Thursday, April 30, 2009

A Pot Pourri of "Stuff and Fluff".

.....Well, I cheated a little yesterday. I didn't know what to write since nothing much is going on here. I just left a link to my medal ceremony a couple of years ago accompanied by a juicy comment by a former student who did not leave a name. I'd love to know who wrote it, so if "Spords" (an obvious nickname) is reading this, send me your real name, please, so that I can send you flowers or coupons to Publix.
.....I've been going to physical therapy for the past couple of weeks and I detest it. Perhaps the PTs know what they're doing, but I don't. They are supposed to be helping my balance when I walk, and I don't know if they will do much good. I had an appointment today which I cancelled because I get spells of nausea when I think about the regimen they put me through. It's not difficult--in fact, it's pretty easy, but I don't like it one bit because it's designed for 100 year-old seniors. I haven't gotten there yet.
.....I've made my peace with one person who got upset because I mentioned her name as a friend I thought would invite Rhoda and me to the post-show party last month. I'm glad she and I are "back together". We'll put that incident to bed. However, there are two other people who were bent out of shape for no good reason--notice that I said "good reason". They had reason, but in my humble--no, egoistic--opinion it wasn't good. I know one couple whose name was mentioned in the offending blog, whom I've been friendly with for many years have taken to refuse to "talk" to me. Nevertheless, I send them friendly e-mails and I never get a response. That's tragic and mean. I know that I am not blameless in this affair, but I don't think that my expressed feelings in that blog were sufficient to make anyone capsize the way they have. Well, c'est la vie.
.....My "cousin" and pen pal in Sheffield, England was thoughtful enough to send me a book belonging to her father which according to it, makes learning Latin "easy." I thumbed through it and it doesn't look so easy. I always wanted to learn Latin, but none of the schools I attended had classes in it. I've checked the schools and colleges here in South Florida for Latin classes, but found none--of course; it's Florida. Well, cuzzin Ruth Grimsley, (whose name sounds as if it came directly out of a Charles Dickens' novel,) who exults in thinking I've made her famous because she has been mentioned in a previous blog, is being made famous once more. She's like the J. Lo of the United Kingdom. I'll give the book a shot; but my brain is not functioning the way it did when I was 23. I was once able to do the Sunday Time's x-word puzzle and write 100% better than I can now--but never had the time. I had to work long hours in order to feed Bobby.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

UTube Network News with The Baron

Link to UTube and Network News + Comment. Click on this link and when the page opens, click on each small picture. Speakers on. I hope this works; if not forget about it--or send me an email and I'll send the link back to you. (norrho1@comcast.net)


http://www.youtube.com/comment_servlet?all_comments&v=yJ8M_Vglbw0

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

"The world must be made safe for democracy." (Woodrow Wilson)

.....Yesterday was Election Day for President of the Huntington Lakes Chapter of The City of Hope, and Rhoda was running for her second two-year term as President against two other candidates. Our campaign covered all the blue condos, and even some of the red ones, like Huntington Towers. Besides the blue and the red, we also had to campaign at the red, white, and blue condos, newly created in Building 36 by Mike Herbstman. He entered his wife Helen as a write-in candidate--she got one vote, but Mike voted for Rhoda. The results are in and Rhoda won by a landslide! Can you understand the problems that arise when the President has to run a meeting attended by 300 yacking women. One man came, but he was asleep. The good thing about City of Hope meetings is that bagels and cream cheese are on every table.
.....The first thing RH+ is going to do is offer a stimulus package to the gals (on my advice) for clothing vended and designed by Jason Wu, Christian Siriano, Jason Klein, and Tom Ford from Gucci. No one knows as yet if the package is going to work or not. Time will tell, and everyone has to have patience. According to the opposition, the Cancer Research Chapter, it will alter the nature of our wonderful City of Hope forever. Cal Thomas and Newt Gingrich are opposed to this stimulus package because the meetings are not opened with the words, "In God we Trust" and after the meetings, no one sings "Send in the Clowns." And they are also against it because they do not believe the women will be stimulated enough.
.....However, in the event the first stimulus package fails, there is a Backup Emergency Stimulus Token package called the B.E.S.T plan, whereby clothing venders from Walmart, JC Penney, Sears, Dillards and Walgreens will be invited to demonstrate their wares with the help of a beauty pageant of women from the Chapter who will model the clothes. Should be fun to witness that. And, of course, money will be raised which will be used to fight cancer and other deadly diseases. If none of these plans work out for the new President, then the First Man, namely me, will resign because of felony package idiocy. But with the inspired leadership of RH+, City of Hope events to raise money for little sick kids shall not fail.

Sunday, April 26, 2009

"Here will we sit and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears." (Merchant of Venice)

.....Yesterday, Rho and I and a couple I've known for at least 50 years from East Meadow went to see the musical "Jersey Boys", the story of Frankie Valli's life. The theatre is huge and we sat in the last row of the orchestra. Suddenly, this guy about 6'6 plops down in the seat directly in front of me, so that took care of my ability to see anything--perhaps the performers' heads if they jumped up once in a while. The show began with a bang--I really mean a bang, and then the band began playing even louder than a band at a Bar Mitzvah--if that's possible. Then a number of actors made entrances talking and singing and moving props and furniture on and off the stage like greased lightning. I didn't see very much but I did hear the actors; besides the loud sound, I was wearing my hearing aids with the volume turned up. Although I heard every word, I wasn't sure what language it was because I couldn't understand anything they were saying--or singing. I did catch a snip or two from a couple of lyrics I remember from the 50s or the 60s--"I can't give you anything but love," and "I'm in the mood for love." The remainder of the many lyrics in the show was Greek to me.
.....Around the middle of the first act, I thought I had to go to the rest room, maybe so--maybe not. But I didn't take any chances and I went anyway, with the help of my cane of course. Before I went back into the theatre, I bought a big pretzel, salted--for $4 dollars! It was hot and very good--but $4? I got back to my seat and shared about $2s worth with Rhoda, and she shared her water. I brought my pills with me and after the pretzel I took the pills for dessert. As far as the show was concerned, the audience went ga-ga over it, including the woman next to me whom I married. The whole theatre stood up at the end, and I didn't want to be the only one seated, so I also stood up. But I still had the cane in my hand, so I found it difficult to applaud with one hand. If I could, you wouldn't be able to hear it anyway. Personally, the Jersey Boys were not from my time, nor my music. I'm for Glenn Miller or Artie Shaw or Tommy Dorsey, or Benny Goodman, etc. I glanced around, but couldn't spot anybody whom I though would agree with me. Because of this whole $80 non-experience, I vowed never to go back to that theatre again.
.....The show got me to thinking about the ones I'd been in since coming to Florida--and even before. I got a nine page letter yesterday from Jim DeMilt, a former student of mine who used to be a shot putter on my track team. He lives in Arizona now and he reminded me of the time we were in "Music Man" in the high school, a fact that I had forgotten. Before I got down here, I also played the lead in "The Fifth Season" and "40 Carats." There were one or two others, but the names of the shows escape me. No matter. Now, I prefer not going to a show unless I'm in it! After all, once in a while a person needs an ego massage, and I played in ten shows in our clubhouse theatre over the years. My favorites, though, were three Gilbert and Sullivan musicals. I've loved their music since I was in high school, myself. Every once in a while I ask a young waiter or waitress if they know about G & S, and they never heard of them. Where does the the lotto money go for education down here? I was fearful of asking them if they ever heard of Shakespeare.

