Anyway, to tell the truth even I wouldn't want to get into a car with an 85 year old guy at the wheel. Safety first.

Father knows best: No Fear Shakespeare

...A most fantastic occurrence just finished occurring. About a half hour ago while I was in China Gardens feasting on a lobster. Since I was alone with no one to talk to, (Rho was at a Bar Mitzvah in Jersey) I reminded myself of the fact that yesterday I started to watch the tape I made of the TV presentation of "King Lear". I watched for about fifteen minutes and it was so utterly riveting I stopped--because I wanted Rhoda to see it with me.. Sir Ian McKellen played the lead and he was really Lear. No doubt about it. Although there was closed caption offered, there was no necessity for it because the acting was so magnificent and easy to understand. No fear Shakespeare. So, on to the fantastic occurrence; while I was finishing my orange sherbet I thought that if some genie out of a bottle of Diet Sprite offered me one wish, I would be overwhelmed with gratitude if I could just go back to the 16th Century and watch Shakespeare as he was at his desk, or whatever, writing a play. Well, I disappointed myself knowing that it couldn't happen. However, when I opened my fortune cookie, the message was "Your dearest dream will come true" !! I was completely stunned. I thought that this chain of events couldn't happen; in addition it was a little scary. I got the cookie's message even without the genie popping out of a bottle. I was pretty certain now that when I die, that's when the wish would come true. However, it will be a long time before that can happen. I can barely wait.

...So, now on to something else with more sanity involved than with the "fantastic occurrence" which was insane. As a comment to the post, "Mea Culpa"--(my sin), son JR wrote a comment which I suppose was engendered by the in-house performer who wrote that her mother told her to say something nice or say nothing at all. I really don't want Joel's comment on that to get lost at the bottom of a previous post, so I would like share it with you here:

...Why is it always "my mother taught me..."? Doesn't the father ever teach something worthwhile that is helpful in later life ("always wear clean underwear")? I, for one, find myself often beginning a sentence, "my father taught me...." Actually, one thing my father taught me was that you show more respect to another person by being honest rather than polite. Being polite has its benefits, but it's highly overrated. Or should I have not just given my opinion, because someone, somewhere, somehow might be offended?

...Well, I'll just have to agree with my son, because if I don't he might cry; at least that's what he used to do when he was about 8 or 10; but now he's 50 something and I suspect that there would be a different reaction if I disagreed. So, I won't. But I believe that his comment deserves some serious thought. Perhaps we might set up a poll as they do in presidential campaigns. There were plenty of those during the Obama-Clinton battle. In this case father knows best.

The Greatest Generation comes Home

...I'm all alone this weekend because Rhoda went to NJ for a Bar Mitzvah...her sister's grandson, Michael. I opted out because I really do not feel like flying any longer. I think I'm flied out. I recall, now, very vividly the 11 and 12 hour flights we took from Dunkeswell, England most every day in our PB4Y (B-24) Liberators. Take-offs in a Liberator were the most sweated times especially with bombs and 2700 gallons of high-octane gasoline. The bump of the crossing runway at Dunkeswell we felt was the commit point and all eyes in the after station would be on the wing and wheels. Now, when I'm flying in a commercial aircraft at take-off, my mind wanders back to that time in my life when I lived in harm's way. It's not an easy feeling.

...When you have reached the 85-year mark, you have a tendency to look back at your life, especially in the mornings after midnite when sleep eludes you. I think of the many friends I had in Fleet Air Wing 7, and how grateful I was for their warm friendship and their skills. I suppose back then was one of the high points of my life, since it exposed me to great risks. Such risks naturally hones the senses to an extremely fine point that normal life does not. Just ask any man that has traveled in "Harms Way".

...The job of U.S. Navy aircrews was to keep German U-Boats from successfully operating in the Bay of Biscay, the English Channel and the North Sea by going out day after day, often in miserable weather conditions, on unrelenting search and destroy missions. Between 1943 and 1945 nearly 200 Navy Liberator personnel serving with FAW-7 were killed in either operational accidents or in combat. Death often came quickly for a PB4Y-1 crew. On several occasions, while taking off, or returning to base, a plane would slam into the ground with a full load of fuel and bombs, disintegrating in a colossal ball of fire and sending fragments of the plane and its occupants across the ground. On one occasion my crew and I experienced a crash on take-off. One of the wheels collapsed. Fortunately, we all escaped before the plane was destroyed. The result of that event was a week's leave to London--and a scarred remembrance.

