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By PAUL LEO MCSORLEY, ESQ.

NOVEMBER, 1998

The epitome of a lawyer, for most, is acting as a defense counsel in a murder trial. I participated in my first murder trial a mere six months after leaving the service. In the Marines, I did not pursue a legal career. It had been my original plan, but then the hope for a separate Marine JAG (Judge Advocate General) Corp fell to budget cuts. I had the opportunity to act in the much-publicized case of Drill Sergeant McKeown. I chose not to accept an appointment as assistant counsel and went instead to be interviewed by the Base Commander, Gen. Joseph Earnshaw. Such a position I believed would help my advancement in the Marines in which I had now intended to remain. I applied for a “regular” commission, as opposed to a “reservist”. It is the equivalent to an Annapolis graduate. The interview resulted in my being selected as his aide-de-camp. I received a regular commission. I served for a year and then the General retired. He managed, before doing so, to have me transferred to the Marine Barracks in Philadelphia. (I practice politics even at that young age). Once in the Philadelphia area and now with three children, the military career looked less appealing. I left the service in November 1958. In April of 1959 I became an assistant defense counsel for a boy named, Harold Johnson. He was the fifth of nine boys indicted for the murder of In-Oh Ho.

In-Oh Ho was killed on April 25,1958. Eleven boys between the ages of 15 to 19 brutally attacked this Korean student attending the University of Pennsylvania. It was a notorious affair, which no city wishes to entertain. The times were such that juvenile crime was on the rise. National media was printing frightening statistics of crimes by “kids” in gangs. The New York Times on April 7, 1958 began a series on such teen-age gangs. It said this,

“Of all the pains that plague a modern city, none is more corrosive than juvenile delinquency…Their code of ethics is a distorted boy’s-eye view of the underworld, laced with real touches of bravado and evil that are gleaned from television and movies…They prowl the dark streets, kill and maim one another…”

They were growing in that city and everywhere. The FBI released national figures showing the horror was not limited to big cities. The Public was aroused. No more sociological excuses were being accepted for this kind of behavior. Philadelphia joined the rising tide of anger and disbelief with the murder of In-Oh Ho.

The “Evening Bulletin” in reporting on the hearing of the eleven boys charged said, “a soft policy towards the owners of hands dripping with blood is a frightful mistake” (emphasis added). These “juveniles” would be treated as “adults” said the judge. Nine of them were indicted for murder in the first degree.

The event was such news that it was reported in the New York Times. A week later Time Magazine ran a story including a picture of the then Mayor. He was Richardson Dilworth and he is seen standing in a line, with his hat in his hands, waiting to ascend three small steps. The steps are in the front of a typical row home in West Philadelphia, which the article advises, is a Funeral Parlor. The article goes on to report, “Philadelphia’s Mayor Richardson Dilworth was crying as he groped for a phrase that could crystallize an emotion. ‘It is a terrible thing”, he sobbed finally, to the mourners at the lamp lit coffin in a small West Philadelphia Funeral home, ‘that this could happen in our city’. The mayor’s tears said it better”.

In contrast to the anger and vengeance of the Philadelphia media was the response of In-Oh Ho’s parents. The May 3, 1958 New York Times reports, “The South Korean parents of Oh In Ho (sic), slain University of Pennsylvania student, today asked Philadelphia authorities to be lenient with the teenagers who waylaid and beat him to death last Friday night…His parents, Mr. And Mrs. Oh Ki Byung, who are Presbyterians, sent a petition from Seoul in which they asked, ‘the most lenient treatment possible within the law of your government’…Residents of the area in which the slaying occurred have started collecting funds to provide milk for Korean children in the name of Mr. Oh. The money is to be turned over to the United Nations International Children’s Emergency Fund.”

If the defendant is without funds an attorney is appointed in capital cases. My father had been selected as one of the appointed counsels with John E. Walsh. He requested I be substituted for him. I was appointed. So I became the counsel to one Harold Johnson at a time when the air was full of recrimination and fear.

Looking back, I can sense no time when my representing Harold caused me fear. I would have refused to undertake any such representation in the later years of my practice. It must have been the cockiness of youth that allowed me to undertake such a serious matter with little, or no, concern as to my ability to do the job. I was not alone. I had a senior attorney who made all the major decisions except to appeal the verdict. He left that to me. His objections to that decision were based on economics not legal analysis. I had less a burden in that area than he. The same arrogance, that eradicated fear of not doing a proper job, also supplied me the courage to undertake the appeal regardless of the economics. Any fears I might have had in that area were reduced by the belief that my father was there to help me over any rough financial hurdles. Money was secondary, the cause was the controlling factor.

I have no recollection of any time spent in preparation for the trial. It was held in May of 1959 and covered a period of some 16 days. A good number of them were taken with jury selection. The days on which evidence was given numbered four. I remember being impressed with the Prosecutor, Thomas Reed. He was black and he was tough. He would later become a judge. This was his fifth trial of the matter so he went quickly through the prosecution. The prior hearings all resulted in conviction. Four of Harold’s companions previously were found guilty of murder or homicide. One, Alphonso Borum, was given the death penalty, two received life sentences, and the other a ten to twenty year prison term. The Prosecutor was over zealous in some matters. I recall trying to have Mr. Walsh object to some of the acts with no success. I was junior and I wasn’t all that sure about the quality of my objections. I would be vindicated later on some of these matters.

I have no memory of Harold Johnson, the boy of 18. I would meet the man some dozens of years later. I was working at that time as a volunteer for what we called the ”V.D.”, Voluntary Defenders. It later became “P.O.”, the Public Defenders. I often wondered if it did so because of the possible connection with venereal disease. I went down to the Moyamensing Prison in South Philly and interviewed clients. On some of those trips I went with an employed Voluntary Defender, Richard Sprague. He would later become one of the outstanding defense counsels in the State. But I have no recollection of having any such interview with Harold. It may be that he was up in northeast Philadelphia at Holmesburg prison. Or it could be that I was appointed so late that John Walsh had completed all of the preliminaries.

“Two brothers who have become star witnesses for the Commonwealth in asserting they saw but took no part in, the brutal holdup killing of ln-Ho Oh…took the stand yesterday to identify Harold Johnson, 18, of Brown street near 39^th, as one of the robber gang.

“Edward McCloud, 18 and his brother, Harry, 17, of Parrish St. near 39^th, testified on the sixth day of Johnson’s trial that they saw him in the mob milling around Oh the night of April 25 year (sic) year (near?) at 36^th and Hamilton St. while he was being beaten and kicked to death.

“But they, as well as Joseph (JoJo) Williams, 17, of Nassau St. near York, said they had seen no blows struck at the University of Pennsylvania student by Johnson. The McClouds are under arrest as member of the gang, but Williams has appeared for the Commonwealth only as a spectator.

“The prosecutor, Assistant District Attorney, Thomas M. Reed said he would probably end his side of the case today after completing some technical testimony.” So reported the Philadelphia Inquirer.

The “technical testimony”, referred to, would be slides of the beaten body offered along with medical examiners testimony. He would also introduce the juvenile record of Harold over tentative objections.

Our client was accused of going through the pockets of the victim after he was knocked down. The wallet taken from him was found at another defendant’s home. The theory of the prosecution was that he engaged in a felony, which resulted in a killing. Under the “felony murder rule”, a person who commits a felony, which plays any part in the death of another, may be found guilty of 1^st degree murder. First-degree murder can result in a sentence of death or life imprisonment.

The first defendant, tried and convicted in this matter, was Alphonso Borum. He was the leader; I think the oldest and allegedly the instigator. He encouraged the others to jump the next guy who came along to get his money. The name “Alphonso or Alphonse” always remained with me as the perfect contradiction between the idea of the name and a person. Alphonse or Alphonso connoted for me one who was an English Gentleman or Butler, not a street gang leader.

The gang wanted to attend a dance in the neighborhood and admission price was 35 cents. “Oh” was picked at random. He was at his uncle’s house in the area and went out to mail a letter. He had been an interpreter for the U.S. Army in Korea, an excellent student in the university in Seoul and was at Penn as a graduate student on a scholarship. He was 26 years old.

An interesting aside is that a colorful and busy black attorney named Cecil Moore represented Borum. There is part of a street in Philadelphia now named for him. In North Philadelphia, the old Columbia Ave is called “Cecil Moore Blvd.” He and Reed were constantly at battle in the criminal division in those days. Mr. Moore had been retained by Borum he was not an appointed attorney. At one point Mr. Moore was so busy in the criminal law, he had a separate list, courtroom, and judge who handled his defendants.

The evidence against Harold was as summarized above. It was minimal in its showing of direct criminal acts. Even the felony murder theory suffered since there was evidence that the wallet was found, on the following morning, not in Harold’s home, but in some other participant’s house. The prosecutor made up for this lack of proof by constantly pointing to the horrible death that Oh suffered. He had testimony of the neighbors regarding the noise and rampage. I even remember him educating the witnesses, and myself, as what the numbers indicated on the police cars. They show the precinct, the officer who used them in some cases, etc. The pictures of the mutilated body were projected on the courtroom wall to end his case. The jury would go out with vivid memories of blood. The loss of the life of this young man had to be avenged.

We presented no evidence. We had none to present, other than the defendant’s own testimony. He was willing to admit he was there. He denied he struck Oh, and a Commonwealth witness had corroborated this fact on the first day of the trial. He was a boy, and in the hands of Thomas Reed, he would have become a monster. So we did not have him testify. The prosecutor, nevertheless, over objections introduced his juvenile record and psychiatric testimony of his sanity. The jury was out not more than 40 minutes and returned a verdict of conviction of 1^st degree murder.

The Evening Bulletin, for May 14, 1959, read, 5^th Oh KILLER GETS LIFE TERM, State Asked Death Penalty, Jury out 40 Minutes:

“A jury of seven women and five men last night convicted Harold Johnson, 19, of murder in the first degree…The jury deliberated 40 minutes before returning their verdict. Johnson plucked nervously at his tie as the jury foreman read the decision. Otherwise the youth showed no emotion…Earlier, Johnson had dabbed at his eyes with a white handkerchief when Assistant District Attorney Thomas M. Reed urged ‘the only proper verdict-murder in the first degree; the only appropriate penalty, death’.

In his summary Reed admitted that there wasn’t a shred of evidence that Johnson had participated in the beating and kicking of Oh. Reed told the jurors that under the felony-murder rule a person who participates in a robbery in which the victim is killed is guilty of first-degree murder as the actual killers

Earlier in the eight-day trial, one of the nine defendants testified he saw Johnson bend over the fallen Oh and take something from his pockets.