Friday, April 24, 2009

"Much learning doth make thee mad." (ACTS. XXVI)

.....One of my avid blog readers wrote a comment yesterday (check it out) complaining of reading boring posts containing “kudos” from former students, and for once he’d like to hear me tell of a student who e-mailed me from the penitentiary. Well, I referred him to my April 1st posting containing a letter I received, not from a student, but from a once fellow performer, which was quite vituperative in its anti-kudo language about me. For this commentator's sake, and for his relief from boredom, I would with much reluctance, share a letter with him from a student who is an inmate in Sing Sing, but unfortunately he is on death row and is not permitted the privilege of writing me a hate filled missive, thank the Lord. However, I did recently receive the following fax from a former student who did not appreciate his education, which should satisfy the person who is bored by kudos, so to speak. So, for better or worse—I’ll let the reader decide—since Red Baron plays no favorites, here it is:


.....“Dr. Ross” – I hesitate to use the word “Dear” thou bird-brained, clack-pot, codpiece, because you are anything but dear to me. Ever since I was in your class in 1905 I can’t get what you taught me out of my head, and it has caused me much grief , poverty, and homelessness. I have been unable to get a job because of you ever since my graduation in 1908. I tried to land one with General Motors, and when they asked me what I could do, and how I could be an asset to them in selling cars, I said, cheerfully, “Well, I can answer the phone after your operator says, ‘If you speak Beowulf, press 3’ and then I can say, ‘Hwaet we Gar-Dena, in gear-dagum, theode-cyninga’”. Then, sir, from there I can tell them all about your cars, delighting them with an introduction to the Malibu in middle English, “Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote, the droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote”. I think, sir, it’s only fair to give credit for this linguistic asset to my old teacher, “Doc” Ross.

.....At that point, thou reeky boil-brained miscreant, Ross, I was told, in no uncertain terms, and ironically in modern English, that I was an “ass”, not an “asset” and to vacate the premises as rapidly as humanly possible. Which I fearfully and tearfully did. And here it is 2009, and I didn’t even have the wherewithal to attend my class’s 100th Reunion last year when I was invited by the other two. So, each day I stand at the entrance to a nursing home greeting visitors with a piece of cardboard whereon I have written “By the Holy Rood, will work for food.” Then with the pittance of cash I receive, I rush to Barnes & Noble to buy a book of poetry which I can read in the library to people who throw coupons at me. Finally, at night, I curl up at the Turnpike with a copy of the "Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam". So, eat a crocodile, thou addlepated craven dewberry.

.....Well, now, I trust that the bored reader is satisfied with the loving anti-kudo letter. If you read with care and understanding, you can tell how much my teaching has reached this poor soul.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

"You cannot teach a man anything; you can only help him to find it within himself." (Buddha)

.....I thought my reading public might be interested in an email I received today from yet another former student. If not for email, I might never have known what had become of the kids in my classes; this one seems to have also "made it." I'm thankful that I motivated him, if even but a little. These letters, a few of which I've shared with you in my blog in the past should give you an indication of the kind of teacher and person I aspired to be. I wouldn't harm a fly unless it buzzed on my mallomar. I'm also grateful to have someone else do most of my blog today! (It's been edited so to be a little shorter).

Subject: Greetings from Barcelona:
.....Good evening, Dr. Ross. I was really pleased when Kathy Mackey sent word of your awards videos, indicating she had your email address. The truth is, it's been a long while that I have wanted to know how you are, to get in touch, as I have often had occasion to think of you. Part of my life has been spent, like yours, teaching - in my case, in theatre and cinema schools, art schools, university film departments etc. I have learned what it means when a student says "thank you for your course." More than anything, I think that's what I have wanted to say to you - thank you for a number of things I got from you, lo these many years ago at North Shore High School:
---An understanding of how a teacher (let's face it, for teenagers, a symbol of authority, especially in the era we're talking about) can be passionate about his subject, and care deeply about it as you do.-
--A way of looking at literature as part of "all culture" or something like that (holistic view?), which shows how cultural artifacts that we had thought were lifeless mummies we were obliged to study were actually living, breathing pieces of our present lives.
--I think most especially of your elegant solution to a difficult problem when a number of us protested the experiment of independent study. The first assignment you gave me to analyse the character of Falstaff. As I recall, there are something like 11 or 14 plays of Shakespeare with a character of that name - often just with one line - but I read them all,
and never again did I think Shakespeare "dead." Getting through the line from Richard II to Henry V was a revelation.
.....You can tell, if I'm writing so much detail about something that happened so long ago, that it made quite the impression. Life has been good to me, I have managed to spend most of my life earning my living doing things that I love, I have tasted my 15 minutes of fame (Perhaps you already knew, but in the mid 80s I was the program manager of WNYC-FM). I have lived in four countries, I now speak five languages, which I never imagined doing, am married to an extraordinary woman who is herself a brilliant educator (she is head of the language service of the Catalan education ministry), and share my life between an old house in Barcelona and a little cottage in a former mining village in the Langudoc region of France, where we have 6000 square metres of oak forest, fruit trees and a vegetable garden. I continue to make sound art (these days not so often, but this will change), and earn my living as a specialist in technical communication which puts me in the forefront of new communications technologies, epistemology, multi-cultural mediation, design, ergonomics etc.
.....I feel like a kid in a sandbox, in love with life, and very very appreciative of the good fortune that has come my way.My paths have not been those that I forsaw back in high school, but I wouldn't have been able to tread them without the marvelous foundation I received from you. It was only when I arrived at university that I truly recognized what a good education I'd received.

