Author: admin

I have been reading John Mortimer’s biography, entitled “Murders and Other Friends”. John Mortimer is a Barrister, playwright, novelist, but is probably best known for the “Rumpole of Old Bailey” TV series. His stories have appeared starring Leo Kern. He also produced for TV “Brideshead Revisited”. In his biography he tells of an incident that reminded me of one I heard from my lawyer Dad and saw in writing in an alleged fictional version. So I am not sure now that it ever happened in fact. But Mortimer’s did and makes the same point…the fickleness of the juror.

Mortimer’s report is as follows: “I’m settling into the back of a London taxi when the driver calls over his shoulder, ‘You still doing those cases down the Old Bailey, are you?’ ‘I’m afraid not’ was he a potential customer? ‘I haven’t done one of them for about ten years.’

“I did wonder. I was on the jury in that case you were doing when the bomb went off.”

I remember it well. A young man had filled his care with petrol and driven off without paying. A policeman who tried to stop him got lodged on the bonnet. The officer was unhurt but the young man was charged with attempted murder. The judge was quite unusually pompous. Just as he finished his summing up I saw a note being passed to him by the usher. He unfolded it slowly and spoke with great deliberation, “Members of the jury, I have just received a note which tells me’-and then the words carne tumbling out in a panic – “there’s a bomb outside the court!!!’ “Whereat, his lordship shot out of the door like a greyhound from a trap. The bomb duly went off, breaking a good deal of glass. No one was injured except my client’s mother whose leg was cut and a very stout, eccentric barrister named James Crespi, who was taken to the hospital saying, ‘I have a great deal of affection for the Old Bailey, so when the bomb was about to go off I interposed my body between it and the building.”

Later we stood in the street and the judge consulted his books to see if you could take a jury’s verdict in Ludgate Circus. The books said no, so we eventually returned to court. The judge repeated his summing up and the young petrol-stealer was acquitted.

‘You were a very kind-hearted jury. ‘I tell the taxi driver, ‘you let my client off’.

‘Oh, that’s all right,’ he assures me. ‘You see, you always said good morning to us when you came into court and the prosecuting gentleman never said good morning to us’.

Strangely enough this incident doesn’t cause me to lose faith in the jury system or the “virtues of politeness”.

I hadn’t meant to make these jottings an excerpt from John Mortimer’s book (it read a lot faster than it typed). But the point is there…Jury’s or jurors sometime make a decision on completely inconsequential and non-relevant concepts or events.

Now my Dad’s story, which as I noted above I later read as applying to a fictitious attorney, is similar. A defense attorney is finishing a case and is about to leave the courtroom when the Judge stops him. He advises him he wants him to represent the next defendant. He is to do it pro bono of course. The attorney’s protests fall on deaf ears and the case is called. It is a murder charge against and Defendant once convicted of murder or with a record as bad as that. The case begins and the attorney realizes the evidence against his client is overwhelming and his client is of no help insisting he is innocent. The prosecution ends and the attorney attempts to begin argument to the jury with the express purpose of delaying till court ends for the day. He begins with a history of man from the biblical story of Adam and Eve, and the alleged murder of Cain, etc., etc. He accomplishes his end when the Judge agrees the court should be closed for the day.

The attorney leaves, still undecided as to what he can truthfully and effectively say to defend his client. He wanders the street and then stops in a church to rest. He falls asleep and awakens to morning. He rushes to the office changes and is off to court. He has thought of nothing to improve his client’s position with the jury. He sums up the best he can, pointing to the few weakness in the Prosecution’s case. He rests. After several hours of deliberation the jury returns with an acquittal!

He is dumbfounded! Several weeks later he happens upon one of the jurors in a bus. She is happy to say hello and reminds him of the case. He then broaches the subject of the acquittal and asks if she could, without disclosing any confidences, explain how they arrived at the decision. She responds, with a bit of brogue: “Shurean when I saw you at holy Mass that morning, I knew no client of yours could be guilty of murder!”

Certainly, the story is a bit of a distortion of the whimsy of the jury, but then, after reading John Mortimer’s story it seems more plausible. My father had no doubts that it was just such a thing that could sway a jury. I bow to his wisdom.

I haven’t been before a Jury in over 25 years. In trying to recall an example of their whimsy I find I can’t. I suppose one explanation is I had all good juries, the other is I was just lucky…been so all my life starting with being number 13 in the family. The only recollection I have of those days is one I reported previously about the dissatisfaction of my client who was acquitted of felonious assault against one victim and held guilty of only conspiracy to murder against another. It was a gang slaying case in the 70’s. He expressed his “dissatisfaction” in remarking after three days of trial and the verdict, prior to any “thank you”… “You means I’s gotta go to jail!”

The dinner with Bill, Bunny, Jerry and Betty Hopkins was a smash…the cuisine was June-Extraordinaire! Her salmon special. The company was just as scintillating and even fun! Bill King brought one of those mimeographed race results I’ve been talking about. It was the 5^th Philadelphia Marathon. Dec. 1, 1974. It listed the winner as Bill Rogers later to be a four-time winner of the Boston. It also noted that the 1^st Master was Bill King in 2hrs, 47 min. and the “2nd Master” was yours truly in 2hrs 54 min…I think he wanted every one to know he beat me?! In the twenty years of racing with Bill King I beat him one time in 1974 and he keeps those results in his scrapbook with a heavy black frame around it…to remind him of his off day!

Reading further in Mortimer’s bio I came across a surprise: He is relating about another of his books entitled “Summer Lease” based on his experiences renting houses on the continent (usually in south France or Italian Riviera sections) He goes on, “the book contains a lecherous old journalist, author an appalling column called JOTTINGS which he fills with random and frequently pretentious thoughts.” Boy did I jump! I certainly hope that my readers do not apply these labels to this old author (lecherous or not.) Nor do I want to believe that what I have recorded are “pretentious thoughts” – maybe boastful, self-important, and boring perhaps, but NOT pretentious.