...Anti-submarine patrols typically required the aircraft to fly at altitudes ranging from 800 to 1000 feet as the onboard radar and the eyes of the aircrew scanned the waters below for signs of the enemy. Therefore, flying a PB4Y-1 at such low altitudes placed the ten men on board in a highly vulnerable position. Mortal damage to the plane caused by enemy fighters or accurate anti-aircraft fire from a U-Boat or land based guns didn't give the crew much of a chance to bail out or radio for help as their stricken craft plummeted towards the sea. I suppose that during--or after one of these missions, I must have done something to merit the award of one Distinguished Flying Cross--but I can't remember what it was.

...At the war's end in 1945 the lucky ones rejoined civilian life followed by marriage, children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. But those who were left behind never had the chance to live their lives.*

And, oh, yes--I really have had enough of flying.

*(Portions of this blog helped by Schiffer Military History Book)

Mea Culpa? No, not at all. (Who knows?)

...I received an email response elicited by my blog of March 18 wherein I whined about not being invited to a post-in-house-show "gala" held in the clubhouse ballroom. It is an opportunity for cast members to invite family and friends to snack and chat about the show and the performers at tables that are reserved for them. This has been a tradition dating back almost to the beginning of time at the Huntington Lakes Theatre of the Performing Arts. I had written e-mails to my friends in the show that I meant no offense by what I wrote. I fail to see the reason for the reaction from one performer who apparently was bent out of shape. To whit:

I really don't believe that "no offense was meant"!! SHAME ON YOU!!! My mother taught me, "if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all!!!!!

...Does it not seem strange that this player here immediately violated her own mother's dictum by saying something nasty to me instead of not saying "anything nice" or by not "saying anything at all"? You would think she would realize the irony of it. She obviously couldn't think of anything nice to say. Well, I have no control over what people believe after they read my blog, but as I mentioned to her in my e-mail response, if people extract inferences of phantom wrongs from my blogs, perhaps they ought to have paid greater attention in Reading Comprehension class instead of socializing or reading a comic book under the desk. As Claudius says, "Where the offense is, let the great axe fall."

I also received the following email from Ruth Grimsley from ENGLAND today! Ruth and I have adopted each other as "cousins".

Apparently, she reads my blog way over there:

Hi cousin!

Just been looking at your blog - very interesting, as usual. and with apposite and learned quotations heading the entries up, most impressive.

Very interesting bioggers, and stuff on your dramatic achievements. Don't worry about not getting invited to the party! If you weren't there, then it must have been a crap party. And apart from your many other distinctions, you are Cousin Emeritus and literary correspondent to the Bard of Broomhill.

Don't you just love it!! (The Baron de Huntington)

"A play there is, my lord, some ten words long, Which is as brief as I have known a play; But by ten words, my lord, it is too long." (MSND)

...Last nite, we went to see this year's version of an "in-house" show in our clubhouse theatre entitled "A Slice of Life." It was written by friends who have appeared with me in various shows down through the years. An "in-house" , in my experience, refers to one that has been conceived and written by our residents rather than a professional musical that has once appeared on Broadway, and which is produced and directed--also by residents. For example, I have performed in shows here as varied as "Fiddler on the Roof" and "The Mikado," as well as several others. In fact, two years ago, I appeared in and directed "My Fair Lady." Rhoda and Sally Forman were the Producers and were instrumental in putting that show together in a labor of love.

...The in-house shows are much like "reviews." They usually feature several popular songs wrapped around a very thin plot, wrapped around a minimum of dialog-- but which, nevertheless, allow many more people to participate Or if it has no plot at all, it generally has a number of skits that provide an opportunity for a large cast to entertain with popular and familiar songs they enjoy singing, and which the audience enjoys hearing, and which do not require a great deal of memory work with dialog. I prefer not to audition for one of the in-house shows unless it offers a song that I, too, enjoy singing--like "Master of the House" (from Les Mis) or one of the numbers from "The Producers." Otherwise, I enjoy performing in a musical having a plotfull of dialog that would allow me to do more acting than is normally provided in a resident-written show. As an English teacher I did a helluva lot of acting in the classroom for 30 years. And that is one of the reasons I was able to succeed at teaching Shakespeare--not only to high schoolers, but also to our senior residents here at Huntington Lakes. If you want to learn to be a good actor, my feeling is that you must be able to sight read Shakespeare's dialog very well. So far, truthfully, in my 26 years here, I have not found anyone in my classes who could do that. If there is someone out there who can, I'd be very pleased to hear it.