...So thanks again, and please tell me about what you've been up to (I did catch the war exploits bit - as you yourself said in the interview, a previously unknown dimension).All best wishes, Ray Gallon

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

"Marriage is a romance in which the hero dies in the first chapter" (Anonymous)

...I've been thinking lately about the relationship between husbands and wives. If a marriage is going to last, it's really, really important for a guy to know how to treat his wife. First of all, to go back to the future, after you are pronounced man and wife--or husband and wife--you must immediately lift her veil and give her a huge kiss. At the reception, which typically is paid for by the bride's parents, and you (the guy), usually pays for the band--and perhaps an open bar. She'd be happy that her parents don't have to pay the whole thing. This reception has to be much better than the reception her friends made. If it doesn't look like it's going to reach a loftier, more expensive, height, then you must dig down into your pocket and make it so. This will assuage any disappointment she might have from the start. Then, of course, if you haven't learned to dance--well you had better have taken lessons long before this nuptial day because your bride, most often, loves to dance. You must dance at her wedding; it's really her wedding, not yours. Now, if you have lots of assets and you're thinking of a pre-nup--just forget it; she'll be thinking it's no way to start a marriage because a pre-nup, she'll feel, indicates mistrust.
...After all the dishes, after the flowers, and after the silverware have been removed from the table; after the guests have stuffed the envelopes in your pocket and the band has packed up their instruments, microphones, and their loud speakers, it is time to go off on your honeymoon; now not just any honeymoon--it must be a honeymoon and a half, beyond that of her friends--somewhere magical, romantic, and costly.
...But the first night is a night in a hotel to quickly consummate the union--if you have not already pre-consummated it. When you return from your honeymoon (actually hers) you sometimes stay in her parents' house or your parents' house before you decide where you're going to live on your own. Of course, she'll prefer a house rather than a confined apartment where the closet space is not large enough to shelve her shoes. If you have the wherewithal, then by all means buy her a house. If you don't, then go ahead and borrow the wherewithal from your bank if you have one; you can pay off the house in 30 years and the loan in 50. Then it's incumbent upon you to buy a life insurance policy that will allow her to live in the style to which she has become accustomed in the event you die first; that's likely to occur, especially if you are at least ten years older than she is.
...Naturally, at some point, your wife will want a family. This is not something she can achieve without your help. Actually, she has aspired for a family long, long, before she met you; that could be why she chose to marry you--even though she might not have been that much into you. At any rate, you agree knowing that you will be losing her working income. So, at last, a couple of kids are born, and you must show that you are a loving father and a helpful husband; do the dishes, diaper and bathe the children, put money away for their education, clear the table, vacuum the floors, wash the windows, take the kids to Disney Land, and be sure to take out the garbage and put the toilet seat down. etc. I always wondered why she shouldn't put the toilet seat up. For having given you a son and a daughter, you have to give her something to show how much you love her, (the kids don't count) preferably diamond earrings--or better yet, a bracelet, or even better, a diamond necklace. If cars were made of diamonds that gift would be huge.
...If you've never been married you have no idea what happens after the kids leave the nest, and it's a good thing that you don't. If the happenings are good happenings then the marriage may last 50 years, and to celebrate, after a fashion, you can reconstruct the party you had 50 years earlier. However, if the happenings are bad ones, she is liable to leave you after 30 years or kick you out of the house after fifteen. So, men, be cautious, alert, focused, and constantly aware of how you treat your woman. She's an angel.

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

"Boys will be boys."

...I recently read an article dealing with the ritual practices of Judaism, one of which is called the "Brit Milah"--or covenant of circumcision--when the foreskin of the baby's penis is lopped off without the baby's permission. Now, I always wondered about this rite performed on Jewish babies for centuries. I am certain that at least someone or a maverick sect in one of these many centuries might have objected to the Brit Milah as a barbaric practice. The poor kid--me, perhaps, has no concept of what is going to happen to him. One might argue that this is illegal, criminal, as well as unlawful; it can be considered assault with a deadly weapon--after all, the "Mohel" (a Jewish circumcision expert) carries a concealed knife that is an integral part of his purpose and occupation in life. Imagine a boy upon being asked what he wants to be when he grows up answers, "a Mohel".
... Then, during this dastardly procedure, a whole company of people, mostly family--and especially the parents, gather to watch the event, as though it were an execution. After all, the parents and grandparents do weep. Besides the argument of circumcision being akin to assault, the mohel stuffs cotton soaked in wine on the kid's mouth--which is breaking the law in that he is giving alcohol to a boy under the drinking age of 18. Perhaps it is done as sort of an apology for chopping off a part of the baby's penis which eventually could make him look bigger, let alone keeping the foreskin which contains sensitive nerve endings to enhance the experience--if you get my meaning.
...I admit that having a Brit Milah makes one look prettier, especially in the showers, but that is no reason for doing it if the baby doesn't want it done--after all, it is a part of his own body, just as a woman decides for herself if she wishes an abortion because she is in charge of her body thanks to the Supreme Court. Perhaps the procedure began as a means of reducing masturbation by limiting sensation. A less cruel way would be to tell the kid that masturbation would make him go blind. But everyone knows the traditional and classic answer to that prevarication, that wicked canard--"Would it be O.K. if I do it until I need glasses?"
...However, in spite of the arguments against circumcision, there is little or no chance that Judaism will change in that God said to Abraham, "Such shall be the covenant between Me and you and your offspring to follow which you shall keep: every male among you shall be circumcised. you shall circumcise the flesh of your foreskin, and that shall be a sign of the covenant between Me and you" according to Genesis 17:10-11. Thus, circumcision is not simply a medical procedure in Judaism. Circumcision in Judaism is a sign of the covenant between God and Israel. Jewish boys, shortly after birth and upon getting their Hebrew name, have their penis reduced in weight as having joined the covenant with God, a covenant that links generation to generation and there is nothing they can do about it. So, to counteract the gentile kid's staring and laughing at you in the gym's shower, you can say, "God made me do it."

Saturday, April 18, 2009

"None but a mule denies his family." (Moroccan proverb)

...Just recently I received an e-mail from a cousin in England. Actually, she's a cousin in my ex's family, not mine--but we do have similar interests and so have "adopted" each other in cousinship. Her message relates to a couple of the recent postings to my blog, and since I do not have my own message today, I'll share hers"
Subject: Your fascinating blogs

Hi Cuz Norm the Philosopher-King Elect

Just been reading your recent blogs - fantastically interesting. Yes, you do have an ego - but on the other hand, you do have quite a lot about which to feel superior. Your learning. Your teaching abilities. Your distinguished war-service. The sacrifice of health you made in WW 2.

Which brings me on to my next subject: can a war, even a just war (see most political philosophy) ever be good? No, absolutely not. Look at the mental infirmity of which you have been a victim since your wartime experience. On the other hand, here in Britain, people did use to speak of having "had a good war." A lot of people did. The spirit of community flourished. Women, having to carry out men's work in their absence, gained in ability and confidence and social standing. Suicide rates went down because of high morale. The country pulled together. Additonally, many people benefited in ways unforeseeable to them. Take my father, for instance. He fought under Montgomery in north Africa (was at El-Alamein) and always said that Montgomery was very careful with the lives of his men, and respected him accordingly. What could have been better for my father than to prove himself in battle under a military leader whom he respected? All he had hitherto been was a rootless orphan (almost) and a despised "Jew-boy" and a hat-machinist in the Jewish "ghetto" of East London. The war enlarged his social purview, as he met and worked with men of the English middle classes, whose work he saw he could do, and who respected him as a person. When he came out of the army, he trained as a teacher and ended up as a headmaster.

I repeat that if you came out of WW 2 with your body and mind intact, you were a winner - in this country at least. And may I lastly make the very obvious point that since our people were threatened with annihilation, every Jew who fought against the Germans was doing the absolutely right and indeed essential thing. I do not take the loss of your mental health lightly (I am a chronic depressive myself as you know) but I see it as a sacrifice you made in the cause of our people.

