It is Halloween or all hallows eve. The Garden of Eden, also known as Shore Acres, had a visit by a snake. It came in the form of a “pumpkin snatcher” last evening. Our lighted pumpkin was stolen from the front of our home. The loss is minimal, the affront outrageous!
Halloween was rained out. It poured all day and we had no Trick or Treaters. It was of interest to note that under “What happened this day in history” I found that on this day Martin Luther pinned his 95 theses to his church door in Wittenberg, Germany. It was the beginning of the Reformation.
Hallowe’en, it is reported by T. Cahill, in “How the Irish Saved Civilization”, was originally an Irish pagan festival. He says:
“Indeed, the survival of an Irish psychological identity is one of the marvels of the Irish story. Unlike the continental church fathers, the Irish never troubled themselves overmuch about eradicating pagan influences, which they tended to wink at and enjoy. The pagan festivals continued to be celebrated, which is why we today can still celebrate the Irish feasts of May Day and Hallowe’en.” In a footnote he indicates that the last night in October, called Samain, marked the beginning of winter, and was the night on which ghosts and other unfriendly creatures from the Otherworld were allowed to frighten the living. I always thought it was the “hallowed eve” of All Saints day but I now see it originated long before the feast of All Saints.
On November 1st with the sun shining and temperature in the high 70’s we walked to the church for a craft show. We pause to reflect that it must be the first November first that we took a walk in the sun in shorts and sandals! June also noted that come next Saturday, November 8th (now come to past) we’d have been in Florida 7 weeks, longer than any previous stay. However, we keep so busy that June, with a bit a humor remarked: “Yea, but when do we get to the “retirement” part??” For example, I had mentioned a bookstore called “Page after Page” which we visited when we were last down. We had promised to make use of it when we moved here permanently i.e., “retired”. We have yet to make that visit! But then we also are not your “old rocking chair” type of retirees.
We do have our time outs. The week in Fort Myers Beach was one and I did get out last week to play on a par three nine-hole course, new at Mangrove Bay. I am also playing the piano on Monday afternoon at Shore Acres Rehabilitation and Nursing Home. I perform after Bingo in the main lounge. Last Monday I had a great experience. I usually start around 3PM and stop around 3:45 with occasional stretches of the back. On one such stretch, I noticed a man walking around the back of the people sitting in their wheel chairs. He walked back and forth and as I rose to make my last stretch and bid adieu, he came up behind me and asks how the piano was. Almost simultaneously we both said, well it could stand some tuning and then he sat down. Well, what a pleasant surprise! He improvised the last song I had played: America the Beautiful…in a jazz motif…and then went on for twenty minutes…I had a great time listening. He finished and I thanked him suggesting…why not come back next Monday? He laughed and then told me he was just a visitor, as I started to leave the Center, he came out the door with me and since it was raining he shared my umbrella to the parking lot. I learned he was visiting his mother here at the home. He was from La Hoya California, and he often jumps in and plays with Jazz groups! In fact he had on one occasion sat in with “George Shearing”! He also knew and had heard of Earl Gamer and Teddy Wilson other old favorite jazz pianists of mine – Gamer made “Misty” a classic. I suppose a lot of this is of no interest to non-jazz lovers but what could have been a humbling experience turned out for me to be one of joy. He said he plays occasionally at nursing homes and encouraged me to continue.
The incident reminded me of some thoughts of Father Pat. We used to exchange audiotapes when he was in Munich. We had sent him one with the children performing, singing, playing the piano, etc. He made it a point of special thanks and then added he thinks it great that we share our talents, modest or small, whatever they may be. He told of trying to form a choir on the base where he was. He found most of the objections came from those who had had some musical training and therefore were their own worst critics. They couldn’t do this, or that, since they couldn’t do it perfectly or near perfect. He reordered the phrase: “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well”, to: If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing whether well or not.”
Played golf the other day with three Asians. I think they were Koreans. One was “Big Kim”, the other “Little Kim”, and “Lee”. Little Kim spoke a little English. I was walking with a pull cart and they were in two golf carts. I usually beat them to the next tee since I make that part of the game the part I do best, i.e. walking very fast. They had said little to me, except Little Kim asked when we started “Bloo Tee or Whites?” What he was asking is: “Do I want to play from the Blue Tees, i.e., championship level, or the White Tees, the regular guy level?” I answered by walking to the White ones. On some courses they have “gold tees” for the chronologically gifted players, like myself, which I have used on occasion. When we arrived at the tee on the 6th or 7th hole, Little Kim, says “How ole you?” I told him “68 going on 25!” He says, “Not look ole!” I thanked him and asked how old he was. He said 46 I thought he was about 28… Orientals sure are inscrutable; starting with what age they appear to be. My feeling was that they had asked me the questions because I was moving so fast and playing well I then proceeded to play like I was “86”…or equal to getting a score like that for nine holes! It occurs to me that letting flattery, explicit or implied, go to your head is a sure way to mess up a golf game. When I arrived home and told June that I had played with three Orientals who spoke little or no English, her observation was: “Well, you like playing just by yourself so it must have been like that” True.