Johnson himself did not take the witness stand in his own defense. In fact, his attorneys, john E Walsh, Jr. and Paul Leo McSorley, closed their case without presenting a single witness.

They apparently believed that the Commonwealth had failed to prove its case. They asked that Johnson be acquitted.”

So ended my first murder trial. But it really did not since I felt some of the errors had resulted in not giving Harold a fair hearing. John Walsh, while not disagreeing with that analysis, decided he wanted to have nothing further to do with the matter. I prepared my first appeal to the Supreme Court of Pennsylvania. In capital cases convictions were appealed directly to the highest court in the State, the Supreme Court.

I had help in the preparation of the brief, but I fail to recall specifically who. Over the years of practice I had what might be called assistants, but were usually lawyers younger than myself, getting work where they could while waiting for an opening. I have idea that the help came from Richard Torpe but have no way of confirming it now. Later he would practice out of Huntingdon Valley, while he lived in Toms River, N.J. I moved four times over the years so I have no copy of the brief I submitted.

The beginning of the end came in January 1961. I was in Washington, D.C. with John Rogers Carroll, Esq. on some business. We came into the Union Station to board the train back to Philadelphia and I purchased an Evening Bulletin. The date was January 17, 1961. Imagine my elation as I read on the front page, in the lower right hand corner: “Court Orders New Trial for In-Ho Oh Defendant,” and goes on, “Harold Johnson, 20, one of ten youths convicted in the robbery slaying of In-Ho Oh, was granted a new trial yesterday by the State Supreme Court”. I had hit a home run the first time up to bat in the big leagues.

The Supreme Court unanimously in an opinion written by Bok, J. held that psychiatric report was inadmissible in murder prosecution, both generally and specifically, in that it contained evidence of defendant’s sanity and it was admitted during prosecution’s case in chief. This was the error cited that, without a doubt, gave the court sufficient basis for a reversal. They did however admonish the prosecution for introducing the juvenile records of the defendant, and the length of time the pictures were displayed to the jury. In a concurring opinion Musmanno J. blasted the prosecution for its over-use of the pictures.

“The Majority Opinion here is properly censuring the enlargement and screen projection for a half day of repellant pictures in the court below, says that ‘we regard the duration of their view excessive’. It does not say how excessive! I don’t’ believe the pictures should be shown to the jury at all unless they supply an indispensable link in the chain of evidence inculpating the defendant. In any event, there is no reason why the photographs should be allowed for any period, which exceeds the time required for an intelligent person to grasp the significance of what is pictorially portrayed. Pictures, if used at all, are to inform, and not to emotionally stir, much less to twist judgment into a verdict which may be based on bias, hatred, or revenge.”

I say, above, that this was the “beginning of the end” for we now faced a new trial and all that it encompassed. Our position was very strong because the number one defendant, Alphonso Borum, still had his motion for a new trial to be heard. Our case’s reversal gave Cecil Moore, Borum’s attorney, and powerful ammunition for same reasons. The District Attorney wanted Mr. Borum’s conviction badly, and rightly so, since it appeared he was the leader. It made our position for a negotiated plea very strong. We began a new trial some months later, in September, and after four jurors had been selected Mr. Reed agreed to accept a plea to second-degree murder, with the time in prison being the sentence. We agreed that Harold would testify in any new trial by Borum. Harold was released.

We filed a second petition for a fee. It had been paid for the first trial. The maximum was $500 per attorney. There was no fee paid for the appeal. At the hearing for the second petition the city opposed payment on the grounds that the statue permitted a maximum payment of $500 no matter what services were rendered. In March of 1962 Judge Vincent Carroll dismissed the petition. Once again we took an appeal to the Pennsylvania Supreme Court. This time the Philadelphia Bar Association joined with us and we even had behind the scenes encouragement from the judge who ruled against us. My friend, and classmate Edward Blake, was his law clerk and he allowed that the Judge felt the law need clarification and/or change. This time we struck out but got a dissent by the ever-colorful justice Musmanno. I will never forget his pointed questions,

“If the defense counsel is not to be paid for his work at the second trial, why should the district attorney be paid, or the judge, or the court clerk, or the court reporter, or the tip staff, for services they render during the second trial? Why should the defense counsel be the only one to offer a sacrifice on the table of public benefaction?”

But one Judge never makes a majority, so we were not paid. It was some consolation that it took the Court seven (7) pages of reasoning to deny our petition for fee, but only two (2) to grant Harold a new trial!

So the saga of In-Oh Ho came to end on January 22, 1963, but the story of Harold Johnson did not. In 1971 I was serving as the Commissioner of Records, under Mayor James H.J. Tate’s administration. I had an office on the first floor of City Hall. Outside the office under the lighted title of “Commissioner” was my name. (Finally got my name up in Lights!). One day my secretary came in and said there was a gentleman outside who is inquiring if the Paul L. McSorley named on the sign out side, is the same Paul L. McSorley who represented a boy named “Harold Johnson” some years earlier. I told her I was. Harold Johnson, the man, came into my office.

He sat and told me a wonderful story. He was married had three children. He thanked me for the representation and how it gave him a chance to live a nearly a normal life. I thanked him for taking the time to stop and say all those nice things. I wished him the best. He became one client I would never forget, since he cared enough to come back and say “Thanks”. A lawyer can receive no higher reward.

Paul L. McSorley

(Rev. Nov.’98)

 

 

I wrote an item in the October Jottings, about a woman candidate for office here in Florida. She claimed she was running against a dead man. It was also reported in the Philadelphia Daily News. It confirmed what I said in the jottings, that the explanation for her bizarre behavior arises from her background. She and her husband had moved here from Philadelphia. What I failed to note, what the Daily News’ columnist did, namely:

“In Philadelphia being dead is no bar to office. The unliving are 2-0 here. In 1975,voters re-elected City Councilman Francis D. O’Donnell after he had gone on to his eternal rest. That ignited a mini-trend as, less than a year later Rep. Bill Barrett ran deceased and won renomination. Barrett went on to serve a few months, and, while useless at ribbon cuttings, caused no harm to either his constituents or the Republic. Which is more than can be said for his successor, Ozzie Myers, who as a living Congressman, became ensnared in the Abscam bribery sting and had to go to jail.”

I sent a note to the writer advising him that he had overlooked a crucial fact about this Florida candidate, viz., that she was a former Philadlphian. On October 16th the note I sent was published in a column. You can see it on line at: <http://www.phillynews.com/daily_news/ /98/0ctl61ocai/CONN16.htm>

The Daily News reads:

“Former Philadelphian, Paul Leo McSorley emails us from Florida about our Wednesday item on dead candidate…”

I learned of its appearance in the paper from Dick O’Donnell, an old friend and, a Realtor in Philly. He called to tell me my email had been published. He sent me the page from the paper. I had believed it would be in the “Letters to the Editor” column since that is where I addressed it, so it was a surprise to see it published in the column: “Clout Connected”.

Dick O’Donnell and I met through of politics. He had an office for many years on Rising Sun Avenue in Olney “Richard K. O’Donnell Realtor” He often lunched at the Schwarzwald Inn, located in those days at 2^nd and Olney. I was running for the office of State Legislator in 1966. I was at the bar having, I presume, a beer and lunch with some friends. The barkeep was another friend, Michael “Mickey” O’Rourke. He and Dick were chatting about the candidate Dick was working for as I listened. I am sure that Mickey knew I was the opposing candidate and was just egging him on to catch my reaction. I had none other than to go over and meet this friend and a supporter of Tom Gola, my opponent. We were friends from that day forward. Years later (1971) I would serve as a Jury Commissioner with a lawyer who had his name on Dick’s Realty Office window for years, Charles J. O’Connor, Esq., always referred to a “Chass”. Over the years, after I lost to Gola, Dick continued to be a friend, a client, and my Real Estate agent. When we left Philadelphia in 1997, it was he who we sold our home. This is the Dick O’Donnell who noticed the item in the Daily News column and called me.

A favorite NY Time’s writer of mine, Francis X Clines, wrote another piece of newspaper writing that caught my fancy. He was reporting on the Congress getting down to work on the budget with time running out. He had this comment:

“Public debate can once more romp far from the body politics’ erogenous zones to the topics like the usual last minute repriming of the Federal Budget, the length of duck season in Mississippi, and the Sense of Congress Resolution Concerning the Inadequacy of Sewage Infrastructure Facilities in Tijuana, Mexico.”

THE TERMINATOR VII

By Arnold Greangraskopf

“I check the contents carefully since they are deadly; next the trigger. Is it quick? Is it ready? Everything seems in order. I slowly strolled out the door and onto the grass. Head down, I peer left then right, hand loosely gripping the trigger. I stare intently among the blades and then I see ONE. There he is the ENEMY, glaring back at me. I tighten my hand on the trigger; squeeze aiming at him, ZAP! …Down goes another ‘dollar weed'”. (To be continued)

This macho feeling of killing weeds gets to me sometimes. This whole sequence ran through my mind the last time I did the job. Something like a Woody Allen act where he attacks mechanical objects, like his VCR and TV, since they don’t do as he wishes. He beats them with the aerial from his TV and then sits grinning and exhaling the words: “It makes me feel so virile!”

Rereading the above reminded me of some the acts we saw last weekend at Sea World and Universal Studios. At some of the performances, prior to the main show, they had skits and in one case a Mime wandering in the audience. In another there was a Groucho and Harpo Marx cascading about causing laughter. The warm up acts were short and great, not that the main attractions weren’t, but they were usually humans and the main act was composed of Dolphins, or small animals. We spent one day at Sea World and one at Universal. We managed for the first time, starting at 9AM and going till 6PM, to visit all the open rides and shows at Universal. I say “we” editorially, I did skip some. Kelly and Matt and their Mom and Dad were the only ones on the new Atlantis water slide and ride. June had second thoughts upon arriving at the spot after noting the height and drop of the slide as it left the building. We had seen the ride being built on prior visits and she had thought she might give it a whirl, but exercising that well-known womanly prerogative “she just changed her mind”. It was two days of exercise while being entertained. We plan to visit Disney World, Animal Kingdom, and maybe go back to Universal for its Halloween Shows, next week (Oct 26-29) sans children or guest. It is gift to our selves from our own Santa Claus. Our plans include dinner reservation a few nights at some of our favorite restaurants in Epcot and elsewhere. This is all part of a premeditated and deliberate plan to demonstrate we are still on “vacation”.