God only knows what we can do about Islam. I only hope it's a temporary phase and that the religion is going through its "Spanish Inquisition" phase and will calm down eventually. Otherwise, it's eternal vigilance against the bastards. Have you seen what's happening in Afghanistan to girls who only want to learn to read and write? Words fail me - and that doesn't happen very often. Btw, Mr Rushdie's forename is "Salman" not "Simon." I suppose it is a variant of Solomon/Suleiman, etc.

Sorry old age is setting in. Much sympathy. None of it's funny, is it?
...I think it's an excellent message, except I'm not so sure I like her reference to PTSD as a "mental infirmity"! My ears tend to reject the pejorative implication of "infirmity". Perhaps she might have referred to my "brain disability" instead. Of course, I mention in one post that I've had a cat-scan of my brain and it didn't show any kind of injury. So, I'm in the clear on that score. (Incidentally, I found one mention of Rushdie's forename as "Simon" on Google. And you really can't dispute Google. Google knows.

Friday, April 17, 2009

"An old man is twice a child." (Hamlet)

...Since I expounded so eloquently about my ego in the previous posting, I haven't had the inclination to expound on anything else in my blog. I guess I had to simmer down after all the excitement. But now I have some news that is most difficult to discuss in public--I've been getting dizzy spells, and my neurologist sent me to have a brain cat-scan. The only result was that it proved I had one; and so he sent me to a physical rehab clinic where the PT guy said I had vertigo in one ear and so performed the "Epley Maneuver" on me for Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo (BPPV). Sounds bad, doesn't it? Except when you notice the word "benign". While he was twisting me around on a gurney, I thought it was all quackery, but when I googlized it, I found it was legitimate. You can even see it being done on UTube--not to me, however. What the PT guy told me after he was done with his maneuvering was that I had to sleep sitting up! Now that was a huge problem. I thought only Indians slept sitting up--or is that only when they are buried? Anyway, Rhoda and I dragged into our living room the lounge we had on the terrace. The back on the lounge could be placed in several upright positions. Well, dutifully, she provided me with pillows and a blanket and I proceeded to have one of the most sleepless nights in my lifetime. When I did fall asleep for fifteen minutes or so, I awakened to find that I had slipped down to an almost supine position. I thought of Sisyphus in Greek mythology who, while in Hades, had the task of repeatedly rolling a large stone up a mountain only to have it slide down again. He did this forever. Asking a person to sleep sitting up all night is a devilish punishment. I had to do this for two consecutive nights, and when it was over, I was a zombie. However, my dizziness was gone!


...That's not the end of the story. I had to continue therapy at the clinic with exercises to help with my balance; when I walked, I kinda wobbled all over the place. I went to one session, and yesterday when I got out of bed my dizziness returned worse than ever; then today it was even worse than worse than ever, so we returned to the clinic and the Epley maneuver was performed on the opposite ear. Now, I have to sleep sitting up all night once again! I am now looking around for someone to kill, but all I see are friends, waitresses, and doctors. Perhaps I should drop down to some lower species--like flies or spiders or roaches.


...I have tried to figure out what's wrong and why I'm having all of these incipient ailments and skillions of medications. Well, I have succeeded! The brain scan was correct; I do have a brain. Now I know why I ail; it has just occurred to me. I am old! Yes, old! And I tell you it is not a desirable position to be in, when you would like to be able to do certain things--and you can't. How lucky, though, can I be to have a wonderful, helpful, patient, knowledgeable, helpmate like my wife. Growing old with her around is tolerable--even possible. WonderWoman.


...Amiel, a Swiss philosopher, poet, and critic has said, "To know how to grow old is the master work of wisdom, and one of the most difficult chapters in the great art of living." Amen.


Tuesday, April 14, 2009

The Birth and Growth of an Ego. (Red Baron)

...Recently I was accused of having an ego. Usually that term is meant pejoratively, but to defend yourself by saying, "I do not have one" is too weak a response to change anybody's mind about you. So, I'll admit it; I do have an ego. It's a large one because it took many years to develop. We'll start way back when I went to elementary school in New Jersey; I was bullied there because I had bright red hair and a half million freckles. The kids made fun of me. No ego there, I can tell you that. Then when it was discovered that my father was a triple amputee and only had a right arm, the fun made about me escalated; I couldn't understand what was so funny about having a crippled father.
...After my father died; he was 33--Mother, sister, and I moved in with my mother's parents in the Bronx. I went into the sixth grade then and I still had the red hair and freckles. In addition to my acquired childhood mortifications, I had to wear a white shirt and a red tie to school every day. I hated to wear anything red; especially a tie. No ego yet. Not even close. When I entered Junior High School, I used to run home every day because I was Jewish, and if I got caught, the Catholic kids would take off my pants and hang it up on a lamp post! I ran too fast to get caught--but I did have clean underwear. How and when would the ego come along? An ego means that you like yourself a lot; a whole lot. I didn't; I disliked myself. But when I entered high school, I decided to draw attention to me by being the class comedian. For example, in Miss Garmier's French class one day she asked the class to use the word "fromage"--meaning cheese--in a sentence. Well, I drew lots of guffaws and laughter when I answered, "Mon Mere made me une peu fromage blintzes." Needless to say Miss Garmier did not appreciate my answer. Nevertheless, I was no longer invisible in high school. I was funny in most classes, and a small ego was in a the embryo stage. I had a wry sense of humor which up to then I wasn't aware of it myself. It just emerged like a bird from its nest.
...Let's jump ahead to graduation. I had a 98 in English class, the highest mark; and then I joined the Navy probably because we were at war. After boot camp, I was assigned to Aerial Gunnery school, and while there, I became an expert marksman at skeet shooting--even though I was in agony because of shoulder pain caused by the recoil of the gun. My ego was becoming recognizable, but no one as yet accused me of having one. I began to feel comfortable about myself; it was a good feeling--finally. I'll skip all the details of my experiences in that catastrophic war, but let's say that when I was awarded eleven air medals and two DFC's--Distinguished Flying Crosses, my ego began to blossom like a cornfield in Kansas. The DFC is the fourth highest medal for combat that you can attain in the service. Lindbergh was the first to get it, although he was never in combat. I flew in many combat missions, and only was shot down once, primarily because I usually did the shooting. I was able to save myself and a buddy with the help of the English Navy. The ego sprouted wings--like Phoenix.
...We'll skip the details about how I was able to get into Columbia University, but eventually I was granted a Ph.D there in Education. My ego was growing exponentially! By that time I felt I had an absolute right to an ego--I couldn't help it. I had clawed my way out of the concrete jungle. While in college I had taken several acting and voice classes at a private school in the city. I finally got on the stage playing the lead in "40 Carats." Then I played a juicy role that Menasha Skolnick had made famous in "The Fifth Season". When I retired, my ego expanded to the point where I had no control over it. It was a runaway ego. It wasn't my fault,
...I had always loved the music of Gilbert and Sullivan and when I retired and learned that Bob Slobin, a talented resident, was going to produce "HMS Pinafore" my heart skipped a beat. I wanted to play the role that Martin Green played in that show, Sir Joseph Porter. Martin Green was a permanent cast member of the English G&S company. Bob selected me for that part in our Theatre of the Performing Arts. But that wasn't the end of it. I played Koko in "The Mikado"; Major General Stanley in "Pirates of Penzance"; Tevye in "Fiddler"; Captain Andy in "Show Boat"; Harold Hill in "Music Man" (They couldn't find anyone else who could memorize "Trouble in River City.) Then I directed and played Henry Higgins in "My Fair Lady". I also sang parodies in two or three "in-house" shows.
...After all these leading roles for which I had auditioned, my ego was stretched to the limit; there was nowhere else for it to go. By any measurement my musical career was a success. Even after I wrote and published a book of my Memoirs, four books of poetry and three books of blogs, my ego could grow no longer--it was like a large balloon ready to burst, but could not.
...When my friend, accused me of having an big ego because of some imagined slight he thought I gave him, I couldn't have agreed more. But it's too late for me to do anything about it. I've accomplished too many things in my life--(which is the idea of anyone's life, I believe) and the Ego is etched in my soul. Deal with it.