I went to church today dressed in a suit, tie, shoes and socks. What’s noteworthy about that? Only that neither June nor I could remember the last time I was so attired. The “uniform of the day” of just a few months ago, is fast becoming the uniform of the very special occasion when the temperature is cool enough. C’est la vie! Another note, on Veteran’s Day we heard the Jack & Jill truck driving up and down the streets. Maybe not “Jack & Jill” but some soft ice cream company. It certainly is another first to have that sound come in our open windows in November.
Incidentally when I was playing the piano on Monday, Vincent Lopez had a request: Fascination. I played it, but not the way I would have liked to hear it. He wasn’t Vincent Lopez, the bandleader, in case you even recognized the name, but just another Vincent. He did however test me by saying: “My name is ‘Vincent Lopez’, do you know who he was?” I was able to answer, “Yes, a band leader and his theme song was “Nola!” Well, was he surprised? Little did he know I learned that bit of trivia not from music books, but crossword puzzles? He was sitting with his wife a patient in the center who at one time played the piano. He generously applauded my efforts with “Fascination”.
Thanksgiving comes. It will be spent this year with Rich, Shirley, her Dad, and some of their friends. We will miss the dinner of 22 or more with a house full of people, and particularly the children. But we will still be very thankful for our new home in this new city. It is still a “new” city but at the same time it is not. It is not a “city” as we have experienced it most of our life. It is more like being at the shore. The weather; the houses mostly all of one floor and built way back from the street; no sidewalks except on some main thoroughfares; the green everywhere and people dressed in casual clothes. In fact, you really take notice of some one who is in a suit and tie, where the contrary would have been true in your remembrance of a “city”. But it makes us even more thankful, since even as busy as we are, we seem to be on “vacation”. The really great thought about it is”…and we don’t have to leave shortly and go back to the “city!” I am sure all of this “newness” will wear away but at the rate we are enjoying it does not seem to be in the near future. It is something to be Thankful for on this day of giving thanks.
Before we leave you, we wanted to assure you that I am not just playing the piano and golf, but have continued my hobby of trying to read Latin, painting small objects of decorative use and large items like, our new shed, learning how to operate a lawn sprinkler system; reading novels and biographies…in fact I had a book I must have purchased over 20 years ago as part of a set of bound classics. I have carried it with others from one location to another over the years of moving. It was Irving Stone’s biography of Jack London, entitled “Sailor in Horseback”. The others were the “Three Musketeers”, by Dumas; “Crime & Punishment” by Dostoevsky and “The Moonstone” by Willkie Collins. All of the pages were brown with age and the spines were breaking open. They have been replaced now by a series entitled “Library of America Series” of which I now have six. I finished “Sailor on Horseback” and donated it and the others to a local bookstore, which takes books for a credit.
Jack London’s life was short and wild. He did write, however, entrancing stories and they still sing today. Some of the most famous were “Call of the Wild”, “White Fang” and “Sea Wolf’ I was surprised to learn how active he was in the politics of Oakland, CA. as a socialist when that word was just being coined. He ran for Mayor of Oakland twice on the Socialist Ticket. He died in 1916 from a possible drug overdose at the age of 40. He died on Nov. 22 the same day as JFK.
I will close on this the 15th day of November – a day to remember as Kate Cosgrove Baker’s Birthday and the day her great grandmother and my mother, Marguerite Cosgrove McSorley died.
HAPPY THANKSGMNG TO Ron & Mary & the Double “A’s”
There is no question what you have to be thankful for on this day of giving thanks…how are they doing? Every time I type your address: “No. 10…”I’m tempted to add “Downing Street” or at least, “Sts Alex and Aidan’s Place” Heard you had a great open house, but it comes as no surprise knowing who the hosts were. I had a laugh when I saw the E-Mail note re Tom’s 40th…I said to myself: “He had his fortieth surprise party?”…And then of course it hit me, Tom McSorley, Dec. 22, 1957 and I was there…Philadelphia Naval Base Hospital…the first born in Philadelphia. Enjoy the celebration and you can be sure I am Thankful for having you in my family…Love, Dad.
MEMOIR II Where Were You?
If his Honor nodded his head, with the comment, “I see” one more time I felt sure I would scream! He reminded me of a contrivance, called a do-do bird I believe, that often was seen through the rear windows on the back shelves of cars. He, the bird, would dip his head up and down, up and down, ad infinitum. It was like that this day in the courtroom ever since Lenny, the new counsel, had started his argument, as to why another hearing was necessary in this matter. You would believe that Lenny was a Supreme Court Justice telling this lowly Common Pleas Judge what he must do. Lenny, was Leonard Wolfe, former City Solicitor for the Zoning Board of Adjustment (ZBA), for the City of Philadelphia…note “former”. He was now representing the neighbors of my client who were and had objected to the granting of a variance to him for a professional office in his home. Just a week ago, November 15, 1963, and prior to Lenny, his Honor, the now nodding potentate, had agreed that the neighbors had little basis legally for a complaint. He had also noted that they had one day in court in that they had appeared before the ZBA some months ago. The ZBA after that hearing had granted the variance. This was the appeal from that Board. A week ago the “law was clear” but now this simple case has become more like “Brown v. Board of Education” in light of the ex-city-solicitor’s remarks.