It is now tax day 1996 and I am back at the machine after a two-week plus absence. June and I had a great time in St. Petersburg, FL Warm weather, warm friends, and the generosity of Rich and Shirley made our Easter ’96 a memorable one. I won’t bore you with the details (no pretentious thoughts either!) but will pass on the highlights at a later time. We have made three visits to this country of St. Petersburg and this time we signed an agreement to purchase a property with a view towards seeing it more often, and some day maybe permanently…We have a time table and a ARM mortgage of three years. We also have a dividend of having the property presently rented. It, the rent, will pay the mortgage and the agent-former (we hope) owner is going to see to any new tenant if we so desire. The present tenants are a young couple, she is an RN and he runs his business from the home. They are looking for a residence. They may leave in August ‘96 or continue looking.

So that this may arrive sometime in April I am closing this month’s jottings…I’ll add a salutation and valedictorian…as I can.

Bill King, the premier running historian, has added some corrections and footnotes to my February reveries. He recalled the Tom Osler story about Tom’s name appearing in paper as the winner of a run. However, a few important corrections are: the parties were Ed Dodd and Neil Weygandt and the distance was not 50K, but 50 Miles (!). Both Neil and Ed are ultra-marathoners and the distance is not one that would frighten them. It also would not be the kind of item too many people could challenge or care about back there in the 70’s nor even now.

His addition to the story of Brownie’ s “Oh! The hell with it follow the guy in front of you!” was a reminder about a very good runner in those days named Moses Mayfield. Moses usually won whatever road race he chose to run. So appropriately Bill recalls an incident when Brownie remarked after making a stab at the directions, was: “Oh! The heck with it! Just follow Moses!” (With a nod to the Biblical admonition: “And he shall lead you from bondage…”)

The run I mentioned in Haddonfield to the national park, or center, was called, Bill added, the “Jonas Cattel” It was nine point seven miles (9.7). A point-to-point run and maybe “Jonas Cattel” was the name of the place where it ended. He, Bill, wasn’t sure. As fate would have it in the mail this week (2/10/96) came an ad for a run, of all places Haddonfield. It was a 15^th Anniversary. The big difference however, is that typical of running today: It has Four different distances, 5K, Kings Mile, 1 mile run/walk, and a Kid’s fifty yard dash!! Ten Sponsors, including Archer & Greiner P.C. (Frank Allen’s law firm), and a race day breakfast, from 8:30 till 11:00. The folder contained four typed pages, with directions, awards, and computer application form which permits you to put the whole thing, the meal, race entry, contribution, and what ever else you want on you VISA or MC card…My have times changed!!

I thought Brownie was an innovator in those early days when he used tongue depressors with numbers printed or written on them. As you crossed the finish line some one would hand you one, and then you would turn it in to the record keeper. He would then record your place in the finish. Now they just scan your number or they just tear off the bottom part and place it on a spindle while someone just clicks on a counter the place.

Mentioning Moses Maysfield reminded me of incident back then. There was a run that covered Long Beach Island from end to end. It was approximately 18.5 miles, from Holgate to the Barnegate Lighthouse. In 1973 the run was dedicated to the Israel Wrestlers who were killed at the ’72 Olympics in Munich, Germany. It was only fitting that “Moses” won the race that day making even more apt the Biblical admonition “And he shall lead them…”

Bill added a story of his own about Tom Osler. The champ was PhD holder in Mathematics and a college professor. He also wrote a column for the early Runner’s World. It happened that one such column was entitled “How to run injury free” or some such similar title. Tom had done so for years. As luck, or fate, would have it, before the next issue Tom was injured. He then in good humor added a footnote to his next column about the physician healing himself.

I had planned to return to Meaghan’s Grandpa questions. I took a peek as what was the next subject. It was “My Home” and it referred to the “house you lived in” or home. After the checking that night I had a dream about the house at 4116 Baltimore Ave. I could see the front with the steps going up under the v-shaped porch roof. It was so clear that I promised myself that when I awoke I would sit down and sketch this Victorian structure for her. It never happened, I couldn’t put on paper that which my mind clearly saw. Michelangelo or even Norman Rockwell, I’m not, but there it was clearly on the left side of Baltimore Avenue as you go down the hill, either walking or in a trolley car. It’s in the middle of the block, attached on its left side to the red brick wall of an apartment house. The apartment house extended out to the sidewalk, while the house at 4116 sat back from it with a small grass plot surrounded by a low iron fence in front of it. I never remember anyone cutting the grass in that plot. It could be it was done while we were at the shore. But I do remember a handy man or handy men who worked around the place. I suppose they were working off a fee. One name that sticks with me was “Charlie”. If he ever had a last name I know I never heard it nor remember it.

Sitting back beyond the grass plot was the “Porch”. It was “L” shaped with the short part of the “L” running parallel to Baltimore Avenue. It ran from the apartment house wall for about 30 feet and it ended at the entranceway. It was a set of five or six steps about six feet across with railings of iron. The steps went up and under an upside-down v-shaped facade of yellow and brown. When you reached the top step you had another 20 to 22 feet, the long part of “L”, to walk to reach the front door. That door was huge by today’ s standard unless you are familiar with some of the old houses in center city on Pine or Locust streets. It was made of a mahogany with the upper half being thick cut glass. Over the door was a “transom” which is no longer found on the doors of today? On the transom were the gold leafed large numbers “4116”. The door opened into a “vestibule” or anteroom of tile floor with large mirrored clothing and hat rack. (For the word-watcher: “Vestibule” is French word derived from the Latin: vestibulum, an entrance hall) The room was just a little deeper than the width of the door, which was about 4 feet. You would then turn left to enter the house proper. You would immediately be facing another set of doors. These were two. Both made of the same mahogany with cut glass filling the upper half.

Once you entered these doors you could see across the hallway was a stairway starting up with three or four steps and then turning right and rising up along the wall. That would be the apartment house wall on the outside. To your immediate left as you stood in the vestibule entryway, was the entrance to the parlor. It was covered with drapes which were usually pulled back to permit you to enter and see the two large windows that rose from the floor to the ceiling looking out on Baltimore Ave. I have very few recollections of sitting in the “Parlour” (note, it was not a “parlor”). I remember it being the room in which wakes were held. I also remember coming home from school and finding Mother and Catherine (our live-in baby-sitter) crouched next to the radio. It was a Zenith console that stood three feet tall and had automatic station finder. They would be listening to a soap usually “Stella Dallas” or the like. Later in the evening on certain nights we would listen to “Jack Benny” or “Fred Allen Show” or the “Lone Ranger”. Our main congregating room was a second floor sitting room with an alcove that ran out over the back kitchen and looked out on the garage roof. The room had a piano and walls filled from one end to the other, from the top of the bookcases to the ceiling, with pictures – pictures of the children. One row when the child was a baby, next row when the child received Holy Communion, and then above a picture of Mother with the child, or the children, as they moved along the wall and the numbers increased to end with a family portrait. There was an abundance of pictures of Rosemary. It was later explained that as little babe or shortly thereafter she had an unusual operation to remove a tumor from her abdomen. They feared the worst so many pictures were taken to preserve her memory. She, as we all know, survived and as they say: “the rest is history!”