Monday, April 13, 2009

"What fools these mortals be." (MSND)

I...This morning I read Cal Thomas's column in the Sun-Sentinel. Now Thomas is so far to the right, that if he was on a map he'd be in the Atlantic Ocean, and hopefully without a life vest. But today I was in total agreement with his views on the Islamic world, so I'll rent him a life vest. He wrote that Obama, during his trip to Turkey, had said that we are not at war with Islam, but Thomas wonders if Islamic extremism is at war with the West. He says, "What if Islamic extremism is at war with America, Europe, and Israel and everyone who stands in the way of its attempt at supremacy in religion and politics?" Good question. In some Muslim media, Thomas says, and in textbooks read by Middle Eastern school children, and even in some Islamic schools here in America--and in recruitment films that urge "jihad"--that it certainly appears the extremists are at war with Judaism and Christianity and even some of those Muslims who accept and practice the extremist's view of "hell on earth" for all who disagree with them. Infidels.


...To tell the truth, I don't understand some of the "fatwas" issued by the Mullahs, one of which called for the assassination of the author Simon Rushdie because they and their many followers did not like his book and he had to go into hiding in England. Another fatwa forbid married couples from seeing each other naked. It stated that "...being completely naked annuls the marriage." Another fatwa forbid a man and a woman from working together--unless the woman breast feeds the man for five days."! I have no clue as to what the menu would be. Another fatwa actually forbids polio shots! I suppose now, that a fatwa will be issued against me. However, Rhoda would never allow anyone to touch me or to breast feed me or to look at my genitals. Taking these things into consideration--all of which are for the sake of Islam, what kind of religion condones such things? In addition, the world has to contend with hamas, hezbollah, and al-Quida whose principle aim is to destroy the state of Israel. Of course this cannot be accomplished if these groups continue the practice of having young men and women blow themselves to smithereens in order to kill as many infidels as possible.

Sunday, April 12, 2009

"Saving Nephew Max." (Red Baron)

...It was mysteriously coincidental that after my blog yesterday having to do with WWII not being a "good" war that my step-nephew Max, a student at Buffalo University called and said he would like my answers to "about 50" questions regarding my experiences in that war. In one of his classes--perhaps history, if they still teach that, the assignment was to research and write a narrative about that war. And since I was a good source of information, I told him to start the questions. Well, about an hour and a half later, he had finished when I realized that there was a lot more definitive information in my autobiography that related to the themes he was working on. Such themes as to what the country felt like after Pearl Harbor; was there any racial or gender discrimination in the military; was there a policy about gays such as "don't ask, don't tell"; why did I enlist. And so forth. So, I am going to publish in my blog some excerpts from my book that I'm hoping will help him succeed with his project. For those who have read my book, this will serve to "re-enlighten" you, and for those who haven't, I believe you will find this of interest. Of course, after I finish I will most likely lose sleep and suffer flashbacks tonite.
..."Dulce et Decorum est, pro patria mori." Horace, the Roman poet said it first about 8 B.C. Translation: "It is a sweet and glorious thing to die for one's country."...Wilfred Owen, in a poem thus titled in Latin, conveys the realities of war, and the deceptiveness and ignorance of those promoting its nobility. It is indeed a blatant lie. However, none of this was known to me, nor important to my mindset when the United States was attacked and then when President Roosevelt declared war on Japan and Nazi Germany. To me, our entrance into the war seemed like a glorious and unique life opportunity to get away from my mind-numbing and humdrum work life and become a national hero on the world stage! What red-blooded American teenager wouldn't aspire to that? After all, my life was like the Bee Gee's lyric in the song, "Stayin' Alive...I'm goin' nowhere."
...In 1941, I was barely out of high school when I decided I would like to get into the conflict. But going off to war and leaving mom for the first time is distinctly not the same as leaving mom and going off to college, although if the truth be told, both have some similarities--such as drinking beer and getting homesick. But the dissimilarities are glaring. In college you may have two or three roommates in a nicely furnished dorm room...in a barracks you have a hundred or so roommates and a distinct lack of privacy, especially in the showers. In college, you go to a few classes during the day, socialize with the co-eds, maybe go to a football game on Saturday, and then party the night away; but on a military base you have a 5 a.m. wake up call to the debilitating blare of a bugle (God, I hate that instrument), and then you go to fitness drills and/or march all day and into the sack at eight.
...In college you have the wisdom of a professor to inspire you; in the Navy you have a Chief Petty Officer whose solitary aim is to humiliate you, prove you worthless, and whose knowledge of Shakespeare or Milton or Keats might fill the bottom of a thimble lost in a dark hole in space. In college, you have your "spring break"; in the military, a break is most likely to occur on a diabolical obstacle course with rope climbs, burned hands, and high insurmountable fences.! Of course, none of these differences occurred to me at the time. And my aim of being a "court stenographer" after high school did not work out. All I heard in the summer of 1942 was that many of my friends were rushing in great haste to recruitment centers to enlist in the armed forces. Those of us who had reached the age of 18 had to register for the "draft"--or conscription as some called it.
...But I didn't want to wait around to be drafted because I did not care for the Army's uniforms which were a lousy color for a redhead--olive drab--and besides they looked very itchy. Being drafted meant that the government could send you to any branch of the service that required more manpower. I wanted to be a sailor--not only because I had heard that you can have a "girl in every port", but the uniforms were a little tighter and you could display your physique in a more interesting fashion, and in a uniform of my favorite color--navy blue.
(...to be continued)

Saturday, April 11, 2009

WWII--A Really Bad War--not Good.