We will not be back at this machine until November is nearly here, so I am going to close with a note to each.

Ron and Mary,

The last shall be first. I start my notes this month with you and hope to find all is well with the guys and you. We are looking forward to seeing them and you. How we’ll manage it is not yet determinable since we have a limited number of days and a seemingly unlimited number of people in many places we would love to see. I suppose Sue is having all for T-day. Is anyone planning on a gathering on Black Friday, or will you be gone to Rochester or places north? I don’t even know if you, Mary, are still at the same Email address, are you? If so I could send you a sketch of our schedule as we get nearer to leaving. Well, hopefully it will all work out and no matter where you are or what is going on, we WILL see those guys! Meantime give them Huge Hugs from Pop-pop and Grand mom June.

Love, Dad

 

 

Salve Famaliaque Amicii!

The air is full of scandal. The dust blown by politicians is blinding everyone to the beautiful things all around us. I pray the month will bring an end to their ravings and ranting. I cannot say enough about the entire matter, so I will not. Politics is like the weather it can change at any minute in any direction. It is the weather, not politics, which is grabbing our interest these last days of September. We await over the next few days the arrival of the Hurricane “Georges”. Before we finish these ramblings I will have a report. We live in an area that if a direct, or almost direct, hit comes we would need to leave the area. So you can surmise, we are watching with close interest the path of the hurricane. Even in Paradise, there is no fooling around with Mother Nature.

The last days of September mark the anniversary of our arrival in Paradise. We moved into the present house on September 24,1997. We had arrived a few days earlier and stayed at Rich and Shirley’s home (formerly known as “John’s House”). A year has passed and we’re still on vacation. We have become involved in a number of activities that are distinctive to our being here. June’s volunteer work with the Church keeps growing. She has a difficult time saying “No” but she promises to do so more often in the future. We now enter that part of the year when visitors can be expected. We will have Mike and Cindy with Matthew and Kelly for some days in October.

I stay busy. I have written another memoir. It is about my representing Harold Johnson one of the Defendants in the ln-Oh Ho murder trial. It is in the hands of my “editors”, Andrew, June and Tommy. I am playing more golf and piano (keyboard) I have volunteered for “Tax Counseling for the Elderly” a service of AARP. It requires a review of the law and a test before I can be qualified. I continue to work on Latin and will take a course in the Gospel of Mark. June has a few more Christmas’ decorative items to be painted and I have a “number-painting”, a tiger (for ages 10 and up), still unfinished. The autumn brings no let up in the Lawn keeping. I miss winterizing of the lawn mower. It is one thing that never happens here. Need I go on? I can hear a loud “NO”.

Every time I itemize a list of activities I think of my father’s admonition to “keep busy”. My mother would usually chime in with “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop”. It reminds me of the story of the Irish village priest who obtained a telephone for the first time. Naturally, his first call was to the Pope. He says with a bit of a brogue, “Holy Father what’ll I dew if the Lord himself comes walkin’ down thru the middle of the village?” His Holiness replied, “Look Busy!” My father came to mind the other day when I was chatting with my grandson Tommy on the net. He was telling me some of the Latin sentences he was translating for school. I remembered how at his age, and younger, I was awakened each day with Latin. My Dad would rap on the bedroom door around 6 AM and say, “Benedicamus Domino!” Let us bless the Lord! It was our reveille. Our call to meet the new day. We would then; all those who had arisen pile into the car and drive off to Mass. I told Tommy this and his response was,” WOW!” Looking back I too find it hard to believe. Marge had a friend who stayed over one night and when the rapping and the clarion call came, exclaimed, “Your father’s crazy, it’s the middle of the night!” (Or words to that effect). Ironically that visitor went on to be a Holy Child nun so I am sure she ran into a number of middle-of-the-night-rousers.

As noted above, we were expecting Georges, the Hurricane. He came so we went. This cloud’s silver lining is that we accepted an open invitation from Rita Pat Shapiro, nee Allen, to visit her new home in Gainesville. Gainesville, know as the home of Florida University, a.k.a. the “Gators”, is 150 miles north of here in the center of Florida. We had a lovely visit Friday night and returned here Saturday around 5 PM. Rita has a large home in a development called “Rock Creek”. She and Jeff, her husband, have done a great deal of interior decorating and it is now a bright home. It is in an area more reminiscent of the Pocono’s without any mountains. It does have some small hills. We noticed one of them on our walk around the development. It was enough of a hill to cause us to expend a bit of extra energy.

Before leaving Shore Acres, we practiced what we learned about Hurricane preparations. Here the biggest problem is flooding, when we have a combination of heavy rains and high tides. So most of the preparation was to raise the furniture, remove bottom drawers, clean out the bottom of closets, take up carpets on the porch and garage, bring all furniture and garden decorations outside inside, etc. We checked from Gainesville, on Saturday morning around 10 o’clock and learned the Evacuation Order had been lifted. The sun was shining in Shore Acres. We got back just in time for the high tide with the remains of Georges’ rains flooding the streets. We suffered no damage. We had no regrets over the energy expended in what appeared now to be a false alarm, since it was energy well spent. It is always better to be “safe” than “sorry”.

It is a bit of irony that the prior weekend, the 18^th to 20^th,we were scheduled to go to West Palm Beach to meet Frank and Carolann Allen, and it was cancelled. So this weekend we get to see another Allen in the person of Rita Pat. It is one of the advantages of having a large clan.

Sister Mary in a note commented on my ability over the past 50 years to lose elections to office. She recalls our Mother asking us all to pray for Dad to lose an election for judge. Mother had fears of his being in public office of any kind. The prayers were answered. He lost. It sounds like the little boy who prayed for a bike. He prayed for over three weeks and it never came. So he went out and lifted one. So he then prayed for forgiveness.

Not to under estimate the power of prayer, but I remember my Father telling me that until Roosevelt won in ’32 being a winning Democratic candidate for any office in Pennsylvania would’ve taken a “miracle”. He ran for some office in ’32 and he drove the family around the city hall circle several times so they could all watch the lighted sign indicating the voting returns. He just loved the idea of seeing his name and FDR’s both on the same board. I enjoyed a similar feeling upon seeing the printed race results of a 10K run. I had won the over 50 division. Bill King was back in Philly. The race was in Bermuda. The winner of the race was Craig Virgin, the American Record Holder in the 10K distance. So Paul McSorley and Craig Virgin’s names were reported together in the race results. Praying Dad out of winning the office was easy in his day. The odds of a Democrat winning in Philadelphia were astronomical. There were not many Democratic office seekers. He told me that the organized Democrats of Philadelphia would sit around just before nominating time and try to decide whom they would put on the ballot. The method used was similar to throwing a dart at a board. If your name was struck, you were the nominee and you ran.

Speaking of prayers and Bill King above reminded me, Bill is in need of all the prayers you can give. He had a serious bike accident. He broke several bones, had slight concussion, (fortunately he was wearing a helmet), punctured lung, and so on. Bunny, his wife, says he is healing very well and the hope is he will be in a rehab center this coming weekend (Oct. 3-4). He has been an avid biker since the early 80’s when the arthritis caused him to give up the running. He has been battling that since, and then recently lost the hearing in one ear due to virus infection. Bunny reported he was travelling at about 35 mph and tried to avoid hitting a squirrel. He did so because he had heard of a biker having a squirrel caught in his spokes and being thrown from the bike. C’EST Ia vie!

There is a story in the St. Petersburg’s Time worth repeating. It is a political story but one I would have to say is stranger than fiction. A candidate for the State Legislature wrote a letter to the “Committee on Fair Campaign Practices” stating her opponent was an imposter. She alleges that the candidate named, say Smith, is not Smith but Danny Devito (not the actor but the same name), and Smith died in 1995. The father of Smith, a Congressman is paying him, to run because the father wants to control the office. The media is having a blast. The woman will offer no proof of her allegation. She is then questioned about a few items, like her age, which comes up one time 50 another time 60; her employment, she is a paralegal but refuses to tell whom she works for; she apologies to the Democratic Party for making such an allegation without proof, but then tells the newspaper she really didn’t mean it; she notes that the candidate Smith never says, “l am Smith”, and so on. She never ran for office before and managed to get on the ballot by obtaining a sufficient number of signatures. It is getting a lot of laughs, but the one fact I discovered that makes it all politically understandable, the woman and her husband moved here from PHILDELPHIA in 1990.

“O wild West Wind, thou breath of Autumn’s being….” (Shelley) must have missed Florida. We keep hearing it’s autumn, but you never know it outside. I’ll try to add a note to each. Keep well and enjoy!

(It is Sunday Oct. 4^th. I just spoke to Bill King on the phone! He is home and having any therapy there. Keep him in your prayers)

October 13, 1998

Ron and Mary,

How goes the busiest couple in all of Yardley? Keeping those guys in line? I am planning to see that we get a look at them when we come up in November. We are having Thanksgiving Dinner with Tracey and her gang, but hope to get to see all the other guys in the few days before or after. I’ll let you know our “itinerary” before we leave.

I wrote a verse about my Mom. I’ll enclose it for you. In case you don’t remember “Cass” (in the verse) is the woman who spent her life helping Mom raise us. She would be what today you call a live in nanny. Only she was closer to being a child than today’s nanny is, and it was a home for her. I think after we all grew up she did go live with a brother. Another story I remember about her was we celebrated her birthday on May 4^th, but when she died we learned for the first time she was actually born on another day and year. No one needed a birth certificate to be a live in nanny.

Our weather is great – highs around 88 and lows in the 70’s with less humidity. Just spent two hours outside working on the debris gathering under our Rhododendron bushes, and hardly worked up a sweat. Any other time I would have it pouring off me and lose at least three pounds (which usually makes June jealous, and then she says it’s against the rules to get weighed after such workouts). Give the guys “Huge Hugs” and keep one for yourselves!

Love, Dad

 

DREAM

I saw Mom last night, sitting in her big red chair.

Dad was nowhere around.

She was dressed, so was Cass,

Like they’d been to town.

She sat beside the radio, listening to “soaps”,

That big Zenith with a dial like spokes.

The room is in shadows, the air smells of cigarettes?

Where did it come from? I didn’t dare,

After Dad laid into me, and made me beware.

Mom grabs me and gives me a Huge Hug,

As usual, like I’m a big pesky bug.