Meaghan’ s book next question is: “Describe your yard was it big?” Our yard was not big. It was all concrete and used mostly for the hanging of clothes. Just beyond the yard was our garage and we could enter it from the yard and then go out through the garage automobile doors to the street or alley. Our garage was the end of the alley. It extended from our garage door to the city street, a block away, viz., Chester Avenue. The alley was about 10 feet across with curbing on either side which was about 2 feet wide running to the walls (wooden) of the property on either side. The surface was brick. Here was where we played mostly when around the house or we would go to the park, Clark’s (which we mentioned before as having the only statute in the world of Charles Dickens and his character Little Nell). Over the automobile entrance to the garage were a basketball backboard and a hoop. We even sometimes had a net in the hoop but most of the time it was just a “hoop”. Here we played pick-up games, and “horse”, etc. Dribbling was art since the brick surface was uneven and along the side was the curbing, which tended to deflect the ball in erratic directions. The walls on either side of the small sidewalks were the out of bounds so it was like playing in a cage.

Next she asks, “Did you have your own room?” No, shared it with at least two brothers most of the time. On occasion it moved up to four. It was a large dormitory-like room with bunk beds. It was the front room third floor, which had an alcove looking out over Baltimore Avenue. It had a large desk in another alcove along the apartment house wall. In that one was a roll top desk with several cubby holes in which you could hide things, and two or three drawers under the desk with cabinets with glass doors across the top, while sitting at the desk on your left was a radiator and a large window with a good size windowsill. The window faced Baltimore Avenue. Having the radiator there made it a good place to do your homework in the winter but I remember doing it more often down on the kitchen table under the supervision of my Mom.

I had intended to end my recalling of the house on Baltimore Avenue, but June and I went to Cape May on Friday and one more image came back. It was the tower that ran from the third floor roof up into the sky. It was the corner of the building and where the alcove was in the third floor front bedroom. Seeing all the Victorian houses in Cape May reminded me of the witches’ hat that sat on the corner of our roof. So I thought I should add it! Just to show how old the old homestead was.

We are now in March. We spent the weekend using our children’s Christmas gifts – the certificate to the Golden Inn from Mike and Cindy, and the cash from the McSorley’s. We left Wednesday night and visited with the Hopkins at their favorite Casino. June managed to walk away a winner. It was a great way to start the weekend. We checked in at the Golden Inn, which was having a Big Band Weekend, with Al Alberts…late of the Four Aces. We had music and dancing every night and even Dixie land for Sunday Brunch. Friday we visited Cape May with the thought of obtaining a place for a week in the summer. After a day of walking the entire front of Cape May City we ended up taking a week at the Golden Inn. The week will not be disclosed until later in this broadcast. We even drove to Ocean City and checked out its environs from 34^th to 58^th Street but still felt the best deal was there at the Golden Inn. Amen! The weather was not very cooperative. We did get a good walk in Friday, but Saturday the view was more of Vermont than “New Joisey”. A wet snow decorated the gazebos and the sand dunes to make it a winter wonderland.

We also celebrated “Leap-Day” February 29^th. It is the extra day we receive every four years. The next one will be in the year 2000. Sounds like science fiction to be talking in terms of the “year two thousand!” It was a time to note that the ancient Babylonians, the Greeks, and Egyptians all tinkered with the calendar. They would add leap days and even leap “months” to get it straight. The problems were they were using the moon, or lunar, months…which could be 29 or 30 days. But a dozen lunar months never jived with the annual cycle of the sun or year. So that as one wag wrote,” A senator in the forum could say ‘same time next year’ and it could mean almost anytime” What they did know was that the solar year ticks away at 365 days five hours and a few seconds. It was Pope Gregory XIII who, in 1582 ordered the adoption of the calendar we now have with its four 30-day months, seven 31-day months, and February with its extra “leap” day every four years.

This all sounds so simple until you talk to a physicist or astronomer and they start talking about how to calculate a “second”. The figure they arrive at could fill the line across this page. I also learned that they believe the earth’s rotation is slowing down by milliseconds (?) per year. But at the rate it is doing so I don’t think it will be a problem for me (or any one who reads this since the number of years necessary to make a correction will find us gone from this planet).

Came across some great similes, which I am pleased to pass along. They were by Lauch Faircloth, Republican Senator from North Carolina, and recorded by Francis X Clines of the N.Y. Times during some hearings. He states that getting information out of the White House is: “…like eating ice cream with a knitting needle”, or “…like skinning a hippopotamus with a letter opener” or, “like teaching a kangaroo to do the limbo”. LET A SIMILE BE YOUR UMBRELLA (W. Safire) SEE YA!!

Its 6 AM and, in the dark and swirling wind, I am running on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. In the Casino lights I can see the mist and fog blowing in from the Sea.

The temperature is somewhere around 30 degrees and the wind makes it seem like I’m going uphill. It is my first run of 1996. The 30 inches of snow and the ice of the preceding week made even the thought of trying to do so evaporate.

As I run, I reminisced of the times in the past I had run on this boardwalk. Al and Frank Wick and I had dinner together on Tuesday of this week and we talked about the run from Longport to Absecon Inlet in the early seventies. It ended on the boardwalk. You left the beach at Orient Avenue, I think, and finished on the boardwalk in the Inlet. It seems to me that later in the seventies the boardwalk did not go that far due to storms having washed it away. The last time I ran on the boardwalk was the St Patrick’s Ten Miler in March of ’95 with Bill and Paul Jr. The time before that was the 10K in October of ’94 to celebrate my return from the bypass. It started in the front of the Showboat Casino and went out to the inland waterway and then back on the boardwalk. You then ran down and back on the boards ending at the Showboat. Where I was running this blustery dark morning was part of that 10K run. Today was also the second anniversary of my ambulance trip to Hahanmen in ’94. The boardwalk, the run, and the past led me to revive some notes I saved over the years of things that happened, stories I heard about and of running.