...The Greatest Generation is fast becoming the fading generation. Of the 16 million veterans who returned from WWII, there remain about 2 million. The Korean War and the Viet Nam wars have been known as the "bad" wars; WWII has often been referred to as the "good war." Actually, there was nothing good about it. Millions of people lost their lives--not including the Holocaust. It was a global war and American deaths in battle totaled almost 300,000 while in Viet Nam 47,000 Americans died in battle. At Pearl Harbor, Japan attacked a sleeping peaceful underarmed democratic nation. But they awakened a sleeping giant. There is nothing much that I can add to the many books, films, and television shows, except to give my own personal views of that devastating conflict--not a good war at all--only good in the sense that it was won.

...The facts are that, although many veterans were able to return to civilian life and make the adjustments required, still millions of others found themselves unemployed and unable to find jobs. The joblessness among veterans was many times the rate of civilians--at least three or four times. Finding housing was extremely difficult--and even after marriage, millions of veterans had to move in with their parents or other relatives. There was very little construction of new homes during the depression years. No, WWII was not a good war; the divorce rate skyrocketed in the aftermath; the rate of divorce among veterans was many times that of the civilian population.


...When I was discharged in November, 1945, I moved in with my mother and sister in the Bronx. Prior to my joining the military as a combatant, I was working in a bank as a teller, and after the war I was able to return to my job in that capacity. However, it wasn't long before I began to feel extreme anger at having to be confined in a cage as was the situation for tellers back then; of having nowhere to live on my own. I had higher aspirations and could see no way of attaining them. I began to have nightmares and flashbacks of combat. I only had a high school education, and neither money nor academic preparation for college, and thus I was in despair of never being able to move out of that cage.


...I was engaged to be married in June of 1947, but I was not ready for that kind of responsibility, and pretty soon I collapsed--mentally, and found myself in the locked ward of the VA Hospital; locked in order to prevent suicide. I was diagnosed with "PT"--referred to as neuropsychiatric symptoms; psychoneurosis. This was a polite name for battle fatigue--suffered by millions of other veterans confined to hospitals. These symptoms included rage, depression, survivor guilt, anxiety, nightmares, and flashbacks of wartime experiences. It was many years later that these symptoms became known as PTSD--post-traumatic stress disorder. I remained in that hospital for six months. What happened after that is much too long a story to be studied here--it's all in my book, "The Memoirs of a Tail Gunner," a book which I had to write in my retirement in an attempt to expurgate and relieve the PTSD which afflicted me for decades. For many veterans the symptoms of PTSD did not occur until many years after the war, and former POWs were particularly vulnerable to PTSD even decades after their liberation. The VA hospital wards are filled today with elderly veterans, and it won't be long before the VA hospitals will be caring for casualties from Iraq and Afghanistan.



...One of the most irritating articles I have read recently recounts how the Japanese are distorting the history of their role in WWII. The article points out that "...at least three generations of Japanese have learned in their schools that a 'peace loving' Japan of the 1930s and 1940s was attacked by the Western powers, fought a largely defensive war, and suffered disproportionate wartime damage." American schools are indeed also culpable of revising history. The article continues, "...in many American schools, the Pacific Theater is presented largely through three themes: the atomic bombing of Hiroshima, the wartime internment of Japanese-Americans in camps, and the heroic labors of American women--the millions of once-neglected Rosie the Riveters in factories at home." The fact is that American men fought heroic battles on land, at sea, and in the air and it was they who won the war against Japan. And August 14 ought still and forever to be called "VJ DAY" (Victory over Japan) and not "Victory in the Pacific" in order to assuage Japanese guilt.




Thursday, April 9, 2009

"What sport shall we devise here in this garden, To drive away the heavy thought of care." (Richard II)

...For those who deign to read this posting on my blog--beware. The words I put together here are merely my way of venting how I feel about things that are currently going on in my life, and are only incidentally of interest to other readers. The same holds true for my "Memoirs". I have no other way to relieve the vagaries of geriatric problems, and I find it unsatisfactory to shout it out in the street like some old bards used to do. I'd like to begin by quoting Lear (to himself) "I am a man more sinned against than sinning." I have not had any apologies from anyone in this year's show for misreading my blogs and taking what I wrote as something pejorative about them. What I had to say was not about them, but about me. My blogs were read to a ballroom filled with people after the show that night and should not have been privy to an open forum.
"I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffled here, Pierce'd to the soul with slander's venomous spear." (Richard II).
...I call that every bit of a slanderous action which I do not deserve. (Again I implore the reader to understand that these are the musings of a disappointed man, and one who never said, wrote, implied, or intended any pejorative comments about any author, producer, performer, or other cast member of that show, so I don't know what the problem is.) A good friend of mine e-mailed me an apt quotation I think appropriate to print since it did not come as a comment to a blog:
"If a person has a problem with me, if they don't like me or something that they 'thought' that I did, well, that's their problem not mine. I have learned that this is so true...their problem with me is really none of my business... (Anonymous),
...and so, "Let the judges be judged!"
...I'm not at all certain, but I think God said that last one although I don't know him personally. My friend sent that to me this morning. Perhaps she got it from him--or her.
...I'm going to shift this posting into another direction besides my disappointment with certain people whom I thought to be my friends, but who are turning out to be fair-weather ones. (Or is it "four feather" ones who fly away in any breeze?) I am getting truly perturbed at the geriatric things that are plaguing me. Ageing sucks. I've been afflicted with neuropathy, intermittent claudication, atrial fibrillation leading to a pacemaker, vertigo, squamous cell carcinomas, chronic pulmonary something or other, PTSD (although not necessarily geriatric--though it might reach that point), and a couple of other things which need not be mentioned in the event children are present. I also move better with a cane than without it, and need a scooter if there are long distances required more easily accomplished by the able bodied walking world. I will never use a walker or a wheelchair. I am not ready to join that group. One thing that is absolutely required is that I stay alive until my next birthday in February. At that time, Rhoda will become eligible to receive monthly compensation from the VA which ought to go some way to allow her to live the luxurious life to which she has become accustomed as my wife--that is, she'll get this monthly income only after I die. And let me just say this as I close this off--I'm not accustomed to the life of illnesses requiring a multitude of medication and doctors' appointments twice a week. Secondly, do not pay any attention to this posting. This one is purely, and solely, a personal way of talking to myself. So, if you do have the temerity to read it, burn it when you finish. Love to all my friends. Baron

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

"Sleep shall neither night nor day Hang upon (this) pent-house lid." (Macbeth)