She welcomes me home from school or play,

But I don’t recall where I’d been that day.

Then I awoke thought about the smoke.

Did my Mom indulge in a forbidden habit?

Later I came to learn she did a bit.

So the Angel of my life and all it was worth,

On occasion, did enjoy coming down to earth.

(Oct. 1998)

Politics played a large part in my life. I was, as Arlen Specter sarcastically noted, “always waiting in the wings”. It is probably the only time I could say I agree with him. Politics came to mind since its September and its primary time here in Florida. It was also a subject at our men’s breakfast this morning where the musing concerned “coming in second” or losing, and living with it. It is a view that sometimes our culture belittles with slogans like “Winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing” as per Lombardi, being the byword.

I remember my father’s advice when, as a young lawyer, I talked to him about running for office. He thought it was a good idea. He advised “Run and lose”, or maybe he said, “Run and hope you don’t win”. I know that at the time it seemed inane. Later, I would see the wisdom of it and agree. Somewhat like the son who thinks his father is not with it, when he is 16 and is amazed how much he knew, when he, the son, turns 30 or 40. So I ran, and I lost. Then I ran again and did likewise. As some wise guy said, I was best at losing. But Dad was right. I learned a lot about people, and the activity in politics gave me the job that was a subsidy while I practiced. The subsidy made sure the mortgage was paid, and food stayed on the table while the practice grew. In addition, I saw classmate lawyers elected and life go down hill, even as maybe the practice went up. A good example of the advice’s sense came when I had the chance to be named to the Bench. Some 30 were to be appointed. I was serving as Commissioner to an outgoing Mayor. The party submitted my name, the Bar Association approved my qualifications, but the Governor picked others. Among the others were several classmates from Penn Law of ’54. I was disappointed and I finished second once again. However, a few years later a number of them were dismissed from the bench for accepting cash donations to their campaigns. The sums were paltry $300 and there was enough confusion in the rules that I probably would have been among those who thought it was not improper. In other words, I too would have been dismissed and crucified by the Media. So when it all happened, I could easily pray, “There but for the grace of God (and Dad) go I”.

September brings Labor Day and the beginning of serious campaigning. On occasions some, like the Federal campaigns might have bothered us some part of the summer, but local ones never got going until school started, i.e., Labor Day. I like Florida’s idea of the primary in September; it reduces the political activity during the summer months. It also saves the candidate’s money since it is a shorter time period for the campaigning. Florida has another primary in October to have a run-off where no candidate receives a majority. It won’t happen this year in this precinct (in Philadelphia they were called “wards”) since there are only two nominees for each office. I complained to some comrades that it didn’t seem kosher to speak of “Precincts”. They remind me of police stations, not political entities. How can you have a “Ward-Heeler” in a Precinct? I suppose, as one of them suggested, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.

I confirmed today that Mayor Dilworth did attend the viewing of ln-Oh Ho. I found the Time Magazine for May 5,1958 in the Main Library. I made a copy of the story and the picture. It confirmed that the Mayor was at the funeral home. The picture shows him standing outside the small West Philadelphia Funeral Parlor. It is just a twin-row home with three steps up to the door. No signs appeared in the picture to show it was a Funeral Home. He is standing in a line of mourners, all of whom appear oriental. He is alone. He is holding his hat in his hand and is waiting to proceed behind others to enter the building. I report all this since it is so unlike the Mayors I’ve known who attended anything. They didn’t wait in line and they were not alone. It even appears from the picture that the others, milling about the steps and entrance, either don’t know who he is, or knowing, don’t care.

What is a mystery, is how I remembered that the mayor’s picture was in time. It was not, by the way, a picture of him “crying at the funeral” as I wrote.

Since I have no notes that reported the picture being in Time, it was good to have it confirmed. I am still looking to obtain the newspapers of Aprill958. The murder occurred on April 25, 1958. The embodiment of a lawyer, for most, is as a defense counsel in a murder trial. I had that experience on several occasions but the most publicized matter and first, was the In-Oh Ho matter. I will some day put on paper my thoughts of that experience.

August ends always with thoughts of john and Frank. They had the same birth dates, August 25th ten years a part, john in 1923 and Frank 1913. I was thinking of both of them and how they caught up with one another in the Philippines. John, there as a Marine and shot down over Cotabato, is transferred to Manila, and there is his brother recently released from Santo Tomas Prison Camp. John was about to have his leg amputated. His brother Frank advises him to do otherwise. It proved to be the better decision. John had problems all his life with his legs, but he had two legs. He often expressed the thanks, as we all would, for such g0od brotherly advice.

The month of September is the beginning of new things for a number of grandchildren. The Twins, Sean and Dave start at Germantown Academy, (though reports are already in of their working out with the football team and how they can’t believe how big those upperclassmen are); and, Tommy begins his high school career at Holy Ghost Prep. They mark the grandchildren’s entrance to the high school years, though, Sean and David did have 9^th Grade at Abington but on receiving a scholarship to Germantown decided to switch. They have to repeat parts of the 9^th grade. We wish them well and hope all their marks are above Sea Level (“C’s”). I am sure of the remaining 16 grandchildren there are any number of them “starting” new levels, and to them too we wish the best.

Today I received word Myrtle Dean died. She was 101 years of age on August 11, 1998. She came into my life through John in 1980’s. He was an assistant manager at the Germantown House where Myrtle and her sister, Salome, lived. They needed a lawyer for something so naturally John brought them to me. Well, actually I went to them and since then have taken care of number of things for them. I even got Paul and Tom involved in bringing them Air Conditioning and a TV.

Myrtle and her sister were born and raised in Key West, Florida in a family of 12.Her father was an American Indian and her mother a Bahamian She epitomized the term “Lady”. She was soft-spoken and yet firm in her wishes. She seemed, at times, to have bit of an accent in her speech. She always dressed like a Lady, gloves and hat when appropriate. She entered St. Ignatius Nursing Home in the fall of 1996 through the help of her long time friend Grace Heising. There is where she went to sleep today to begin her eternal rest. Grace has prepared a short and interesting biography of her life.

September 18,1998

Dear Ron and Mary:

Every time I open the Refrigerator door, I look down at Alex (or Aidan) and see him looking up at me. It is a happy reminder of you and those guys. I understand you have solved the nanny problem and life is rolling along. I just hope not too many bumps in the road. We were to go over to West Palm Beach for the weekend to visit with Frank & Carolann Allen, but Frank had to cancel. Last weekend on Sunday we drove up to Silver Springs and watched a concert by “Alabama”. The weather looks like rain for the weekend on both coasts so maybe it was just as well.

Let us know when you can what’s happening in the life of Yake’s of Yardley and their Great Guys!

Love, Dad

 

 

Familia et Amici, Salve!

“Oh the days dwindle down…” to just a few till we reach September, our first anniversary of residing at 1644 Connecticut Ave. In the meantime the days keep rolling along and our vacation (so it still seems) is not over. July saw little rain and bearable heat. In fact, it was fun to notice that Philadelphia on a couple of occasions had higher temperatures. We only note that for all those who’s constantly queried,

“But isn’t it awfully hot down there in the summer?” The month of July saw the color of our house change from fading pink to Miami Peach. I don’t know what the difference is between regular peach and Miami peach. The only way you’ll ever learn is by paying us a visit. We added a tree to our front lawn. It is a pygmy palm. It decorates the comer area where Helena St. meets Connecticut Ave.

“Its all part of the curse of never really knowing anything.” This is the last sentence in an essay on “Science and Religion Cross Their Line in the Sand” The eternal quest for the truth is as alive today as ever, The article summarizes, in an easy reading form, the battle between science and religion. It appears, even as the year 2000 approaches, all the answers we were sure we could, and would, have to questions like “How did the universe begin?” or “Is there life after death?” still rely on “faith” not reason for answers. The essayist comments were written because the John Templeton Foundation is launching a plan to establish science-and-religion programs at universities throughout the world. It is underwriting a multi-million dollar conference at Berkley entitled “Science and the Spiritual Quest” If you care to attend, call Berkley.

These meaty questions are not ones your common lawn keeper gives much thought. In fact, most of the time, even ex-lawyers do not usually give them a nod. But I found the essay a fascinating handling of a very difficult philosophical problem. It made me think of how lucky, in one way, are the “so-called” non-educated, who have no problem with curses of “never really knowing anything”. The paradox seems to be that those who are “educated”, from the Latin educo (to lead from), are led from the “darkness” and “ignorance” but never seem to see or comprehend the light completely. The service Sunday last had a line very appropriate here: “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrew 11: 1-3). The child shall lead us. Amen.

In a lighter vein, I have traveled back a hundred years to visit a celebrated Irishman, Oscar Fingall O’Flahartie Wills Wilde. He died in 1900 and left memorable writings. I remember the “Ballad of Reading Gaol” as a high school assignment. His plays, like “The Importance of Being Earnest”, continue to be produced even now. But what I read for the first time is the “Picture of Dorian Gray”, a movie I saw years ago. His style is difficult at times, in that his main character and others talk in epigrams and in elaborate Victorian English, but there are many gems. Here is one I lifted:

“Intellect is in itself a mode of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something horrid. Look at successful men in any learned profession. How perfectly hideous they are! Except of course in the Church. But then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen, as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.”

He is reported to have said: “When I travel, I always take my diaries with me so I’ll have something spectacular and exciting to read.”

I am trying to travel, in time, back forty years to tell the story of my participation in one of the murder trials of In-Oh Ho. It was front-page news in those days. He was a Korean student at the University of Pennsylvania beaten to death on a street comer by eleven black boys. It made Time magazine with Mayor Dilworth crying at the funeral. Nine of the boys were indicted for murder. The Court for Harold Johnson, one of the nine, appointed my father, Richard T., as a defense counsel. The murder occurred on April 25, 1958. I left the Marine Corps in November of that year. My father suggested to the court that I be substituted for him. It was done. There was a co-counsel, but now he would become a senior counsel, John E. Walsh, Esq.

I have a number of newspaper clippings on the Appeal in 1961 but what I am looking for, and would like, is access to newspapers articles, news magazines reports, etc. in April and May 1958. I have access on line to Knight Rider newspapers but only back to 1980. So if anyone out there can offer help I certainly would appreciate it. Even better if any of you can recall the event from your own experience I would be happy to hear what you recall.