...We have an excellent "Theatre of the Performing Arts", and the shows that are produced yearly are for residents who enjoy performing, no matter their skill, and who enjoy the camaraderie of visiting with colleagues every morning at rehearsals for two months. Nothing wrong with that. They don't audition because they have a burning desire to entertain an audience. They want to entertain themselves--they're retired. Now, once a show is over, what is the protocol if one asks "How did you like the show?" The answer is-- the question ought never to be asked. If one didn't enjoy the show, such a question puts the ticket holder at a severe disadvantage--mainly because there are only three responses to it: 1) Pretend you didn't hear the question; 2) Lie--and say you liked it, and 3) Say you thought it stunk, and lose a friend forever! Of course, if you really and truly enjoyed it, you ought to say so without being asked. But don't damn it with faint praise.

...As a critique--I believe last nite's show produced one performer who had the talent both to act and sing extremely well. I guess I can safely say that with the protection of the First Amendment, but at dinner, or any other social situation, I'd say the show had pap but was lacking in meat. However, at the performance I saw, some portion of the audience appeared to enjoy it--except for a few (we saw) who never returned after the intermission. Rhoda and I enjoyed it and remained right through the credits.

"Experience, civility, honour, ne'er did so violate itself" (Antony & Cleopatra)

...My feelings have been hurt. Yea, and perhaps I may whine a bit. Listen, if you can't whine when you're 85, when can you? The problem is that Rho and I were not invited by anyone to the party after the "In House" show Thursday nite after the performance of "A Slice of Life." It has been the practice through the years that the cast and their INVITED GUESTS celebrate the opening performance of the show in the ballroom at reserved tables and dine on snacks, cookies, cake, wine, champagne, coffee and soda--and the divas and ingenues come with their flowers. But I was not invited as a guest of any one of the performers in the show that opens tomorrow night.

...So, what are my credentials? Well, I have entertained the residents of this community in many a theatrical production. In 1985, Rhoda appeared in "South Pacific". Four years after my son-in-law, Rich Higgins was kidnapped and murdered by the Hezbollah in Lebanon, I was sufficiently ready to perform the lead role in Gilbert and Sullivan's "H.M.S. Pinafore". Following that, I played the in "The Mikado," "Showboat," "The Music Man," "Fiddler on the Roof," and I directed and played the in "Pirates of Penzance," and "My Fair Lady." I also had minor roles in "Pajama Game" and two In House shows, "Florida, USA," and the recent, "It's Never Too Late.". I don't know if there was anyone else around who would have the memorization skills required in a few of these roles. At least, no one else auditioned for them.

...Besides my contributions over the year in these production shows, I also taught classes in Shakespeare, and gave several lectures on Shakespeare and poetry for different organizations here. In the program for "My Fair Lady," in 2007, I insisted on recognizing Bob and Gloria Slobin for their wonderful work in past shows. Bob performed admirably as actor, director, and musical director in many of our shows. He also did yeoman work as a set designer. I made certain that there would be a dedication to him and Gloria. They fully deserved that kind of recognition. However, this honor was never acknowledged in any shape or form.

...Now, I haven't auditioned since 2007 because my mobility has deteriorated to a degree that I would not be able to get about the stage as I would want to. I probably will no longer continue in HLI theatrics...unfortunately. But now comes the whiny part. Not one person in this year's performance has deigned to extend to us an invitation to the post- show gala in the ballroom; not Bob, not Gloria, not Marilyn Talmatch, not Marilyn Silverstein (to whom I offered "the role of a lifetime" as Eliza in "My Fair Lady.") And not Kitty Ruff, if she happens to be in this year's show. Also, not Claire Semel nor Helen Libow. Well, I could mention several more people who have forgotten about Rhoda and me--but I've named enough. I am hurt, disappointed--and find it difficult to believe that no one had even one guest at their table besides family.

"I tell you, the past is a bucket of ashes." (Sandberg)

...Tuesday is Rhoda's Canasta game. Canasta is the big game around here and it requires a minimum of effort. I also like to play that game, but I don't have a regular day for it. Once in a while we both play with neighbors on this catwalk; (that is, we don't play on the catwalk; but with the neighbors in their kitchen). Well, while RH+ is playing, I sometimes just go to a movie by myself--which is what I did today. I went to see a movie called "Taken". It's about this ex-CIA or Special Forces guy whose seventeen year old daughter is kidnapped while trying to follow a band across Europe with her friend, who is also kidnapped by the slave traders. The kidnappers are Albanian guys who sell girls to the highest bidder--who are usually well-heeled Sheiks. This doesn't sit well with the father who flies to Europe in order to rescue his daughter. Of course he finds the Albanians and uses his karate skills and a gun to kill about two dozen of them. The film doesn't exactly show these skills, but Pop finally finds his daughter in bed with a Sheik just about to be deflowered. He shoots the Sheik and takes his daughter home to her mother and step father.