...Today is my 85th Passover and it did not start out very well. When I got out of bed I was so dizzy that the whole room whirled and twisted around. I guess it was my fault for disobeying the therapist I had gone to yesterday to cure my dizziness that only occurred when I got out of a chair, and which only lasted a few seconds. Well, the therapist had me do certain things which I shall not describe, but his dictum was that I was to sleep sitting up in bed instead of lying down. I did fall asleep in that position but when I awakened at 3a.m. I felt that I could not fall asleep again in that sitting up position so I fell asleep in the usual position. This spell of dizziness when I got out of bed in the morning did not last for a few seconds--is lasted for at least three hours, so I figured I screwed up. When I returned to the therapist today, he proceeded to do the same therapy to me as he did yesterday and told me I had to sleep sitting up the whole night--or else! So, Rhoda and I carried in the lounge that we had on the terrace and brought in the living room. That's where I'll be sleeping tonight because the lounge could be brought into a more comfortable sitting position. I am not looking forward to it.
Friday, April 9:
...Well, I did it. I slept all night on the lounge in the living room--sitting up. Except for the time I went into the kitchen at 2:30 am for some grapes and an apple--then back to bed. I don't know how this blog is going to show up after I publish it, because it's run into the second day. This morning I had to have a blood test at my internist's office; problem is I screwed up again; I took my "night" pills instead of my "morning" pills. The night pills included a sleeping pill, so I might be in real trouble trying to keep awake this afternoon as opposed to getting to sleep at night--when the therapist said I must again sleep sitting up. The good news is that I awoke without the kind of dizziness I had yesterday. In fact, I had no dizziness at all. That's an encouragement, but my fear is that after I get therapy on the vertigo in the other ear, I may have to continue to sleep sitting up. Isn't that what the Indians used to do?

Monday, April 6, 2009

"So foul and fair a day I have not seen" (Macbeth)

...So the baseball season is upon us again. It's hard to imagine how many baseball seasons I've been witness to. For two or three seasons my mother shipped me to my aunt and cousin in Chicago each summer when I was thirteen. My cousin Harold and I were rabid baseball fans, and of course we rooted for the Chicago Cubs. I still remember a few of the players in 1937: Frank Demaree, Augie Galan, Phil Cavaretta, Gabie Hartnett, Stan Hack, Big Bill Lee, Billy Herman, Larry French. Harold and I went to Wrigley Field quite often and the Cubs had a very good team. In 1937 they won 93 games--but unfortunately finished second. I don't recall who played in the World Series that year--but I suspect it might have been the Cardinals and the Detroit Tigers. Perhaps one of the teams could have been the Yankees. I'll just have to "google" it. Google knows everything. I do know that the Cubs passed on an offer to buy Joe DiMaggio in 1936 because at the time DiMaggio had a gimpy knee. Charlie Graham offered Joe to the Cubs before he talked to the Yankees. The Cubs didn't want to take a chance on Joe's knee. Can you imagine Joe DiMaggio in Wrigley Field? He would have broken Babe Ruth's home run records. Graham was the owner of the San Francisco Seals, a minor league team. I understand that Graham got $75,000 for Joe. What a steal! I wasn't a Cub fan for long. When I stopped going to Chicago in the summer, I played stickball in the Bronx and became a Brooklyn Dodger fan. I had perhaps 150 baseball cards which my mother dumped when I joined the Navy. Can you imagine how rich I would be if I still had those cards! My friends and I used to play a game with baseball cards--in the street. Each guy would flip a card to the ground, and the other guy would also flip a card. If the first guy matched the other card, he would pick up both of them. If not, then the other guy would win the cards. After awhile I became a very good "flipper" and my card collection grew. When the Dodgers moved to California, I was devastated. But eventually, when I returned from WWII, I began to become a NY Met fan and now that I'm in Florida, my team is the Florida Marlins. After all of this, would you say I was fickle?
Joe Dimaggio

... I went to the VA Medical Center again to what is called "the triage" meaning if you have an emergency you can see a doctor without an appointment. Well, last Friday I had a new "partial" fixed in my mouth by a dentist but when I got home and tried eating, the device gave me pain--so today, Dr. Davis, (a fellow alumnus of Columbia Univ) worked on it until there was no more pain. Tonite Rhoda made fried chicken and I was able to eat two drumsticks! Now I can't wait for Passover and the seder we are going to at Toojays. I asked Rho how much we'd have to pay for all the work on the partial with a private dentist and she said a couple of thousand dollars! In that case he can keep the partial and I'd just gum my food. Well what do you know: In the opening game of season the Marlins beat the Nationals today, 12-5. So they are in first place!

...

Saturday, April 4, 2009

Three exciting "events" and the three B's

...Just returned from a date with RH+. A show and dinner. We went to the Maltz Theatre in Jupiter--formerly the Burt Reynolds Theatre and saw "Evita". God, I love that show. I love everything Andrew Lloyd Webber ever wrote. I cannot comprehend how one man could produce such splendid musicals as he has. Anyway, the show was riveting. The performers who play Che and Evita were talented beyond belief. Speaking of belief, I don't believe that Shakespeare was human. There, I've said it. I've been thinking about him lately and I'm absolutely convinced that he was not human. He must have been some kind of mutation. No one could possibly write so many plays as he did; produce over one hundred characters; and possess a vocabulary off the charts. There is only one answer for him; he had to have been touched by some divinity. No one like Shakespeare has appeared either before him or after him--and no one ever will. (No pun intended). There is, therefore, no point in suggesting that some other guy wrote the plays; it never happened.
...I have a veritable Gordian Knot to deal with at present with not much understanding of how to unravel it. I had previously stated in one of my posts--I don't remember which one--that I never want to fly anymore. And I went on to explain why. My reasons were very personal ones based on previous experiences with flying. However, in the mail yesterday I received an offer from the Treasure Island Hotel in Las Vegas that is very difficult to refuse. They offer us three nights in a luxury suite, $100 in free play, and a $75 food voucher. My only responsibility would be the air fare, and I have no intention of driving there and back. Another valid reason for breaking my vow not to fly is that it has been a few years since I last saw my cousin Eddie who lives in Las Vegas. Actually we are more like brothers than we are like cousins. Eddie was the drummer with the Kirby Stone Four, who in their time were very popular; the group "opened" Caesar's Palace. I don't remember the year, but I believe that Siegfried and Roy's act included a Tyrannosaurus Rex and perhaps a Woolly Mammoth. At the moment I don't know if I'll take advantage of the offer; I'm waiting to hear a word from Eddie. Stay tuned.
...My good neighbors, Billy and Beverly Berger (the three B's) left for San Diego today to visit their son for a couple of weeks. I had asked Robin to find out if the USS Higgins would be in port this month, and as it turned out to be so, she called the Captain and asked if my friends could have a tour of the ship (a guided missile destroyer just back from Iraq.) Commander Meusal was kind enough to call Billy and said that he would personally give him an hour and a half tour; and rather than have Billy drive to the port, the Commander said that he would send a car to pick up the Bergers, their son and his friend at the hotel and bring them to the ship on Wednesday for their tour. What an experience are they in for! Can't wait for their reaction. Perhaps I'll publish it here.