Today is Monday. Today is the first week of August and it began as so many others have. We get up early on Mondays since June walks over to the Church office to help count the collections of the day before. We did that and then I returned home to begin laying some pine mulch around our new tree and elsewhere. Around 7 AM June returns and we take a walk along our favorite trail, Bayshore Blvd., which is well named since we can see between the houses (palaces, really) and watch the sun rising over Tampa Bay. I leave June after 30 minutes or so, to return to my chores while she goes on to get her 40 to 45 minutes. Today was really great walking since we had a breeze, cloud cover, and temperature only around 80 degrees. We have a little breakfast when she returns and then I’ll practice my faking on the piano. Each day starts somewhat the same “only the names are changed to protect the innocent”. The rest of the day is consumed with painting, either by the numbers or seasonal decorative objects (right now I am painting the porch floor); writing, email, memoirs, Jottings; reading or studying; food shopping, a little rest after lunch, etc. June is busy with household chores, keeping the books, ironing, needlepointing, reading (like a book a week), preparing and cooking delicious, nutritious meals, etc. Then on occasion we take a day off at the beach, or the flea market, or just go out for lunch or dinner.

I could go on but it would be monotonous and as the grandkids say, “Boorring”. I just included this for all those who questioned while traveling, asking, “But what do you do now that you’re retired and have all that time?” We’re busy. In fact, I am only getting one day a week on the golf course. That is something we thought might be a problem, i.e., my playing too much. Ha!

Another pleasant task I have on most Mondays is to go and play the keyboard at Shore Acres Rehab. Someone recently inquired if I still do so. Yes, I do, only now it is more like moving, since I must take the keyboard, a stand, a foot pedal, speaker, cables, extension cords, music, a cushion, and once in while a light. I now have limited my playing to every other Monday. It feels more like a doing a “gig” than ever before.

One of my favorites at Shore Acres is a young man, Bradley Costello. He’s been in a wheelchair all his life. He is 38 but looks 25. He is a big strapping fellow with a smile that lights up a room. He is always neatly dressed unlike some of the other residents. He cannot talk but does occasionally says “Yes or No”. He has a buddy, Rod, a black physical therapist whose smile reminds me of Harry Belafonte. He’ll come by and I’ll play “Daddy’s Little Girl” or some other mushy love ballad, and he’ll sing to Bradley and give him a hug. Bradley struggles with him and blushes through a big smile. Then there is a guy named “Bob” about 45-50 who’s been there for six years. He wheels in and out as I play and makes comments. He asked me one day to open some doors for him to go out to the garden. I asked where he was going. He said “Out to have a smoke!” I opened the doors. Most of the audience, however, is elderly and non-mobile, but they still give me an occasional smile and even an attempt to clap. I jokingly remind, anyone who asks, that I never get standing ovations but then I don’t go there for them. The joy I see and feel, is enough reward and it even makes my some time bumbling, mistake-ridden playing seem worth the effort.

I have avoided the media inundation of the latest White House hoopla but a line I read the day Monica was to testify got me. It was, “as portable generators rumbled in the back ground and one camera swept the scene from a cherry picker 90 feet over Third St., about 20 satellite trucks beamed images of Ms. Lewinsky, once an unpaid anonymous sorter of White House mail-around the globe.” So Ms. L is getting her 15 minutes of fame, and then some.

We will once again try to add a note. Until we meet again keep well and as my good brother Father Pat was always saying “Enjoy!”

Ron and Mary,

Enclosed are pictures of the guys with me and in the pool. I’m sure you have some already but just thought we would add to the pile. Sorry Mary I missed you on your birthday. I was put on hold when I called. Then I was told that your husband called and you were no longer in the room…? But you got the message I’m sure and you know I was thinking of you, now 35 and holding. I recall that when you were born I was just 34…why I made the comparison I don’t know…but aren’t you glad, Ron, you don’t have seven there to handle, without an army of course, it would mean Mom would be home all the time…. My how times have changed. Hope your nanny problems have been solved.

Speaking of birthdays, when a man has a birthday he usually takes the day off, but when women have birthdays they take years off! Check it out and see if it doesn’t prove so…

We have some pictures of the guys right up there on the refrigerator…so you know they rate. I am sure by now they are even running more than ever and keep mom and dad busy as bees. It is strange but I can’t remember those days, except for a while with the other twins. Keep well.

Love, Dad

I begin July with a visit to the Dentist. It is not one of the things I see as making it a memorable month. Our dentist is one of those who cater to cowards. It is so advertised by some dentists here in St. Pete’s, but he does so without advertising. It is more pleasurable to look back to our travels of May.

Our stay in Somerdale section of Philly for 10 days or so, child sitting, Kelly and Matthew Golden, had one dividend. I was able to purchase the N.Y. Times at the Wawa nearby. In one issue it had a column by one of my favorite humorists, Russell Baker. He was ruminating over the fact that the new millionaires were now seeking his home in Nantucket (though run down and in need of repair) for some $900,000. He goes on, “Some people keep a child or two in college, poor devils. Instead, I keep a house in Nantucket. It’s a lot cheaper…it is also easier on the spirit. A house never treats you with contempt for saying it ought to be studying Latin, instead of post modernist influences on television sitcoms.” Amen.

We did not start out to spend six weeks on the road. We had thought sometime in the future we would spend some time in the summer up the coast. We talked of maybe a return to Myrtle Beach or a new spot or a short visit up to the old haunts of Philly. What changed all this planning was a nephew getting married in May. The marriage was to take place somewhere up in North Jersey. So we reasoned since we would be up there, why not hop on over to Connecticut and New York to pay a visit to Joe & Debbie, Dan & Lori, and Andy. But that was before we learned more about the wedding location and the reception. In the meantime, Mike Golden won a cruise for himself and his wife from his employer for his performance. So our plans, not yet really finalized, began with the sitting Matthew and Kelly for the first two weeks of May.

The wedding was in Clark. N. J. It is west of New York City off the Garden State Parkway. The reception was in Point Pleasant N.J. off the same parkway 45 miles away. So we were housed near Point Pleasant and made the 90-mile trip up and back to the wedding. It was a grand affair. The best man, David’s brother, Bryan, a married man and father, had a bit of humor and advice for his younger brother – as he toasted the Bride and Groom, he suggested to David that he peer across the dance floor and see how happy and smiling his parents were. He chided him, “Why not you’re finally out of the house!” He then advised David that he should now look at the Bride, who today became “Mrs. Right”. Just remember, David, you get to say the last two words of any argument: “Yes Dear!”

I was the recipient of the floral centerpiece on our table because it was my Birthday. Now how many guys do you know get flowers for their birthday? I can assure you it was a first for me. I also received cards, good wishes and gifts, but I think I’ll remember this one as the day I got flowers!

Another first at the wedding has to be, watching a bridesmaid walk down the aisle carrying a small child. The bridesmaid was Kim, David’s sister, and the small child was Christopher her almost three year old. He was dressed to the nines and was to have been a ring bearer, but he had other ideas. His Dad was already up front and the same with the grandparents, so Mom picked him up and down the aisle they went. Another first for me was that the Father and Mother of the Bride and Groom were both named “John and Mary”.

Between the wedding rides and the child sitting, we celebrated Mother’s Day. It began with prayers at St. Paul’s Lutheran Church with the twins, their brothers, and parents, and then off to a brunch supreme at the Jarrettown Inn (in Jarrettown, of course). I remembered it as the place once owned by the husband of a client of mine. We helped her get a divorce. He had become a victim of John Barleycorn and IRS, only the former is curable. We met the client several times after the case ended in the recesses of the Academy of Music. We, both she and her mother, and June and I listened to the Philly Pops. These memories of the prior association with the Jarrettown did nothing to impair my appetite. The new owners had a feast prepared. Watching Sean, David, Eric, and Paulie assault the layout was a joy in itself. Any Mother would be happy to see such conduct, and it is no surprise that any Grandfather might likewise be elated.

While at Mike & Cindy’s I had the opportunity to grab a lunch with my old running buddy Bill King. He had the clipping on Brownie Ross. The former Olympian and runner we talked about last month. We chatted about cabbages and kings, runs and things. He mentioned two other running buddies, friends, and clients Frank and Al Wick. They expressed their regrets about not being able to get together with us. Then Bill paid me a great compliment. He said that Frank Wick had inquired of Bill how my life was going down there in the Sunshine State. Bill’s response was, “His life is serene.” I said to Bill, as a guy who loves words, I couldn’t have said it better myself. He concisely labeled the life we now lead. It is one of serenity. I add however, that it is, a “bustling” serenity.

Today I felt like a native. I was working in a patch of plants (mostly weeds) in the front of the house near the corner of Conn. Ave. and Helena St. It was early around 7:30AM. A tractor-trailer stopped and the driver got out looking for directions. He asked where “Indianapolis Ave.” was. I told him just another block down Conn. Ave. Then I noticed the truck said “Park Food Supplies”. I asked if he was looking for “Shore Acres Rehabilitation Center”? He said, “Yes”. “It is just two blocks down on your right on Indianapolis”, said I. I got a big thank you. I went back to work. The quickness of my response made him think, I feel sure, that I lived here all my life! You know like a native Floridian or more precisely, Shore Acre Resident .Now if he asked about a street 4 or 5 blocks further away, it would have taken a bit more thinking, before I would have ventured an answer.

One of the side trips we enjoyed was a visit with the Hopkins, who then took us to one of June’s favorite places Atlantic City. We stayed again at the Tropicana and June did well. We came home with more than we took. I always do well since I just don’t get into the action. We made a side trip on our way out to Harrah’s Marina Casino. It gave me the chance to sit and listen to a quartet in the Atrium. They were a great group and I got to chat with the drummer, a Jim 0′ Connor. I specifically waited for the opportunity to chat with him because of an incident in our Men’s Club here in St. Pete’s. At one of the meetings the Pastor asked each of us to tell where he was in 1980/81.One of the men, Kurt Snider, said he was playing drums in a quartet in Harrah’s Casino. He still plays and plays well. So I inquired of the present drummer if he knew Kurt, but he did not. It still was a great group. The drummer plays most of the time with Ken McBride, himself. McBride played for many years at Busch’s Inn in Townsend’s Inlet. He now performs at a casino in Atlantic City during the summer months.