One is about Tom Osler. He was I believe a professor at Glouchester State College in the late 60’s or early 70’s. It is difficult to confirm this since most runners seldom spoke of their job or the life outside of running. Even family was not discussed unless it was in relation to the sport… like, “Does your wife run? Or your son?” So whether he was a professor or a gunrunner I don’t really know but it is not material to the story. I first heard of Tom through either Bill King or Browning Ross (founder of Road Running Clubs in America). They either had met him, or read his book, Training for Long Distance Running. A small brochure in what looked like typewriter print and bound by staples but for many in those early years the bible…if you bothered to read at all about “how to”. He was entitled to write a book since he was the MAAU Road Running Champion of the 20K, I think 1965-8 (?).

Now the story: In those days when the guys decided to go for a long run they would schedule it. Like, “How about we meet on Sunday at…such and such a place and go for 20?” It was expected that the proposer would pick the route and the time would be generally agreed upon. Well, it seems, as reported to me by Harry Berkowitz and Browning Ross, that Tom scheduled one such run. They were to go 30 miles. They met with Tom and off they went. He left them in the dust or such, in any event, they lost him. They continued their run and thought nothing of it. It happens sometimes. A guy feels good, or he wants to go bit harder then the rest so he takes off…no big deal. However, the next day Harry noticed a “fill-in” item on the Sports Page…”Tom Osler wins the MAAU Road Runner’s 50 K.” or the likes.

This could have only have happened before the running explosion that came after Frank Shorter won the Olympic Marathon. (1972) Running was “in” then, and thus even the sports page would take note, on occasion, of a run. Running was not a “fill-in” anymore.

Speaking of Tom Osler, and his book, recalls a recommendation he made therein: “Get good shoes if you were going to do some serious running.” He recommended “hush puppies”! I doubt if you could buy such things today, or if the salesman ever heard of them. The only “running” shoe was a sneaker… it was used for almost all athletic events in those days except maybe tennis, and the sports requiring a cleated shoe. So hush puppy was an incipient running shoe. It was a shoe, yet soft enough to take some of the pounding. So Tom wasn’t all “hot dog”. He clearly knew something about running.

Browning Ross or “Brownie”, as he was known to most, was the Pan American Games 1500 Meter Champ in 1948. I think that was his last year at Villanova. He later ran in two Olympics 1952 and 1956 He may also have been in the 1948 Olympics, but not in the 1500. I believe he ran the steeplechase for USA in the ’52 and’56 games. He was the founder of the Road Runners of America in the late ’50’s long before running was “in”. He had the first paper or magazine I ever saw on the sport of Road Running. He published the “race results” in a mimeograph sheet. It had little more than that. However, on one occasion there was a report that has stayed with me over the years.

The run was around the river. It was in ’70 or maybe ’71. The total number of runners was perhaps 30. It started at the public boathouse and also ended there after a tour around the Museum, up the West River Drive, and down the then East River Drive now the Kelly Drive. It was 8.3 miles. In Brownie’s report he would put the place, the time, and if you did not make it he would add your name at the bottom of the list and put DNF (Did Not Finish). In this particularly run we had a tragedy of sorts. A runner collapsed and even though there was a doctor in the run who offered assistance, and EMTs were on the scene in minutes, he died. We later learned he had severe fibrillation of the heart muscle and it caused his death. We also learned later that he had suffered from a Rheumatic Heart as a child and it was the running that made it possible for him to live to the age of 35. However, in the report of the race by Brownie he had to put him at the bottom of the page with a DNF. But then he added to be more precise, “RIP”! For those unfamiliar with Latin, it means in English, “May he rest in peace”!

Another story of Brownie’s occurred in the early Seventies. We had a run starting on King’s Highway in Haddonfield. There were 30 or 40 runners. All or most of whom were there because of Brownie. Most had run with him or in runs similar to this one. The run distance was maybe five miles or so. It was from there to a National Veteran’s Cemetery somewhere along the Delaware below Camden. I can’t remember the name of it. There were no extra people at these runs – no one to stop traffic, give directions, etc., etc. In any event Brownie stood at the head of the pack and gave us directions something like this: “We go out Kings Highway to North Street, turn left, then down West St. 2 or 3 miles to Alpine St., and then …OH! The Heck with it! ! Just follow the guy in front of you!” Now that’s how competitive these things were…Of course I had no problem with this type of instructions, since there would always be a “guy in front” of me. But the others who might reasonably be concerned never seemed to be…so off we went. The run was the thing, not the race.

This certainly is enough running stories for a while. The month of February is here and the snow has returned to Philly. I am beginning to feel that we moved and now are living somewhere in upstate New York. Speaking of moving, this weekend is the move for Mary and Ron to Yardley, Pa…to become the “Yakes of Yardley”. The new address will be Apt #1013, 300 S. Main St.Yardley, Pa. 19067. The phone number, though not operable at this time (2/2/96) is 1-215-321-5063…We wish them well in their endeavor and hope to give them an assist on Sunday…depending on whether we have to go by sled or not.

I’ll end here with a hope in the next issue to continue to fill in Meaghan’s book.

I came across an old familiar verse I liked. It is by Alexander Pope (1688-1744):

“A little knowledge is a dangerous thing;

Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian* spring:

There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,

And drinking largely sobers us again.”

(*Of Muses or the arts) SEE YA!!

A review is in order since a new year is nearly upon us. It reveals that I have been jotting since 1992 and reveries or memories of things past seem to please my captive audience, more than thoughts of things present. This being the case I will continue in the same vein (or is vain, more appropriate?)

On a brisk walk the other day I was musing about how “E-Mail” is similar to a thought or feeling. It seems so in its instantaneousness. I think of you and I express a few words on a screen and boom!! It’s in your possession! I still enjoy the old face-to-face expression of thoughts and feelings, but when the one “thought-about” is far away, it feels great to know you can reach them immediately as a thought. This Sunday’s Times (1/7/96) ran an article about E-Mail J! This was after I had written the above.