...This is a 21st Century action movie. But I wonder what happened to movies like "It Happened one Night" or "Gone With the Wind" or "Tarzan the Ape Man"? I do miss movies with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. No one can dance like they do--even the dancers on that TV show. Those "dancers" are more like acrobats. Fred and Ginger were real dancers. So, like Petrucchio sings in "Kiss Me Kate" ..."Where is the life which late I read, where is it now? Totally dead." I mean, lets bring back Charley Chaplin and the Marx brothers. But movies aren't the only arts that have disappeared. Whatever happened to the guy who wheeled a cart along the street and who scraped ice and syrup into your paper cup? What happened to pinochle? To ringalivio and Johnny on the pony? To ten steps to Germany? Hide and Seek? Spin the bottle? Stickball? Well, I'm afraid they all have disappeared for good. Kids are too busy sending text messages on their Ipods, their PCs or whatever to play better games.

"The bow is bent, the arrow flies, The winged shaft of fate." (Aldridge)

...I wonder how many of you out there remembered that yesterday, March 15th was the "Ides of March"--the ides that you were supposed to beware of. Reason for that is that on March 15, 44BC, Julius Caesar was assassinated. (The meaning of "Ides" is the 15th day of March, May, July, or October or the 13th day of the other months in the ancient Roman calendar.) It was foolish of Caesar to go to the Capitol on that day because he was warned about it by some old guy who professed to be able to see into the future. Caesar's wife, Calpurnia, also pleaded with him not to go. You should listen to your wife, Rhoda tells me. It's about the same with Lincoln; he ought not to have gone to the Ford's Theatre to see... what play? Was it worth it? Did his killer even have a ticket? And Kennedy should not have gone to Texas on that fateful day. HIs assassination brought tears to a whole nation. His brother Bobby should have stayed home and not gone into that kitchen; and the Reverend King should have avoided that balcony. What was he doing in that Motel 6 anyway? A sad thing is that Caesar's best pal, Brutus was in on the dastardly plot, and when he stabbed Julius, it was reported that he spoke in Latin saying "Et tu, Brute?" There should be a cedilla over the "e" in Brute so it's pronounced, "Brutay". But as it is, it was a brutish act. That's five great men who have had their lives and careers shortened too suddenly. There was some other United State's president who was assassinated, but I haven't the time too go googling for his name. (I'm sure my son, Joel will come up with it--he loves pulling my chain.)

I suppose it's a good idea to at least try to avoid your fate...you know "...the moving finger writes, etcetera, etcetera..." So in case that lightning will not strike twice, I would if I were you, stay out of Rome, Dallas, theatres, kitchens, and motels. This warning, like Caesar's comes from an old man--namely me. I admit it. But I'm not necessarily an advocate of determinism, that is the philosophical concept that your future is "determined" by a long chain of events in your past and your present. This concept is dealt with by a list of philosophers, each of whom defined determinism in their own way--particularly Baruch Spinoza, David Hume, Omar Khayyam, and Arthur Schopenhauer. So then, it seems that an individual does have some control over what his future will be. Our actions are determined by how our past has been deeply embedded in our minds. And then there is "fatalism"--meaning that our future has already been decided, we have no control over it, and it cannot be changed. Oh, well, Que sera, sera.

"What greater gift can we offer the republic than to teach and instruct our youth." (Cicero)

Recently I sent a couple of U-Tube videos to a former student of mine who asked permission to share them with former classmates of his. The videos were newscasts of the ceremony when I received the Distinguished Flying Cross about 60 years late! I suppose that fact intrigued the networks. Saul Schacter now is teaching at North Shore H.S. and what can I say about him? Anyway, I have received a few responses from some students I remember and some I don't. But here are a few of their reactions:

Hey 'Doc"
I just got an e-mail from Saul Schacter about your military medals. Congratulations!!! Now I can say I was taught English Literature from a real war hero. Great news.
Brian Monaghan, class of '76

PS I will always remember 'mallowmars' in your living room with part of your soccer team, (Danny Tarulli)

Dear Dr. Ross, Just had the pleasure of seeing your interview on Youtube. You look great! I am well and living in Las Vegas where I have been for thirty years. I have an 18 year old son, Max and a wife of 28 years by the name of Diana. Life is good and I have thought of you fondly over the years. Stay well! I'm proud to have known you. David Chesnoff.

Thanks, Doc. Nice clips and I have sent the URLs out in a mailing to our class. I only wish we had given you all the attention and respect you deserved as our teacher.
Best wishes,
Wallace

Dear Dr. Ross:
I appreciate Saul's sharing of this news. Having not fought in a war, I cannot totally appreciate the sacrifices you and your fellow crew members made. You have endured the memory of those experiences and I am moved by your public acknowledgement of them now. My father did not speak of his experiences as a Marine during WW II. He died in 1994, and I am sure it was difficult, as it was for you.