I have changed jobs but I am still keeping the “L”. I was a “L”awyer, now I’m a “L”awnkeeper. The 5800 square feet of sod is now raging grass. It is growing in leaps and bounds. I have had to cut it within a week. If I don’t do so then I would be continually adjusting the mower up and down. It looks great, but it keeps some of my mornings, once occupied with another “L”, Latin, busy outdoor before the Sun pops over the trees. We have a sprinkler system using reclaimed water, which is full of good nutrients for the grass. So it grows and grows, and, then of course, the cutting helps it grow some more! Incidentally, the reason I know it is 5800 square feet is not that I measured it, but that is the amount of sod we purchased to cover the torn-up-weed-infested soil we had.

June and I continue to be the witnesses to record weather. We now can match the deluges of February and March, with the hottest month on record, June. Note it was not the hottest June, but the hottest month ever…even hotter than their August records. July so far is above average for rainfall so the beat goes on!

Hope all of you are enjoying these summer days. I know some have already had some shore time and others are heading west to view places like Yosemite or east to see Spain. We wish you all well and will try to add a note.

July 15, 1998

Dear Ron and Mary,

The pictures, the pictures…all we have of those guys just seem to get better and better. I enjoyed Paul Jr. writing about how they loved the water at Avalon. I said, yes we know, we were there for their first plunge in their own pool…diapers and all. How was Avalon? Did anyone run in the “Nun’s Run”…or did Ron just get one of the shirts again (?)…Don’t forget to put the “check mark” on it if you didn’t run it!

We thought of the outing we had at Ron’s brother (?)…We were eating boiled potatoes. June had discovered he or his wife cooked them in rock salt. She liked the flavor so much she now does them that way with regular salt.

Hope all goes well with you both on the employment front. If you get a chance drop us an Email to advise whether Aidan and Alex have started their Latin studies yet… Give them a big squeeze from their Pop-pop.

Love, Dad

 

HELLO, FAMILY & FRIENDS!

As I begin these ramblings it is still April (I decided to add the “salutation” to these musing since in reality they are my way of staying in touch). It is still April and we have yet to depart for places North where some of those “family and friends” will be seen in person.

It was Easter morn; I rode towards the west looking at a full moon, bright as the sun lighting up the darkness. My errands finished I began the drive home and watching the rosy hues of dawn inch their way over the palm trees…I wondered, would I ever see such a sight again on an Easter morn? It was a morning to remember and to celebrate the Risen Christ. There would be sunrise services all over this planet about this time, daybreak. There was a bit of chill in the air, but the Lord had provided us, and them, with magnificent scenery.

We looked forward to celebrating this Easter with our friends, and fellow grandparents, the Hopkins. It was not to be. Following the service I became weary and laid down to rest. That is where I remained while they with June took an Easter stroll along St. Pete’s famous pier. The bug within me continued to come and go the entire week with a complete crash on Wednesday evening. I even consented to have a physician look me over. Friday I was diagnosed with “walking pneumonia” (I could understand if it was “talking pneumonia”, but I had done no walking since Wednesday!). I began a treatment of anti-biotic. It had the unexecutable instructions: “Take One tablet Three times a day!” I never understood why they don’t say: “Three times a day, take One tablet” but I suppose Pharmacists are not concerned with “instruction-clarity but with “content-precision”. By Sunday my temperature was back to normal. Our friends had departed (as of Saturday) for a few days at our favorite place in Fort Myers Beach.

Monday while resting and “surfing” the net…well, maybe not “surfing” but reading pages like the N.Y. Times, etc. I noted that today was “Patriot’s Day” in Massachusetts and that meant the “Boston Marathon” The l 02nd running of the same. It doesn’t seem like 26 years but that’s how long ago I ran my first Boston…1972. My memories of Boston are of the great number of runners: the thrill of being in the “historic” Boston, the oldest marathon in the world, the surprise of hearing the spectators call you by name as you ran by. As you arrived at “Heartbreak Hill”, about 22 miles, you could hear on the spectator’s portable radios, the winner being cheered home. The roar of the crowd as you came down to the finish line. I never did get any of the “Irish stew”, but I wasn’t alone, Bill King and others who had run it more than I never did either. It seems humorous now to talk about a “great number of runners”. In 1972 we had 1038 which was a “great number “for the then neophyte sport of Marathon running, but in 1996 there were 38,708 and in ’97 & ’98 even more. I later learned that people were able to cheer you on by name, because the name and numbers had been printed in the newspaper days before the run.

Now you can go on to the Boston Marathon on the net. It has its own Web Page. You can search for your favorite and see how he or she did. You can on race day follow them in the pictures as they run on the same Webpage.

I ran Boston again in 1973. I had hoped to do better with another years training under my belt but it was not to be. I developed an Achilles tear a month before the run. I thought I would not be able to run it. In fact, I entered the Penn Relays marathon schedule 8 days after Boston here in Philly as a hedge. However, I did run Boston with the aid of Novocain injected into the tendon. I was advised, and rightly so, that I could do no more harm and the Novocain would cut out the pain. I didn’t do as well as I wanted to do but there were no after effects, so I decided to run Penn Relays. It was a good choice since I won a bronze medal for 18^th place – my first and only Penn Relay medal after three years of High School and two years of College trying to get one. The medal is encased in plastic and sits right here beside me 25 years later. I also had the help of Andy and Paul for support to walk after I finished since two marathons inside of 10 days is not recommended. They never let me forget that walk since my humor matched my fatigued i.e. bad.

I never went back to Boston after ’73. So many other marathons arose that it gave me a chance to visit some new places, like Ottawa, Can., Greensboro, Winston Salem, N.C; Cleveland & Canton, Ohio; New York, and the Marine Corps, which ran along the Potomac from Arlington to Alexandria then to the reflecting pool in the Nation’s capitol. Each provided unique memories and some day I may try to put them down.

It is now the middle of June. We have returned home. We agree with Edgar Guest’s adage: “Be it ever so humble, there’s no place like home”. We were gone from Wednesday, April 29^th until Wednesday June 10^th (six weeks). It would be foolish to try in a few pages to list the last six weeks adventures, so we will bore you with only a few highlights and save the details for another day.

We traveled some 3500 or more miles and visited six towns where our grandchildren and children resided. We began with a First Communion on May 1^st in Philadelphia for Matthew Golden and ended (short of few days) with an 8^th grade graduation party for Thomas McSorley. It also was Andy’ s 38^th birthday party (at least for Andy and I).

In between, we saw:

(1) Matt (8), Kelly (11+), and Joseph (8+) Goldens play baseball, and Paul Berger (6+) play “T” ball

(2) Watched Meaghan McSorley (7+) try out her new keyboard and Matthew McSorley (11+) play every sound effect possible on Pop-pop’s keyboard

(3) Played school with Eric (3+) and his friend Brittany (6), who spends the day at his house (Pop-pop convinced them that “Recess” is really the best time of the day at school)

(4) Joined Kate (8+) and Meg Baker (6+) in watching videos of themselves from day one and had to do so in the absence of Colleen, she vehemently objected to such showing since she is not in them

(5) Saw Hanna McSorley (18 mo.) walking with help and almost make her first step and her twin cousins Alex and Aidan Yake (18 mo.) take their first dip in their new baby pool in the backyard

(6) Watched Karen McSorley (10) perform her gymnastics at a show to end their season

(7) Listen to Andrew Golden (5) sing the songs from “Grease” with body action, even while sitting in the back of the car

(8) Ate too much at some fancy restaurants on too many occasions to mention

(9) Rested for our trip back as the guests of Mary and John MacDonald (June’s sister and brother-in-law) where we felt like we were at home and almost Home

This was some of the good stuff the trip gave us… On the other side of the coin, we had:

(1) The packing and unpacking with all its drudgery; (2) The trip from the bathroom and back to get those things we forgot to bring with us the first time; (3) Sleeping in strange beds on different mattresses with occasional interruptions by pet dogs.

In fact at times we felt like a character out of Erma Bombeck’s comedy: “If Its Tuesday, This Must be Belgium”, only with us it was either New Milford, Oswego, Hilton, Harrisburg, Lancaster, West Chester, or Philly.

The trip’s difficulties have made us resolve not to try it in this manner again. It’s good times stay with us and make it a memorable journey. I will reminisce about these things, along with others, which we will report to you at a later time. I often think how much easier it would have been to reminisce about the past if l had kept a journal or diary. It didn’t happen, so it becomes one of those things” I cannot change” even with courage and wisdom. It would seemingly make my recalling more accurate, but from what I read about “memoir-writing” that’s not an essential. So I’ll struggle on relying on my “memory”.

Memory is stirred by present events, particularly the passing of a friend. When Bill King and I met he gave me a news clipping reporting the death of Browning Ross. I easily referred to him as a “friend” yet I never met with him socially, outside of post race affairs. He was the kind of man whom everyone he met easily considered himself a friend of Brownie. He was the George Washington of Road Running in America as Tom Osler, another Marathoner, notes in the article. He was the guy who brought Road Running Clubs to America. He worked at encouraging running as a coach and a publisher of the first running newspaper “Long Distance Log”. I’ve told stories in these pages before of his wit. One was how he reported an incident in the Log. The Log was a listing of races to come, results by name and place of those that had been held, and general news about running in the area. In the results he also listed those who failed to finish with “DNF”. It happened in a run around the river, a runner collapsed and died. So next to his name was the usual “DNF” but Brownie being whom he was added “RIP”. So now it is Brownie who at 74 collapsed after his regular three mile run and died. I prayerfully add may he rest in peace.

I am approaching the limit of pages where I like to leave these ramblings. I hope to add a personal missive to each of you.

Ron & Mary,

As I lay down to sleep last night, I had a very nagging fright. It came to me, though I checked your names, I had not really sent the same (i.e., these Jottings). So here I am, at 6 AM, trying to make amends. Thanks for the Father’s day call and the card with those great pictures, which arrived yesterday. We were able to let Rich and Shirley see those great smiling Buddhas and they agreed they are beautiful guys! Hope they and you are continuing to grow in wisdom, or at least in ready cash.

Love, Dad

 

 

April, the cruelest of months, said one poet. It never struck me that way. April the month of showers that brings Mayflowers. It doesn’t work that way in Florida. We seem to have flowers in almost any month. Did you ever wonder where April fool’s Day came from? I wonder. April, in this year brings us Easter. It will also bring us back to the city of Brotherly Love before it is over. We expect our good friends and fellow grandparents, the Hopkins, to spend a good part of the month with us. In anticipation of not having time for this machine we will brief this month of showers (a sigh of relief echoes across the land! or at least in the Editor’s office at 1644 Conn. Ave).