It reads: “One of the unexpected marvels of this era is the revival of correspondence, not in handwritten letters on water marked stationery, but in the swelling torrent of hastily banged out electronic computer missives. E-mail has such a reputation for speed that technophiles have long sneered at the inefficient “snail mail” delivered by the Postal Service. But while E-mail zips along at nearly the speed of light, sometimes the snail mail gets there first” The Article then goes one to explain some of the problems slowing down E-mail…from one net to another with examples of some taking days to cross the city of New York! It ends with the assurance that like the USPO or snail mail the solutions are coming with competition as the catalysis making it happen.

A footnote to the trip to Lewisburg: As I was writing it I had a feeling or inclination that someone was with me when I went to Lewisburg. I could not recall whom. Later I was talking with Suzie and for some reason mentioned the story of the trip would be in the Jottings. Bang! She says, “I remember that, because I went with you!”

Mystery solved. She believed it was a visit to a mass murderer or someone as criminally involved… I didn’t reveal (on the phone) who and why he was in prison, like any storyteller I said, “You’ll have to read about it in the Jottings!”

Along memory lane we received a new surprise. Tony Durkin, my Administrator when I served as Commissioner of Records, sent me two pages photocopied from a book entitled “Long Day’s Journey” (pp. 499&500). The chapter is entitled “Hour 39”. It appears, from the reading, to be a summary of events taking place on or around the day of the Pearl Harbor (Dec. 7, 1941) bombing. One section talks of what “Tojo” is and was doing as the news of the bombing circles the world.

The next paragraph begins: “Father Gordon was up, he thought, before the others at Notre Dame Academy in Midsayap. Looking out his window in the darkness, he saw a fire across the road in the yard of the girls’ dormitory. It was only five o’clock but the boys were cooking breakfast. Fr. [Frank] McSorley said the Mass and gave a fine sermon on our Blessed Mother.”

I don’t want to type the whole excerpt but will send it along later. What happens next is that they hear over the radio that the Japanese has bombed Pear Harbor and Davao. Davao is in the same province as they are, Cotabato, a mere 150 miles away.

Tony received the clippings from another employee of the Records Department, Bob McAdams. He assures me Bob will see that I get to read the book. It has something to do with events in America 50 years ago (published in 1991).

The year has begun, 1996 is with us. We celebrated its arrival with a dinner of friends. Bill & Bunny King, Betty and Jerry Hopkins, Paul and Marie Keeley, John and Mary MacDonald, and Dan and Marge Walsh. We include even relatives as “friends” in that my sister Marge and June’s sister Mary MacDonald celebrated with us. It was grand meal and a great simple but fulfilling way to start a new year. No pun was intended but it was fulfilling in both ways…in the company and the food.

A review of the past Jottings indicates that I last tried to answer Meaghan’s Questions to Grandpa in October. I promised to return so…as my one new year’s resolution. I’ll try once again. Her next group of questions concern “Growing Up” In which she asks: Grandpa did you ever go to the hospital? Did you ever have stitches or broken bones? What type of transportation did you have? Do you remember any Long trips? What were your favorite outdoor activities? What pets did you have and what were their names? Who was your best friend? Tell me about him?

The questions boggle the memory. I find it tougher and tougher to go back. The one advantage I do have is that only part of my audience, my brothers and sisters, can corroborate my recollections.

So let me begin: My best friend from 1st grade right through high school and beyond was Jerry Connell. He was the nephew of a classmate, or friend, of Winnie’s, Rita Scanlon (?). I flunked first grade (the excuse was I started too young…) Sr. Saint Arthur, I.H.M. advised Mom, I believe, that I should repeat the grade. It was the only time I was ever left back in the next 19 years of schooling! The happy good fortune was that Jerry started in First grade in my second time around. He lived at 4537 Larchwood Avenue, which was on the way to high school, West Catholic. While we were attending there we met almost every morning. I have just vague recollections of our getting together before then. I was a Scout and so was he. Troop 96…0ur scoutmaster at one time was Ed Crippen. We met in the basement of a Protestant (I think Methodist) Church. The Romans had no such organization, nor would they allow one in those days. Jerry and I were not in the same homeroom in H. S. but we both had an interest in Track. He ran I think the hurdles and the dashes. He made some of the relay teams. Somewhere in 2^nd or 3^rd year he stopped running. However, he kept in by managing. So we were track enthusiasts and players right through H. S. He and I both kept that interest. In 1994 he was a timer at the Penn Relays 20 K. He showed me a medal he received for going out west to help with the Summer Olympics (’92?).

I have to smile J! I start out answering one question and then run on and on all around the memory. June says I should just answer the question: “Who was your best friend? Tell me about him?” Answer: “Jerry Connell, we went to school together”. Now where in the world would you find a lawyer who would answer the question like that??!!

I am amazed however, at some of the specifics you recall, like Jerry’s house number and who the scoutmaster was and yet have difficulty recalling any meetings with the scouts or Jerry and I in grade school. Lady memory certainly is fickle, no? For example in mentioning Sister St. Arthur, reminds me that she taught all seven McSorley boys at St Francis deSales Grammar School. It would cover from 1919 to 1936. She made the point of telling anyone who cared to listen. It is probably why I still remember it!!

The Blizzard of ’96 has descended. It is now Monday the 8^th day of January. I need not give any statistics regarding the storm since the press, TV, and radio will be awash with them. I did get out early on Sunday Morning to obtain the Times and Inquirer, mail some bills, and pick up a head of cabbage for the Vegetable Soup about to be made.

Since then I’ve been out only to get more wood. June even took over that task today. So I am pleasuring in reading, writing, especially E-Mail responses, and adding to these pages. Hopefully it can be said that this “ill wind” has blown some good!

Meaghan asks: Did I ever go to the hospital? Yes, to have my tonsils removed. Rosemary, my sister and your aunt, and I did it together. I suppose I was 11 or 12 at the time. I particularly remember liking it because when I came home we HAD to eat ice cream and cold drinks! So the sore throat was compensated for royally. I don’t remember being stitched for any injury. It is likely that I just don’t remember it because if it happened it was probably done when I was where I shouldn’t have been.