I was not a student in a class with you, but recall you as a dedicated teacher and coach through my classmates. I remember heading out to the tennis courts or baseball diamond and hearing your enthusiastic coaching on nearby fields.

I wish you many years of peace with your decision to open this chapter of your lives with us.
John Deuel
North Shore High School Class of '74


Congratulations Mr. Ross!

Saul Schacter is a good High School friend of mine who as you probably already know is a teacher in the NS Middle School and taught my son last year!
My name is Joan Lane, and I am 52 years old and a 1975 Graduate of North Shore High School.
Saul has just informed many of the alumni of your success and achievements. As he stated in his e-mail the news is about six years old but just recently reached his hands.
Although I never had you as a teacher, I did know who you were and was very pleased to hear of your long over due award. You are an amazing man and a true hero. My only regret is not being in your classes. I wish you and your family all the best.
I was very touched by your interviews and couldn't let this pass.
With warm regards,
Joan Lane

Norm:

I just received an e-mail, some 6 weeks late, from Saul Schachter linking to you-tubes describing your war experiences and your recent medals. I guess you learned how to brawl with Julian while in the Navy. Now I understand why you took so little shit from the administration. Although I couldn't abide your home poetry sessions I now realize how much you, and your family, has given to the service and the country. My warmest congratulations on finally receiving the recognition you deserved...Jay

Jay was a colleague of mine who also taught at North Shore. I do remember him well. When he says he couldn't abide my home poetry sessions, he is referring to the fact that I was able to convince the principal that the classroom was not the proper venue for reading and teaching great poetry. Consequently my class of about 15 used to hop in their cars and drive to my house a short distance away, and make themselves comfortable in my living room while absorbing the poetry that was being read. This "living room" class, no doubt irked a few teachers who were shocked by this unusual method of teaching. Nevertheless, John French, our principal was an imaginative educator and he made a courageous decision that no doubt enhanced the learning experience of my class. However, the sad truth is that in too many schools, having teachers use their imaginations is not to be tolerated. And how idiotic is that?

"Render therefore unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's" (Matthew XXII)

...My good friend and neighbor is a computer instructor and he has started to write a book about computers and the questions that neophytes ask that need clear answers. From what I could tell from the first few pages he sent to me Bill is the one who can supply them. Problem is that he apparently has stopped writing. That is sinful. As I have iterated before, a talent that lies dormant is a negation of life. Bill must just sit down on the computer, open the document, and start writing whatever comes into his head--as I'm doing right now. I told him he must write, write, write, and then edit, edit, edit. Writing a book is fun and rewarding. Trust me.

See...just now something came into my head for no apparent reason, and I'm just typing the words. Rhoda and I have been talking about writing our wills, but so far we've done nothing about it. I suppose a good idea would be to sit down and decide what you are going to leave to everybody. At least I think that's what wills are for. Besides, perhaps some money, there are other things in my own possession that I do not know what to leave to whom. Now my children--not my grandchildren, have a pretty good idea about what I have lying around the house. I think I would like to have them send me an e-mail about what they want so that I know where to start in this will thing which is a pain in the butt. (You see, I didn't know I was going to write the previous sentence; it just popped out of my head). One day in the future they will inherit this apartment. When that will happen, I can't say. What they will do with it is another story--probably sell it and split the cash. I have several medals I don't know what to do with; I have a frame on the wall with all the medals except the Distinguished Flying Cross which I didn't have when I put up the frame; I have a coin collection which is worth something; I have some gold bullion coins--each one worth whatever it says on the market; right now each is worth $921. I have a collection of books that I've had published; one of my "Memoirs" is 81/2 x 10 in hard cover and full color; another of the same dimension in paper back; I have about 2-3 copies of my "Memoirs" and the same for all the "Pater Noster" books. What the kids will do about those I don't know. Then, of course, are the clothes I have in my closet. Probably it would be best to donate them to charity in my will. I also have a record collection. They are 45s or 38s--Neanderthals! Then there is the "Norman Ross Revocable Trust" which becomes irrevocable when I die. I don't remember exactly what's in that document. But I do remember what's to be done with the condo is discussed. Anyway, a will is an important document and it needs to get done ASAP.