Easters past have all been filled with religious observances. I remember one in the early 60’s when Katherine and I were on one of the islands, either Bermuda or Nassau. We happened to be there on Good Friday. I had rented a motorbike to tour the island. She was adverse to such transportation and she was probably pregnant since in the early 60’s saw Andy in June of ‘60, and in August of ’61,’62,’63, Paul, Dan, and Mary. We agreed to attend on that day the usual Good Friday service of Three Hours. She mentioned the Church and I believed it was St. John, but it could have been Peter or Paul. So dutifully at noon I found the church and proceeded to attend the service. My first surprise was that she, Katherine, was nowhere in the church. The next surprises in order of appearance were: the service was in English, the Priest was black and the three hours service was over in one hour and a half! All of which I explained to myself was the result of being in a foreign country or different diocese. I still mused over Katherine’s absent and only then did it occur to me she might not be feeling well. I rushed back to the Hotel and searched the room the pool, etc. with no luck. Along about 3:30 PM she showed up angry with me for failing to appear at the service. I was just as indignant, since I said she had failed to appear! We then compared notes…it was soon perfectly clear! I went to the Episcopalian Service and she to the Roman Catholic one.

Easter reminds me of the Easter egg hunts in Avalon – some in the condo and others at the Recreation Center. I remember one where the twins, who must have been only 2 or 3 ended in tears since they failed to find anything, but a few short years later they managed to be among the biggest collectors. Easter always had Easter baskets at 4116, 734, and all address after that…now we just talk about all that candy we shouldn’t have eaten since it resulted in two partial bridges…but the memories are “sweet”.

Last Easter, 1997, I had the happy experience of listening to Pastor Jerry salute us with his “Easter Happens, Christ has Risen!” message. It stays with me as a moving soliloquy of faith. His stories of faith in our daily lives, as seen in the acts of others in moments of crisis, still stir me. This Easter Season, I will sit with Pastor Jerry on Maundy Thursday as we reenact the Last Supper. He will play the part of Christ, and I, along with eleven other members of the Men’s Breakfast Club, will be an apostle. We will dress, with the benefit of rented robes, in period clothes. One of the guys is even growing a beard. I tried one on at the rental place and said no way. It was very warm and itchy. We will eat a meal similar to the one Christ and the Apostles ate. There may even be speaking parts, but I am not certain of what or who other than the Pastor will do so.

He has risen as He said…Resurrexit sicut dixit says the hymn…Amen.

Let me wish you and yours all the joys of the Easter Season and when those May flowers come you might see us blooming right there in your backyard!

April 11, 1998

Mary and Ron,

We wish to announce that Alex and Aidan’s pictures have replaced the “Bakers” on the refrigerator! We’ll call you when we get in to determine when well get up (or down?) to Yardley.

Love, Dad

 

It is only the second week in the month, yet it feels like it should be much later. This results from having spent the last two weeks in a whirlwind of activities. Marge and Dan arrived on February 23^rd and left on the March 2^nd. We took off the following morning and were away until March 6^th.

We visited Silver Springs, Fort De Soto, Anna Marie Island, Everglade City, Naples and drove through Longboat Key to Sarasota, with Marge and Dan. Then we left to visit the Magic Kingdom, Epcot, MGM and SeaWorld.

This was the trip we had planned for the first week of February, but postponed due to the rain. So it is of little wonder that we are just regaining our breath. We expect Bill on Thursday. He’ll be our guest until the 18^th. He’s going to give us the opportunity to see some of the Sports Stadiums in the area – the Phillies in Clearwater, the Yankees in Tampa, and the new Tampa Bay Devil Rays in St. Petersburg.

The weather, a popular topic in Florida, has been very good. We only had one rainstorm while Marge and Dan were here. It was driving up to Naples on the last day of the trip south. It prevented us from having the girls complete their shopping and a planned visit to Bonita Springs and a display of Everglade Wonders. The week in Orlando was perfect only one shower and that was during the night. Like in the song about Camelot, “…it only rains after sundown”.

All the activity clogs the memory channels. It is at times like these that I think of a humorist remark by Peter DeVires. “I love being a writer, what I hate is the paperwork!” Yes, the sorting, cataloguing, and recalling the events from that chamber in the head. Memory is like a rope attached to heaven on which we climb up to find our selves. (The idea is Proust’s who likened memory”…to a rope let down from heaven to draw me up out of the abyss of not-being.” Just so you don’t think I’m that original). We sort through the now clogged alleys to select those items that pop-up first.

In the everglades; there was one. It was on a motorboat ride. We were drifting to take in the sight of an Osprey nest. Marge, sitting behind me, had her hand resting the top edge of the side of the boat, when suddenly in the water, not ten inches away from her resting hand, an alligator’s snout appeared~ and then its head and body! It stopped some breaths of mine. We had seen other alligators on the way but they were off there in the distance, not here almost in the boat. They are not a pleasant animal to look out, since they seem to be all teeth and eyes sitting on rotten wet log.

The same boat trip gave us the thrill of watching two playful dolphins, parent and child, swim in our motor’s wake as we flew across the water. They continued their jaunt for some while and then like children who had played enough, they just disappeared.

Our visit to Disney’s Magic Kingdom, Epcot, MGM and SeaWorld provided us with the usual spectaculars and a great deal of education. One memory will be of the musical revue performed daily outdoors in the front of the Castle. The castle is a replica of one, I believe, from Heidleburg full of towers and arched windows. It is a logo of Disney’s now almost as well known as Mickey. The show is put on a stage-platform formed in the front of the castle. It is where the two stairs from either side meet some ten feet up. The music is all Disney and the performers matched the quality of those we saw just a few weeks ago at Busch Gardens. Young, energetic, full of good voices and dancers, all done in the manner of the professionals they are. The audience sits on the grass in front of the stage or further back stand on the concrete pathway going around the castle.

As June and I stood there enjoying the music and the dancing my eye caught the essence of the Magic Kingdom in a capsule. The capsule was a tot no bigger than four feet tall, with tight red curls bouncing on the top of her head as she danced in perfect time with the music. She was Shirley Temple reborn with red hair. She swirled her full skirt, turned and smiled with dimples and bright eyes at her mom sitting there on the grass. She moved her arms up and down in rhythm with the dancers and gladden the eyes and hearts of all those who could see her. A child emanating joy, just as Disney dreamed.

The revival of Winnie the Pooh, a.k.a. Winnie ille Pu, continues. We were overwhelmed with Winnie and her characters, in shirts, jackets, hats, stuffed, carved, whittled, etc. etc… as we wandered through the Magic Kingdom and Epcot. It shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. Then I learned why…Disney owns the rights to Winnie and her friends. June even brought me a peaked-cap with a figure of Winnie lying on her back embossed on the front. I suppose it is to warm my head to help me in my translations of the stories. It doesn’t work. I did solve that problem by purchasing one of the original pocketbooks. I noted on line some 15 to 20 spin-offs being offered. The version I got was the one published in 1926. So now I have my “pony” to consult when I’m stuck…as piglet might say, “Oh my!”

I note that the rush of time and the flood of visitors has caused me to omit noting one of our very important visitors…Win and Beth Allen three days in February (PM 15^th till AM 18^th). The highlight, other than the joy of having my surrogate Mother, Win, in our new home, was Beth and I performing at Shore Acres. Rain prevented them from doing much else. We were billed as “Maria Callas and Liberace!” (I have a good press agent, ask Bill King). I would say the billing was overdone as far as the pianist was concerned, but Beth could easily handle opera. She also plays the piano (with both hands reading and playing the music!). We sang (?) a duet from The Phantom, “This Is All I Ask”. My role occasionally sounded closer to Christine… but oh, what fun we had! The captured audience seemed happy to have something more than the old man plunking the keys… and actually that didn’t surprise me.

Win told me about a retirement party the girls (?) had for Eleanore McSorley. It was noted that the girls (?) had all proceeded, after raising a family, to have careers. Anne, with the Day School, Marge with her church or school. I may not have the facts correct but I do know they did all pursue out of the home occupations… a thing meriting any congratulations one could muster. I think Win said that it was Eleanore herself who made this observation. One other note re her retirement, her children, all 11 with the in-laws, and out-laws had a surprise party at her daughter’s celebrating the same… they came from literally all over the world. I can’t think of anyone who deserves it more!

The last seven days we became baseball fans. Bill came and we went. We saw more baseball games the last six days than we have seen in the last ten years… more like 1983 for me. June did go with her gang to one at Clearwater a few years ago. He was like an encyclopedia. When a batter came up we learned where he played last year, if not for this team (Tampa Bay’s new team, the Devil Rays), and how talented or not he was – Bill had a tough time with the Yankees. He knows that they have the best talent that “money can buy” yet he still doesn’t like them… something like football fans and the Dallas Cowboys. We saw the Phillies Jack Russell Stadium in Clearwater, the Legends (Yankees) Field in Tampa, and our own Al Lang Field in St. Petersburg. He was a joy to watch. He was a little kid again at the games. He has June convinced now we should go more often since we have so many to choose from during the Spring Training Season. At the game in St. Pete’s, where the new Devil Rays clobbered the Phillies 13-3, we had the company in a few rows back, of what we thought were regular Phillies fans. Their rowdy and loud one-liners had others and us laughing and joining in… they were never really out of order. One line they tossed at Wade Boggs playing third base, “Hey! Boggs, ya got the range of a cinderblock!” We said we thought they were regulars from the Veteran Stadium, but it turned out they were from the Washington D.C. area and were avid Redskins fans. They sang the Redskin’s Fight Song (there were about 7 of them) during the 7^th Inning Stretch. We learned this when they turned up behind us at the Phillies vs. Atlanta game in Clearwater! Bill felt they added just the right flavor to the show and we agreed.

Let me say goodbye from the saturated state of Florida for a while, we’ll try to add a note to each of you.

March 28, 1998

Ron and Mary,

In typing the date it occurs to me that this was the “month” when the deadline (?) was for you and your condo problems. Did it get resolved somehow? I certainly hope so.

The twins’ pictures, taken at the party, were supposed to be forwarded to us by out photographer, Tommy. To date, we still don’t have them… but before you know it, we’ll be holding them, since this date next month we head north. We will babysit for Mike and Cindy for the first 10 days in May. He won a trip to San Diego at his job. Then it’s off to June’s nephew’s wedding on May 16^th up in North Jersey.

Hope Ron’s job continues to excite him and that yours is still available… since it seems at one point there was talk of the outfit splitting up or the like. If you get a chance to drop me an email I am anxious to know how things turned out or are turning out re the condo.