Transportation…mostly walking. We used the trolleys a great deal and the elevated trains. But we walked to school, including H. S. I even remember coming home for lunch every day in grammar school. It was at 47th street and we lived between 41^st and 42^nd…so it was about 5 blocks or so. Unlike Bill Cosby we didn’t need to walk uphill in a roaring snowstorm to and from school. I also recall having to carry my big brother’s books on occasion. It was the price you paid for being the youngest boy.

Any long trips? Well, a trip to the shore in those days could sometimes qualify as a long trip. I remember going to Washington, D.C. to see my brother Frank ordained in the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in 1939. Not so much the ordination but a big breakfast or meal afterwards in a large fancy restaurant. I also have a vague recollection of two day or more trips up Newburgh and Poughkeepsie, NY to see I think Jim and Pat, but it could also have been Frank and Dick…since one was an OMI house (Newburgh) and the other was a Jesuit house (Poughkeepsie). The memory is so mixed up with trips to these places later and my own stay in Newburgh that I cannot be sure of it. I just came across a saying that belies the above. It is “Memory is more indelible than ink” (Loos) In this case the ink wins since I have no indelible imprints of the “long trips”. (And a lot of other things).

What outdoor activities? We had a basketball board attached onto the roof of our garage. The garage was the end of a small street. So we had a court of sorts. The out of bounds were the fences on either side of the street, both wooden. We also had to avoid the curbing that ran parallel to the fencing. The street was brick. It made for some interesting dribbling and very physical games. I also remember sledding in Clark’s Park, playing touch and tackle football in the same. We spent the summer in Sea Isle City so we got to swim in the ocean and once a summer had a treat (usually on Dad’s birthday weekend, July 15^th) by going over to Flander’s Pool, at the Flanders Hotel, in Ocean City, N.J. Scouting also brought some outdoor activity in hiking and overnight camping.

Meaghan, I can’t recall ever having a pet, like Pokey, when we lived at 4116 Baltimore Ave. Nor did we have one at the shore. So I’ll have to pass on that one.

I think now I have covered all the questions for this session. I’ll try to handle some in our next outing!

This will be it for a while. I am going to try sending this via E-Mail to my GOL. For the uninitiated are the “Gang On Line” which includes all of my gang except Mary and Ron, and includes the twins and Dan and Marge Walsh.

A new year and new beginnings reminded me of the following quote, “Its never too late in fiction or in life – to revise.” (Thayer)

 

As I begin the month is November, but by the time I finish it will be well into December, so it is and will be the “December Jottings”. The month of November is still creating things to be recorded in December. I am not talking about Christmas shopping. The “thing” referred to is a trip to Disney World in Orlando, Fla. The twin’s team won the Middle Atlantic Pop Warner 105 lb. Title, so they are off to Disney World for the National Championships. We, June and I, and the other Grand parents, Betty and Jerry, are going to see that they do it right and hope they win it all. We leave on Dec. 3^rd and return on the 11th.

The game in which they won the Middle Atlantic Title was played in Lock Haven, Pa. It was against a team from Franklin, N.J. Lock Haven is a town in the western part of Pa., near Williamsport, home of the Little League World Series, and where the boys stayed. It is also near Lewisburg, Pa, home of the Federal Prison. Noticing the signs for Lewisburg, as we drove through the area, reminded me of my last visit (and only one) to the Prison. It was in the early 1960’s. I was appointed by the Third Circuit Federal Appeals Court to represent a gentleman (?) convicted of car theft. It was not simple car theft; he had been a participator in a car theft ring. In those ancient times the work to be done for the client was to be pro bono, i.e., for the good of the profession, or in plain English, no fee could be charged. I made the four-hour trip to the prison to see my client. I interviewed him and learned that his conviction was for one count of some forty placed against him. His conviction had been the result of a plea bargain. Counsel had represented him. He accepted the conviction on one count and the other thirty-nine were dismissed. I could find no basis for an appeal. I made the four-hour trip back to Philadelphia and prepared to advise the court of my finding in the form of a motion to withdraw from the matter.

In those days, (before the memory of man) you were required to be specifically admitted to each court. It meant paying a fee and producing evidence of your being licensed by the Supreme Court of Penna. I had as a matter of fact been admitted to the Federal District Court, and all the other courts of the Pennsylvania Common Pleas system. Upon arriving at the clerk’s office I learned, and was so advised, that I wasn’t a member of this, the Third Circuit. The simple explanation that this court had appointed me, so how could I not be a member did not suffice. Your see there was the matter of the “fee” which apparently the Court overlooked. The Clerk, Ida Creskoff, was called upon to decide this issue. She found in favor of my paying a fee. I thought it was ridiculous. At that moment in walked Bernie Crumlish, an assistant U.S. Attorney whom I knew. His dad was a Common Pleas Court Judge, and later a Commonwealth Appeals court member. He listened to lament and suggested he move for my admission Nunc pro tunc, in hac vice. In simple English, for me to be admitted on this one occasion for this one matter. I agreed and off we went to the Appeals court, it was a three-panel court, one of the judges was Hastings, I cannot remember the other two. After Bernard made his motion, the court questioned me as to “Why I did not want to be a member of their court fully rather than just for this matter?” I explained all of the above, how I got there, how I interviewed the client, how I now felt I should withdraw, how I had already expended sums on a lost cause and saw no reason to expend more, etc., etc. The Chief Judge responded by stating it seemed like asking for the fee was adding “insult to the injury”. They admitted me. They then asked what I had expended on my trip to the prison. I forget what I told them, but they then agreed to see that I got reimbursed from the “Library Fund”. There was no fund to pay appointed lawyers in those days .I thanked the court, took the money, withdrew from the case, thanked Bernie, and have never been back! The latter is a result of my practice not a matter of intent. Thus ended the story of “my visit to Lewisburg”.