"Though this be madness, yet there is method in't." (Hamlet)

...As the bromide has become, this is "March Madness." Mostly this expression originated with the NCAA basketball tournament--and a very exciting one at that. But it also can easily morph into other situations. For example, I don't think any one of my kids has ever been here in March, and now we're going to have two of them. Robin is at her friend Risa's house and planning to drive here tomorrow. I'm not sure about how long she'll be staying, but whatever time it is, it will be appreciated. Gives us a chance to chat about her siblings and her niblings. Robin lives in Northern Florida in the Winter and in a small town in Montana in the Summer. She loves Montana, that's for sure...she has many friends there. Of course, she does; it's is a small town and the longer you live there chances are you'll meet more townfolk. I suggested this is March Madness because not only Robin is visiting, but Bobby--second son--will be coming on the 22nd for two or three days. He wrote me an e-mail saying that he misses his father, and I'm guessing that's me. (Of course if I were nerdy and into writing super correct English grammar, I would have to say, "that's I". Take my word for it.)

...Another contribution to March Madness happens to be the madness with my glasses. About six months ago I went to Lens Crafters, and showed the new prescription my doctor suggested. And so we picked out a frame and had them put in "progressive" lenses with "Varilux" glare guard, and who knows what else? So, much to my dismay after being there an hour at least, the bill came to about $510 for these fancy glasses! Never in my long life have I ever blown that amount of money for eye glasses. But Rho was with me and she appeared to approve of the whole arrangement and so it happened.

...But that's not the whole madness part of this maddening story. Six months have passed and I still haven't gotten used to the progressive lenses. I tend to see double with them when reading. Consequently. we went back to the store and arranged to take the progressive lenses out of the frame, and put in bifocals. The day after this event, I thought about the $500 I spent for the progressives--and panic set in at the thought of losing them. I called the store and told them to cancel the order because I didn't want to use my progressives frame. I arranged to have the bifocals put into another frame of mine that is in pretty good shape. And so, at the expense of another $200 I will be getting a pair of bifocals--and still have the use of my progressives. So, I suppose, maddeningly I'll be switching glasses back and forth until the Chicago Cubs win a pennant--and that may not happen until Doomsday. March madness!

"O God! Put back Thy universe and give me yesterday." (Henry Jones)

Back in 1968, I believe we had the very best graduating class ever in my experience. They had a plethora of outstanding students and athletes. I am still in touch with several of them through e-mail, or Face Book, or Plaxo if you will. At the time I was fortunate enough to be the coach of the winter track team, a team incidentally which I urged the school board and the athletic director to create. So,it was in 1968 that we had four boys who, in dual meets, usually ran in the sprints. When they ran the mile relay they called themselves the Four Horsemen, and deservedly so. No other team in Nassau County could beat them. In the mile relay each runner ran 440 yards carrying a baton. They were happily accepted to run their race in the Millrose Games in Madison Square Garden and also the NYU Invitational. Right now, I am in touch with three of these lads: Bob Marsden, Barry Meyer, and Chuck Hendrickson. The other athlete was Bill Sherwood. But we cannot find his e-mail address.

...Now at this place in time, they are each reminiscing about their triumphs... to the point where my son, Joel, placed a video on U-Tube of their race in Madison Square Garden against outstanding teams from the high schools in NYC and elsewhere in the state. Barry Meyer describes one race of the Four Horsemen which should raise a few hairs on your body.

... "As a foursome, we did have many proud moments. I remember the NYU Invitational distinctly. The first thing was our being placed in heats for the preliminaries with something like 105 teams in the beginning. I remember our talking as we sat on the boards, sharing emotions (fear?), holy shit, 'these guys are six feet and five feet are legs;' butterflies couldn't come close to describing the churning, adrenaline already flowing. But we held the fear at bay and set out to do the work we needed to do, each performing to his potential. That truly was our finest hour. And we owe much of it to 'Doc', for believing in us, for sharing the time with us, pushing us (for taking our pulse before sending us around the NSHS parking lot island one more time), for helping us see what we could be and pushing us to achieve it."

...Bob "Flash" Marsden added another description of how he remembered the atmosphere in the NYU Invitational. Remember these guys are now in their late 50s and I am amazed at how much they can recall. But the fact is that this event, I told them, they would remember all their lives...soak it up. Now Bob too often describes himself as a weak student in high school, but his vivid description, like Barry's, belies that:

... "Of all the athletic venues we ever performed in I have to say the greatest memories were at the 102nd Engineers Armory. I can still smell the musterol and the ben-gay rubbed on the neurotic legs of sprinters. We ran against some of the best of the day - Otis Hill, James Jackson, Larry James, and Marty Liquori. I remember when we ran perhaps our finest race as a relay team, and this was not the mile relay. 'Doc', told us afterwards that it was our finest moment and it was in the 880 yd. relay, NYU Invitational. As we sat there on the wood deck, lining up the heats for the two-section final, there were 16 teams; 64 sprinters of which there were four white-bred, suburban participants. The audience around us looking as if to say: 'what chu doin' here boy'!! Comically, we never would have received our silver medal - (MEDAL? Hell it was a marble table-piece that I proudly display on my Fathers desk in the foyer) - if someone hadn't fallen on the turn during Barrys' leg. Barry morphed into a hurdler and vaulted over the carnage sprawled in his path, appearing out of the smoke like some NASCAR driver!"