Love, Dad

The shortest month of the year is here. “Februarius” was the festival of purification for the Sabines. I vaguely remember something in the Church calendar about the blessing of throats this month? Pope Gregory kept it, so it must have had some Christianizing. It is the time when we think of spring, being just around March’s windy comer. It’s the President’s month. Our present President is suffering from media malaise in the form of the Jones’ scandal and the like. It is appropriate, in a way, that one accuser has such a common “All American” name, Jones. It is not the only thing All American about it; she is riding on the crest of new-age gossip. Listen to the words of Maureen Dowd, who says:

“But the case (Jones matter) is also a distressing illustration of the longevity of gossip in a society where salaciousness has become the polluted air we breathe. It used to be that dirt came and went. It was all a matter of a news cycle or two. Now the dirt lives on and on, and makes a career of itself. It is simply shocking the number of people who put bread on the table by not letting tawdriness die. It’s the system that needs the make over.”

To which I add a hearty “Amen Maureen!”

The sleaze of the Jones matter has had lots of company. Books, like the “Dark side of Camelot”, and the TV deluges of O.J. Bobbit, Amy Fisher, and such. It is comforting to see a well-known columnist like Ms. Dowd put the blame where it belongs. She’ll takes pot shots at any one, including Clinton, but her insights, and shots, are never through muddied glasses.

I had no sooner finished writing the above when a new scandal engulfs the front pages. Some former white house internee with a Polish sounding name apparently liked the coverage Ms. Jones was receiving, so why not give it a shot. It is no credit to our culture to note the Polish Pope’s historic visit to Cuba is given less space in the newspaper, than a Polish descendant’s sexual fantasies. But as the “they say”:

“It sells newspapers!” but isn’t that just proof of the point?

I can acknowledge that “anything” involving our President is news, but for how long, and to what extent? These questions are the things Maureen Dowd thinks about which the media should be concerned. They should lead, not be led.

Enough preaching, and it’s not even a Su11day. Nor do I believe any of you who suffer these ramblings are not in some agreement with Ms. Dowd.

But more to the ramblings: I read about a writer who having learned that Gandhi believed one should be silent at least one day a week The writer decided to try it and chose Sunday as his day. He has been at it now three years. It has presented some interesting situations. I don’t think I could do it. I do enjoy the solitude of the long run and the quiet of the early morning as the world awakens. It heightens my awareness of the surroundings and the problems of the day. It helped solve some of them, as sometimes the “committee of a good night sleep” does. He, this advocate of silence, even had dates and wooed his wife while engaged in his Sunday Silence. He humorously reports that she loved it. He would just nod or shake his head. She did all the talking. I am sure there are times when June and other wives would loved to have that opportunity! Silence is Golden.

Mary and John MacDonald have come to visit. They were the couple that introduced us to Disney’s Magic Kingdom and Epcot. Mary is June’s sister. I still remember the skepticism with which I approached our first visit and how easily I learned it wasn’t just for kids. We will begin the month of February with a three-day visit to the kingdom. We will also visit MGM and Universal Studios and, maybe, Sea world. I am like a little boy again looking forward to being entertained (the trip has been postponed to the first week in March). The weather predicted made it seem a wise move, so my “looking forward” has been extended.

John is the CEO and founder of “Impact”. It is a non-profit corporation located in Kensington providing employment and vocational education to low income Philadelphians. He is also the golf director and coach, of the Temple University Golf Team. He is a golfer himself. He was the club champion at Melrose CC three years in a row. Last year he and his son David arrived against different opponents in the semi-finals. They both lost avoiding, if both had won, a final with father against son,

He came down to attend the golf coaches’ convention in Orlando. He called, while there, one night to say he had gotten in a round. His score was 73! That is approximately 30 strokes better than my best. It is only one stroke over par for a certified 18-hole course.

With John in Orlando, we took Mary to see that other theme park in Central Florida: Busch Gardens. It was a day of remarkable entertainment. We saw animals perform, then humans, and in between even had some popcorn. The animals were dolphins and a seal. They put on a water show where the fish are literally flying. The reached heights of twenty to thirty feet straight up out of the water and flew over ropes held nearly as high. They danced standing upright across the pool gyrating to the rocking music. The seal could easily be awarded the “Best Ham” prize for the manner in which he clapped his fins and encouraged the audience to join him in praising his efforts. The day’s entertainment started with them, and then we moved on to the humans. Things even got better. We had an International Music Festival in Der Festhaus while we chewed our lunch. They sang and danced the favorites of many countries, from Italy, to Spain, to Ireland, to Germany and even to U.S. At times we were encouraged, and did, join in the singing, especially songs like “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling”, and “Harrigan”, or “YMCA!” After lunch we were captivated by an ice show. “Hollywood on Ice” is beautiful people singing and skating to music from the movies. It was the second time June and I had seen it (although I think I nodded off the prior time) and it was just as fascinating to watch. Following these lyrical interludes we hit the musical highlight of the day, a show of young people entitled “American Juke Box”. They sang and danced to music of the jukebox and more from 1940 through 1990. The voices were outstanding. We were sitting in an outdoor theater not more than 15 feet from the stage and the voices were beautiful to hear. The energy, the movement of the show left you breathless. The age of the performers ranged from 18 to 28…June asked one of the performers who came out to greet us good byes. We agreed it w»s tough to tag any one them as near 28.

Our last performance was something entirely different. A group of Russian gymnasts and jugglers performed their “last” show after two year run in Busch’s Stanleyville Theater (we learned that from the people directly in front of us in the first row who were there just because of that.) They were comic performers doing balancing feats that made you hold your breath; tumbling and juggling that had you laughing. They were called “Ashikin Group”. They had a great number of loyal fans and when they finished, from the middle of the crowd came a sign in

“Russian”: “We love you, good bye!” The same people who advised us it was their last show provided the translation. Next show at the Stanleyville is Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra!

In between shows we viewed Orangutans and Gorillas roaming and chowing down in their habitats; rode the monorail over the African veldt, where we watch flying gazelles, roaming rhinos; gazed at tigers, white and yellow, playing in their backyards. It was a delightful, entertaining and educational outing. Come on down!

Mary and John visit gave us an opportunity to be tourist guides. We took them on the ride through the beaches. We start at Madeira Beach in the southern end, where we first staved in Florida when John was in the Veteran’s Hospital in 1991. We drive north through Madeira Beach, Reddington Beach, Indian Shores, Sand Key, to Clearwater Beach. Here is one of our favorite luncheon (or dinner) places, called

“Shepherds “A buffet that handles any kind of hunger. We did some walking about the beach area and their pier. We headed home with a promise to return to Madeira Beach to watch the sun going down. As it turned out we just made the beach as the Sun sat upon the horizon ready to descend. It was a glorious and radiant as ever. June, pointed out, however, that being up four stories, as we were the previous Sunday in Hurricane, at PasdeGrille, gives you a better view. It enables you to see the reflection of the sun on the water. But even on the ground the Sunsets here are breathtaking.

The earth moving as we watch the sun disappear brings to mind a story of a young man, who upon first learning this fact, tries an experiment. He jumps as high as he can. He does it several times. He then says to the person who had informed him that the earth moves, and the sun stays still…”Well, if that’s so how come every time I jump up in the air, I come down in the same spot?” Good question! I guess it just doesn’t move fast enough, but when you watch the sun disappear into the Gulf it seems amazing how fast it happens. It seems, if the earth moves that fast, the young man should come down in a different spot.

Did you ever notice when you buy a new car, or a new model of anything, that shortly thereafter you seem to see them everywhere? Well, I’m having that experience with “Winnie the Pooh”. I suppose I should be precise “Winnie ille Pu” my Latin version of the classic. I now have seen several people, young and old, in the supermarket wearing “Winnie the Pooh” T-shirt, sweat shirts, etc. I noticed Mary, June’s sister, had a Winnie sweatshirt. Then the climax, Winnie makes the news! A Lady Minister in Parliament, with the extraordinarily British name of Lady Gwyneth Dunwoody, (I’m not kidding!), is lamenting the fact that the original stuffed toys that inspired A.A. Milne’s story are on display in a New York city Library! It seems that Dutton Publishing Co. brought Pooh, Tigger, Eyeore, Kanga, and Piglet over here for a promotion in 1947. They were brought with A.A. Milne’s permission. In 1987 the Publishing house donated them to the Library with the condition that they be publicly displayed. Ms. Dunwoody’s lamentation:” I saw them recently and they looked very unhappy indeed” And further: “I am not surprised considering they have been incarcerated in a glass case in a foreign country” The complaint arose just as the British Prime Minister, Tony Blair, is coming to meet with President Clinton regarding Iraq. We have been assured that the plight of the Pooh stuffed animals is not on their agenda! As Piglet might say “Oh! Me!”

Incidentally for those who care, I am still struggling with the Latin Winnie ille Pu. But in between I’m reading the Book of Ruth from the Old Testament. It goes down a lot easier thar1 the idioms and slang of Christopher Robin and Pooh Bear.

We wish you all a Happy Valentine’s Day. The end of the month brings Ash Wednesday. I was surprised to learn our Lutheran Church here dispenses ashes. I had the idea it was strictly an RC practice. It is never too late to learn. Until next time, stay well and as happy as you can…see ya!

February 26, 1998

Dear Ron & Mary:

Well now you have the one-year mark properly celebrated for the guys next is College Graduation. It seems to me that that’s the way it went, with occasionally pauses in between for high school, grade school camping trips, boy scouts, cub scouts, shore trips, other trips, and stuck in there somewhere we made a living and ate and slept…but then there are times it seems so long ago I have difficulty remembering any of it!!! I am sure it was a great party and I just learned my documentary producer, Tommy, forgot his digital camera so we’ll just have to be satisfied with scanned photos of the affair!

We are having a great time with Marge and Dan. They arrived Monday night and we haven’t stopped yet…tomorrow we’re off to the Everglades for a weekend. We did manage to squeeze in a Lenten Service yesterday to start lent and as noted above I was surprised to learn the Lutheran Church dispenses ashes. We really got “dispensed”. Each of us had such a black cross on our forehead it could be seen a block away. June cheated and pulled her bangs down over it to hide it!

Thm1ks for the e-mail, Mary, and we are open all the time for any more you care to send. Give the guys hugs for me and consider yourselves equally hugged…

Love, Dad