It is now Monday night Dec. 11, and we have just arrived home. We left on Sunday the 3rd and arrived in Orlando, or really in Disney World on Monday around 3PM. The nine days are a bit of blur right now. The highlight was the twins winning their first game by overcoming a deficit at the half of 20-12 with a score of 31-20. They lost the Super bowl 6-0 in the final 3 minutes of the game. In between the games, Wednesday and Saturday, the grandparents, McSorley and Hopkins, and the Bergers had a great time visiting all the worlds of Disney…the MGM studios, the Magic Kingdom, and Epcot Center. We also had marvelous weather, in the 70’s to 80’s most of the time. We wore shorts and went swimming while listening to Christmas carols. It did seem a bit bizarre but was a great time for all. We had car trouble today coming home. We spent 5 hours in Belle Haven, Va. (next door to Alexandria) getting a new alternator and battery that decided to die at 11 AM this morning. We were making such good time we thought we would be home by 3 PM. The delay made it closer to 7:30.We agreed to tell every one we just decided to have a five hour lunch at about $500. It sounded so much better than “car broke down and had to wait for the repairs”, no?

Disney World is difficult to succinctly categorize. For those of you who have been there it doesn’t need a category. But I’m sure some wonder what this grandfather lawyer could find of interest in what appears to be an “amusement” park. In fact the commercial message givers, ad-men, apparently think its a question to be answered in that they have a commercial in which the Dad appears initially to be unwilling to go to “Disney”. At the end of the commercial it shows him having a great time flying down and around a curve on a roller coaster. I can assure you I did no such thing but I am now a booster for the world of Disney for a Resort of Resorts. It some how manages to entertain the Grandfather lawyer right down to the 5 and 6 year olds. To comprehend this conversion you must as I did, rid yourself of the concept that the World of Disney is an amusement park. It is that and much, much more. It is a world unto itself.

Here is what I thought and noted on Friday morning, Dec 18,1995, as I sat in the lounge-lobby of the Dixie Landing Resort Hotel: The week is coming to a close with clouds greeting the morning. The impressions of Disney World gained from the previous visits are reinforced. Clean, everything is in order and neatly organized; Friendly, all the help at all levels even sometimes to the point of ad nausea – smiling and wishing you a “good day!!” “good stay!”, “good night!!” here in the World of Disney.

I am going to leave my ruminations of Disneyworld and the trip to another time. I am running out of 1995 and Christmas is only 7 days away.

It is very easy to think of all of you who receive these scribblings at this time of the year! I wish you all a great big “Thank You” for letting me be your guest each month with these notes.

I want to wish all a very Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. If I don’t stop now you will not have my greetings until ‘95 is done!

A Thought: “Live among men as if God beheld you; speak to God as if men were listening” (Seneca)

Today is Election Day 1995, a wet Tuesday in the city of Brotherly Love. It has memories of other election days and of one nearly 30 years ago. I was a candidate, a participant, and not just a watcher. It resulted in, a loss that at the time seemed disappointing. In the long run it was a blessing in disguise. It fulfilled an adage of Richard T. Esq. (my dad, not my nephew) had about politics, “It was good”, he would say, “to run, but better to lose”. He philosophized that participating when necessary, as a candidate to help the party or a cause, was good, but Lord help you if you really got elected. I understood him only later in life when I saw what happened in some cases to those whom I knew that did get elected. He, Dad, lived what he believed so he ran many times in a Republican controlled city on the Democratic ticket. No chance that he could get elected but he was a participator in this system called “democracy”. He even made an exception now and then to voting the straight party line, not often, but in the case of friends and some one he felt was better morally. (He had no problem determining this like most of us plain mortals!) He conceded late in the game that once in while it was a good idea to throw the whole gang out and start all over with a new bunch. He saw that happen in 1952 with the ascent of Dilworth and Claik in the city and in 1932 with FDR nationally. I believe he would want a few changes in this city today from some of the party politics that now prevails. What is amazing that it has produced, at least temporarily a decent and capable man for mayor, Ed Rendell. It is some of the lesser lights that leave much to be desired. (Thus spake Zaruthpaul from his mount of wisdom!)

I have many fond memories of the campaign of ’66. Like the one of a little girl running around in the front of a crowd in a shopping mall listening (supposedly) to me. She is carrying pencils engraved with “Vote for Paul Leo McSorley for Legislature”. The little girl grew up to work in the halls of Congress, the big legislature in the sky. I remember fondly people working with me day in and day out to campaign in a solid Republican ward, the 35^th. One of those was John Malone, the father of my present landlord. We were knocking on doors and asking those who answered to vote for Paul McSorley. We had to answer the constant query,” Is he a Republican?” with ”No, but…” Most of the time that was when the door closed, sometimes not too gently. Once in awhile I would get at least to say, “Do you know who is running against me?” To which I’d received a shrug, or a “No”, or “I don’t care”, so one time I responded, “It’s Mickey Mouse!” which elicited the response, “So what, as long as he’s a Republican mouse, I’ll vote for him!” They did so and thus I managed to “live up” to Dad’s adage: “Run but don’t win! But I can’t honestly say, “I lived up to it”, since while it was happening I was not really happy about it. Losing was not why I had run, etc., etc. It was good experience for the young lawyer and a great way to learn “communication”.

Communication is the theme and meat of the Terkel book, “Coming of Age”. Yes, the same one in which Rev. Richard McSorley is interviewed. I broke down and purchased a copy. I tried to get a discount since I am related to one of the interviewees but the girl at the desk didn’t oblige. She was duly impressed however, enough to suggest I get the book autographed! Now there’s an idea whose time has come.

In the intro to the book Mr. Terkel has a quote I enjoyed. It was, “Wright Morris some thirty years ago pin pointed the dilemma: “We’re in the world of communications more and more, though we’re in communication less and less.'” The “dilemma” he refers to is not the technology of the age but the purposes to which it has been put. He uses the examples of the “sound bite” being considered “wisdom”, or “trivia as substance”. He attempts in the book to interview a cross section of people who have lived the century, or at least 70 years of it. He lets them tell what they did and thought, are doing, and thinking about the world today. Father Dick’s contribution is excellent. I was proud to tell the girl at the desk, that I am related to one of the interviewees. I am proud of knowing someone who undertook the things he did and the manner in which he did them. He alluded to those things in this interview. There is nothing new, or that I didn’t remember him doing, it is I suppose seeing them in print together impressed me even more. I recommend you try to see this report. I will violate the copyright laws and make a copy eventually. It is pure Father Dick with editing by Mr. Terkel. It is his story and in his words. The author mentions Dick in the introduction when discussing what the young seem to need today in the eyes of these activists: “the elderly Jesuit suggests, ‘what they need is a national cause’”.