...So now I have immortalized these guys in this blog--and I hope it will please them--because they gave me years of joy.

(If you are interested to watch the team's mile relay at the 1968 Millrose Games click on the link below)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h7ZuSHh6Phs

"Custom is the law of fools." (Vanbrugh)

...Just recently I published "Pater Noster in Condoland Vol.IV" which is, technically, not a very great achievement since it is a book of postings on my blog, Home of the Red Baron. I did dedicate the book to a great friend and colleague. We both taught classes and coached teams at North Shore H.S. and from the first we admired and respected each other's skills. Phil Bergovoy has written many a comment on my blog and this time he wrote a rather long one on the "Camaro" posting--rather too long to run as a comment. Consequently, since I didn't want to reject it because of it's length, I hope he'll be satisfied is I shared it with my fan club:

Norman, I cannot possibly think of you as 85, especially when you continue to amaze with the highest level of thought and awareness of what is really important in life. You obviously have many more years to spread the sunshine of your soul to your family and friends. AND DON'T YOU FORGET IT!When I was a pre-teen, I memorized Invictus (which made the Norrho list of favorites) because it summed up how I wanted to behave. Hemingway's, "Grace Under Pressure" was another facet of my projected role in life. As Henley said:It matters not how strait the gate,How charged with punishment the scroll,I am the master of my fate;I am the captain of my soul.Many people have said these words but few have been able to live up to them. You are one of the few. Warrior, athlete, scholar, master teacher, and, maybe most important, parent--Norman Ross, you are a credit to your race--the human race.Love to you and all the worthy Rosses. Phil B.

...Rho and I contemplated going to a movie today, but I didn't get up until noon, which I figure was really 11am yesterday's time. I'm not too clear about the custom of changing time like this twice a year. If daylight saving time is OK now, why don't we use it all year long? That way we can save a whole year's worth of daylight. Oh, well, I'm not the one to decide these things and I don't know who is. I wonder if this changing of time ritual is observed around the world in other countries. I suppose I can check this on the world clock on my computer. Well, we didn't get to the movie because we have other things to do and not much time to do them unless we take the time to do them today. And please forgive the convoluted sentence. I want to dump more books out of my closet and Rho has to try and beat her favorite game on her laptop...another strange word I don't understand since it never is operated on her lap. If my PC is called a "desktop" why isn't hers called a "tabletop". Makes more sense to me. But what do I know. I'm 85.

"Camarado, this is no book. Who touches this touches a man." (Whitman)

In 1985 our condo community, named Huntington Lakes, which I believe was named for some Englishman whose whereabouts no one knows. decided to inaugurate an event or events dubbed "The Senior Olympics." I believe the word, Olympics, is copyrighted, but no one seems to care. Twenty four years later, every spring, just as sure as the groundhog comes out of his hibernation, the Olympics is still being held. In its first year there was a six mile walk (which I won--against a woman entrant, yet); a golf tournament, racquet ball, golf, and tennis tournaments; shuffleboard contests, and swimming races. There may have been some other events, but that was 24 years ago and memory fails me. All I can remember is that besides the walk, I won the swimming events--freestyle and backstroke, the golf tournament, and the racquet ball contest. And because I garnered the most "gold" medals (challenging Michael Phelps) I received the biggest trophy I ever earned. Unfortunately, in the following year, the Olympic "committee" eliminated the six mile walk, the freestyle and backstroke swim, and the racquet ball contest. They were also thinking about eliminating the golf tournament, but all the golfers would have called for a strike. The walk, the swimming, and the racquet ball contests were replaced by ping pong, canasta, and billiards. Needless to say, I have never won another trophy.

Since I decided not to teach another class, I've been dumping many of my treasured books--books that helped me through college and many reference books that aided me in teaching Shakespeare courses. The fact is that my clothes closet has more books than clothes. Thus far, of course, I decided to keep one book of Shakespeare's plays and a couple by Jane Austen. I came across "War and Peace" by Tolstoy which I had forgotten about. It will probably leave no room in the dumpster for newspapers. I also cannot dump my "Canterbury Tales" and "Paradise Lost." I'm keeping "The Complete Greek Drama" for sentimental reasons and "The Classical Handbook" out of necessity. Roget's "Thesaurus" stays and also Bartlett's "Book of Quotations." Inevitably, someone will ask me where a quote comes from, and I don't want to appear stupid. But other books on the death watch are novels by Dickens and George Eliot. I can't destroy "Look Homeward, Angel" by Thomas Wolfe because it's my favorite all time book. Out of the top ten, it's number one. Wow, could that man write! There are still a library of books in my closet--let alone what might be in Rhoda's closet. But the Book Patrol is on the march.