I was only five years at the practice. The date was November 22, 1963. His honor was giving the young lawyer, unknowingly, a good lesson. It was this: sometimes it is not the facts, nor the law, that controls but who is representing the party. His honor had not previously handled many Zoning appeals as I recall. He was now being impressed with this smoke screen Lenny was laying out before him raising questions of constitutional rights, community welfare, and the like! I was waiting my turn even as my temperature was rising. This was an important matter for me as a young lawyer and father of seven children. The ward leader, and 1reasure to the city’s party organization, had sent this client to me. He hopefully could be a good source of clients and income thereafter…but I had to demonstrate that I could “successfully” represent this referral, i.e., win the case. Until Lenny’s entrance on the stage, it was smooth sailing. His Honor readily agreed that the objectors had had a full opportunity to demonstrate to the board that the granting of the variance would be harmful and contrary to the intent of the zoning code. They had not so convinced the Board, and without a great deal more the Boards should be upheld.
The stakes were seemingly high, but fate would intervene in the strangest of ways and make all of this become trivial.
I finally got the opportunity to address the nodding jurist. I pointed to his prior ruling and that even permitting the reopening of the matter today was without precedent. He appeared to be listening but I got no nods! Instead he interrupted me to accept a whispered message from his personal. He then immediately adjourned for lunch.
My client was in “panics-Ville.” Why was it all going in the wrong direction? Why are we even here today when it appeared completely resolved last week?” I had no real answers. I suggested that the court wanted to grant a courtesy to another former member of the establishment, a former City Solicitor or something along those lines. I finally was able to free myself of his tortured cross-examination and get to some other matters in the office. We were to be back at 2PM as I recall but as I write this, 34 years later, the precise times are a bit hazy.
We were all there in that 4th floor courtroom after the lunch recess. I was again permitted to argue why a full hearing was unnecessary. I began again but noise of voices in the corridors…louder than usual had us all pause. Then someone entered the courtroom behind the Judge and handed him a note. He read it and his face, displayed shock! “Gentleman, the President has been shot!” The noise in the hall came into the courtroom. The whole building was a buzz with gasps and groans. His Honor adjourned the court.
This was where I was when I heard the news of John F Kennedy’s assassination. Where were you?
Riding home on the elevated train I saw people in tears. I like, them kept thinking, “It couldn’t be”, But it was. I watched with the rest of America as we saw his assassin, Oswald, be gunned down on TV. The age of Camelot came crashing down. The Evening Bulletin for Friday evening November 22, 1963 read: “Sniper Kills Kennedy” and reported the President had died at 2PM. “Grief hushes the City”, men and women were openly crying in the streets noted Saturday’s Inquirer. Its headline was “Kennedy Shot to Death” I know these are the headlines since I still have those newspapers, along with several magazines, like Life, Look, and their memorial editions published later.
Monday came and there was no information about my now almost forgotten case. In light of the tragic events its triviality made it one of the last things on my mind. Time went by and some several weeks later I received a one page “Order” sustaining the Zoning Board in the matter. In effect, it dismissed the attempt by Lenny to have a new hearing in the matter.
But the day, that Black Friday, would remain with me for the rest of my life, as I am sure he has with many others. I had in my office a photo of JFK autographed by him. It was his real signature, not the machine one of John “F” Kennedy. He left the “F” out when he signed anything himself. The picture was addressed to “Richard T. McSorley”, Dad (Father Dick had obtained it). Dad gave it to me since he knew how much I admired the man. I had worked to see him elected. He was the last presidential candidate for whom I so labored. I remember standing on a street comer, 52nd and Market (!!), speaking to a small crowd as to why he was needed. I also remember my Dad going down to Broad Street from the office, as Kennedy came by when campaigning, just to see him. He couldn’t believe a young man and a Catholic could try to be elected President. He had to go see for himself if he was for real!
Needless to say, I can’t remember the name of the client, nor whether I ever received another referral from the ward leader. I vaguely remember being on the street where the client’s office was, years later and seeing his name still up there on a sign. No, the day would be remember only because of John Kennedy’s death, and like millions of other Americans. I could answer the question: “Where were you when you heard President Kennedy was shot?” “Me, why, I was in court! Where were you?”
November 1997 PLMCS
As a footnote to these memories I now see another book has be published about JFK (makes about 2000 so far) and his years as President. It is not a book of praise but rather a damming one. It was reviewed this week in the NY Times and it got mixed reports. How true was Shakespeare in saying via Mark Anthony “The good (that men do) is oft interred with their bones…” The mud does not besmirch my memories.
PLMCS Dec. 1997