Thursday, April 2, 2009

"Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all" (Henry VI)

...The economy is now at my door. Besides the fact that I've maxed out my credit cards, I just had a $1000+ bill for repairs on my car at Firestone. Then I had to buy new hub caps. I only wanted two, but they came in packages of four. Anybody need hub caps? The life insurance policy I have for Rhoda just upped the premium by $950. The premium for our appliance protection is shortly due for over $300; I had to make a down payment of $900 toward our cruise in December, and North Shore HS just billed me $2.40 for what I owe on health insurance. I am going to write to Obama and request some of that bail out money which if I don't get, I guess I'll have to go back to work. Yes, but what kind of work can I do? Ah, there's the rub...I'm unemployed so I suppose I can apply for unemployment insurance. Everybody else is doing it. Perhaps I'll go down to the agency tomorrow. There's always the opportunity to stand at the entrance to the toll booths at the Turnpike with a cardboard sign reading, "Will write letters for you for food." If there is no other alternative, there's always the military. I could rejoin the Navy. I have a lot of experience. And then there's the theatre. I'm pretty good as Tevye; I still have the voice and I remember the lyrics to "If I Was a Rich Man," and my daughter Sprintze lives in my house. I think I'm the only one in the world besides Robert Preston who can remember the words of "Trouble" from "Music Man." If you don't believe me, try it.



...Besides trying to keep the wolf from my door, I have to deal with people who don't know how to read. I was informed today that some person with a possible inferiority complex read my blog to the cast at the post show "in-house" party. The blog expressed disappointment at not being invited by anyone to that party. My feelings about it somehow were interpreted and twisted as denigrating the performers and the show. This interpretation is about as far from the truth as the earth is from the sun. I'm not that kind of person. Never, never would I put anyone down as I was painted to have done. Read my private diary to a room filled with people? And my blog is a kind of diary. What a sorry thing to do.


I just got an e-mail from my "cuzzin" in London. She's a very, very bright lady! Here's a smidgen of what she wrote:


... If the party was populated by people who say things like "all productions are not liked by all" when what they mean and should be saying is "not all productions are liked by all," then this confirms my view that it must have been a dismal party.


...and another from Billy who helped with making the set:


I was not at the cast party. I was not invited. There are some, who in my presence, attempted to defame you. They will never again, in my presence, say anything negative about you.


...and finally, finally--from Phil B. Boy is he smart. Columbia grad.

"who flogged so much skin from my body that Walgreens had no band aid big enough to cover me, who tore the pacemaker away from out my heart so violently that my A-Fib returned and who caused me no end of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Doc Ross There is a lesson to be learned here. Female dogs bark, jackasses bray, and we ignore them. Why then do we respond to so-called human incarnations of these dumb animals?Let us resolve not to be affected by such creatures and to let them wallow in their own bitter stew while we continue to enjoy our lives.

...OK I rest my case. Now we'll just have to wait on the jury.

Wednesday, April 1, 2009

"A friend should bear a friend's infirmities but Brutus makes mine greater than they are." (Julius Caesar)

...And the beat goes on!
...I have shared many e-mails and letters with you, my friends, children, grandchildren and anonymouses--from former students, friends, and relations that have been very kind to me--some of which truly had me blushing; that's why this blog is red. (No pun intended). Since that is true, it is only fair that I also share with you a letter from a writer and performer in this year's "in-house" show who flogged so much skin from my body that Walgreens had no bandaid big enough to cover me, who tore the pacemaker away from out my heart so violently that my A-Fib returned and who caused me no end of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Not a clue was offered as to what caused this tirade, since I could find nothing in my blogs that was as awfully and terribly damaging to her pride and the cast and the show as she claimed. Unless it was my definition of an in-house show?? And what is so bad about that? Is there a better definition? Is the definition untrue? Or perhaps it was because I expressed disappointment at not being asked to the post-show party. I do have a right to express my feelings on my own blog. That's what it's for. I am very curious about this, so if there is anyone at all who can find something so insulting as to elicit such venom, I'd be very appreciative. With no further ado, I'm publishing her letter at my peril.
...Norman, (I didn't address you as "dear" since I feel it would be a wasted word.)
...Your wordy criticism of my friends and production recently came to my attention and I feel a response is in order. I was taught that if I didn't have anything nice to say, perhaps it would be better to remain silent. Apparently, your rearing was different.
...All productions are not liked by all. That includes your attempts at entertainment as well. Some were good and yet, some were not. Your feelings are that the world is wrong and you are right. (An interesting assumption but totally incorrect.) "My Fair Lady." was not a tribute to George Bernard Shaw nor to Professor Higgins, but a tribute to Norman Ross and was not, I am sorry to say, loved by all. That's putting it mildly.
...Since you and I have never been "friends" nor did we even greet each other before this production, I was very surprised, not flattered, to think that you expected me to invite you to the opening night cast party. All the seats at my table were taken by "my friends" and your name never even entered my mind. Would you have invited me if the tables were turned?
...I know you are aware of the time, effort and dedication all the cast members donate to all our in-house productions. These people who give so willingly of themselves should be applauded many times over, not criticized . Having reached the ripe old age of 85 does not give you license to insult people. Your words, simply put, are the ravings of a mean mind.
...As for being creative, you have never had an original production. You simply hide behind the words and music of successful Broadway playwrights to do your book shows. You call that being creative?
...How sad it is that you have to put everyone else down to elevate your own ego.
...Although there are many more issues to discuss, I feel I have noted several interesting ones. Please don't expect to be asked to join my table next year either.
...Sincerely.....
...Well, I can say without reservation & truthfully, that I never, ever, said anything verbally one way or another to anyone at anytime about the performers or the show. The posting of March 18th of my blog was a day before the show, so it would be difficult for me to comment on something I hadn't seen. That posting was written to express Rhoda and my own disappointment and ought not to be taken as an insult to anyone. That we were not asked to the post-show party is no lie. Because I named a few people whom I had worked with in the past and a few I considered my friends simply does not warrant the kind of vitriol that was spewed from this letter. I have honored friends in the past. On the front page of the program of "My Fair Lady" I dedicated the show to five people. Is this "putting people down"? I have yet to receive an acknowledgement of thanks in any shape or form from any of them. This letter that I received is vicious and mean-spirited to the nth degree--and for what?
...Why was my mother insulted when she implies that I was wrongly reared?
...Where and in what manner did I criticize her friends and production? Show me.
...How does she get the notion that I feel the world is wrong and that I am right?
...Why does she put down "My Fair Lady" when I already know something was lacking and that my own performance stunk (stank?)?
...What does my age have to do with her comment that I have the license to insult people? (Who is being insulted now?)
...How does she know that my words are "the ravings of a mean mind"? I don't recall any "raving". Where in my writing is it "raving"?
...Why does she claim I am "hiding" when I prefer to play in a book show? Where did she pick up such an idea? "Hiding"? Really?
...At what point and at what time and where have I ever"put everyone down" to elevate my ego? I don't recall putting anyone down--especially not "everyone".
However, I will admit to putting Bush down.
...And what are "the many more issues" to discuss? I don't think we've had any discussion or dialog at all--just her letter which doesn't qualify as a discussion.
...Finally, I do not expect to be invited to join her table next year. It will be the furthest thing from my mind. Her letter is a phantasmagoria of imagination.