I still have not had my partial or bridge fixed, although I can eat soft foods like pasta, blintzes, fish, etc. if I use Poly Grip to hold the device in my mouth. I never had to use that glue before, and I'm sure it's a temporary measure before the thing is fixed. Problem is that while I'm dining, the thing pops out of my mouth. Perhaps I'll try Elmer's Glue.

"Physician, heal thyself" (LUKE. IV)

.....When I grow up I want to be a dermatologist. I just got back from one and he cauterized or committed surgery on my arm for what the lab said was a squamous cell carcinoma. I don't know who invented that name, but it sounds a lot like an Indian princess. Not the Indian princess who owns a gas station, but the Indian princess who owns a casino. Anyway, I must have had at least a dozen of those squamouses, caused I suspect from too much time in the sun; he must rub his hands in glee each time he sees a patient coming in with a tan--especially in Florida. It's a good thing that I took out a cancer insurance policy just before I retired. It only costs me $21 every six months, but I have gotten back several thousand dollars for my squamouses which I suppose are considered cancerous. As a matter of fact, I've gotten back more than what the doctor charged. I don't know how that happens, but I'm not prepared to question it. But back to wanting to be a dermatologist instead of a blogger. Every time I go to him, he schpritzes something cold all over my arms and legs and then digs out a couple of spots to send to the lab where no doubt they will find one or more to be squamous cells. I believe that for every blemish the doctor schpritzes, he collects compensation--thus he can just schpritz to his heart's content until he feels that the patient will get suspicious of his motive or competence.

.....Besides being a dermatologist, I believe that I could make at least as much money by becoming a psychiatrist. It's probably an easier profession anyway. All you have to do is sit back and listen to a lot of heart rending sad tales while you nod your head up and down, and for each nod charge $100. Rhoda speaks to me quite often and I just nod and nod, but I don't make a dime. The doctor I would least like to be is possibly a urologist. My urologist reminds me of a Hairy Ainus, one of the Indigenous Caucasoid people of Japan. For each rubber glove he uses, he charges a fee, but even so, it could get very boring, and he uses a score of rubber gloves each day. No, I think I'll forever be an Ed.D, and rue the day I was steered in that direction. I could have been living in a country club with many an amenity if I had chosen, like Robert Frost, a different path.

.....Since this started out to be a "doctor" blog, I might as well discuss my dentist. About a week or so ago, as I was slurping my soup, two teeth just fell right out of my mouth. For a moment I was in shock. They simply fell right out of my mouth, and they happened to be the teeth which anchored my "partial". I believe they were teeth that were glued to my mouth, and that the glue wore out. Now I tried calling the V.A. to get an appointment for a DDS. to fix the problem, but couldn't succeed before March 31st. I cannot wait that long because all I can eat is soft stuff--like pasta and Mallomars, not really healthy stuff like chocolate cake and prescription medicine. It was Voltaire who rightly said, "Doctors are men who prescribe medicines of which they know little, to cure diseases of which they know less, in human beings of whom they know nothing." And so to bed.

Things end and things begin, and so the world turns.

I have finished teaching "Hamlet" to my class of 14 gals and 1 guy, and this was the last, final, nevermore class that I am going to teach. This was on Friday, my 85th and it simply takes more energy now than I can summon up. Teaching is not easy work if it's done right. Apparently I must have done something right because I'm been receiving more communication from former students. When I say "former", I mean pre-1982. Many of these students are in their 50s, 60s, and perhaps a few in their 70s. The fact that they remember me so well is amazing, because I cannot remember a single teacher from my high school days back in the 40s! As I have indicated several times, I do want to share with you a few messages I've received either on e-mail or Face Book:

Dr. Ross:Of course, I am sure many of your former students have thanked you for the powerful background you gave us in literature; you have been an inspiration to generations -- certainly, to me.

Thank you"Dr. Ross I want to tell you how much you meant to me while I was at NSHS. Patty Barton

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! Richard Bennet

I thank you all. It's uplifting to know I've shot my arrow into the air and it made a mark somewhere! (A nice thought, but a bad poem).

So, now that I am no longer going to teach, I have the opportunity to get rid of books that I am never going to use or read again. It will give me needed space in my closet and the book case in the living room. I suppose it's a little early for spring cleaning but with all the things that need to be done, early is o.k. It feels good that the bathroom remodeling is all done, and they look beautiful. It's now a pleasure to go in to either one and close the door. You are all welcome to try them out.