The election and my memories of it brought back another. It was in 1967. I had accepted a place on a ticket with James H. J Tate, who was running for Mayor. He had become Mayor in 1963 by default. As the President of city council when Mayor Dilworth resigned to run for Governor he became Mayor. Mr. Tate needed a ticket because the party was not supporting him. His buddy Francis Smith was chairman and decided to support Alex Hemphill, the Controller. The fact that Frank Smith was not supporting Tate is a story in itself in as much as Jim and Frank were allegedly so close that Jim’s only son was named after “Frank”. But I’ll pass on that one at the present time. This explains why Jim needed to make up a “ticket”. Mike Stack, Tate’s campaign manager, a classmate and friend of mine, called to advise me of this problem .He asked me to accept a place on the ticket to give credence to Tate’s assertion that’ he would run without the party support’ (pure fantasy). Mike gave me a choice between district council and Register of Wills. I chose Register of· Wills. It was citywide and I even knew what the job entailed. The Party supported-candidate and incumbent was John E Walsh, a good friend of Richard T’s and mine. The election laws permitted a candidate to withdraw, as I now recall, some 30 days before the election. As the time neared John Walsh came up to our office (we were then on the 11^th floor of the Land Title Bldg, and John was somewhere below). He came to see Dad. He had already approached me on several occasions asking if I would withdraw. I advised him that I owed it to Jim to stay on until he said “OK” and he hadn’t done so. So John was going to see Richard T. to convince him that I should do so. I was summoned to the corner office (where his Majesty’s abode was in those days) Dad asked why I was not withdrawing. I carefully explained that I was waiting for Jim to say so, and that it appeared he was not going to do so before the cutoff date. I pointed out that I had spent exactly $25 on the campaign. The $25 was the cost of filing the petition of nomination. I did not expect to spend more or campaign at all since it appeared Jim’s purpose had been served.’ The ward leaders were deserting their Chairman and supporting Jim over Alex. Having said all this I then heard my father say, “John, I wouldn’t worry about it. If fact if it’s any consolation you can be assured that I’m voting for you!”

Looking back I laugh but even then it was not too much of a surprise. Richard T. thought I was forgetting his adage about running and not winning, since it was possible with a full campaign and Tate’s support I could possibly be elected.

It recalls the old adage:” A prophet is without honor in his own country (or office!)

It is now November 15 and I am reminded of this day in 1952 when Mom went to Heaven. I was a 2^nd year law student. I was barely that since I had to appeal to be accepted. I used Mom’s long illness as an excuse for my failure to concentrate. She had been in a coma or unconscious from some time around June of ’52 till this day in

November. Prior to that she was in and out of consciousness back to 1951. She had been at Winifred and Paul’s home on 4718 Windsor since I believe the fall of ‘51.

November 15, ’52 was a Saturday. I had been to a football game at Penn. I don’t recall who played, who won, or who was with me. I somehow learned the news after the game and headed to Windsor Avenue. Mother had had a stream of visitors in the months of her coma from the Cardinal (then Archbishop) O’Hara right on down to sisters of every order in any way related to Eleanore, Mary, Therese, or Roie. As I arrived I saw Dad on the porch and he had tears in his eyes. He kept repeating, “She’s gone”. Then as if any explanation was necessary, saying things like: “It was a relief, It wasn’t a surprise, It was suppose to happen, etc. etc.” I received a slight knock for not being there at the moment she left. I similarly remember scolding myself for not being there. But looking back it is no longer a regret since I was there in spirit and many times in the flesh. The months of her coma made it impossible to always be there. It seems to me that Winnie and the girls were always there. I was living either at 4116 Baltimore Ave, the old homestead, or in a room down by the Law School. So I had another excuse.

When Dad died in 1972 he was living at my home. I do accept responsibility for not being there. I was drinking and find it even difficult to recall exactly where I was, and why I could not be reached. He had apparently died around 9 or 10 in the morning. Katherine waited for Bill to get home from school to send him into his room to assure her that it was a fact. I didn’t arrive till some time late in the evening and by that time Dad’s body had been removed to the funeral parlor. I think with the help and advice of Dan, Marge, and Ann.

November is the month of my odyssey to Sulu in 1970 to bury Bishop Frank. It is the month of Kate Cosgrove Baker’s birthday on the date of Mom’s death some 37 years later. It is the 6th birthday this year. So it is a bright spot in the memories of November. Happy Birthday Kate!!

Last but not least, it is the month of thanksgiving only with a capital “T”. So let me thank all of you for being who you are. (Meaghan we will get back to your memories…I promise)

A thought: “An Optimist is a fellow who believes a housefly is looking for a way to get out.” (Nathan)

POST SCRIPT: November Jottings: 11/19/95

When we arrived home yesterday (11/19/95) from New Brunswick, N.J. around 3PM we received a message from Marge to call. The message was that Therese had died at about 11 AM. So another name will be added to list of those who have left us in this month. Therese joins Mom (15^th) and Frank (19).

Incidentally the trip to New Brunswick was to see the twins win their second playoff game. One more, next week and it is on to Disneyworld in Orlando.

Later yesterday in the mail I opened a letter from Dick, which detailed his recent small stroke. (Oct 31) He spent the day mostly in the Georgetown Emergency Room. He is happy to report that he ended his day back in his own room. Therese was in my thoughts just last month. I spoke of her and I meeting in what was called Winnie and Eleanor’s Room to discuss Aristotle or the like. I kept forgetting recently how sick she really was and that she was sent home from the hospital because they were unable to do what I think was a bypass or the like. It seemed her condition was such that an operation of that nature would be fatal. It was a bit of shock then to hear the news. We whispered a DeoGratis with our R.I.P., since we first believed the bad news might concern Winnie.

Therese had a wonderful sense of humor. She enjoyed ribbing and being ribbed. An example is: While sitting at a table at Mary T’s wedding last November, she thanked me for my Jottings and said: “But what do we do with all the paper?” I presumed she meant after she read it. I had to laugh since the thought had never occurred to me. I suppose in my conceit I believed everyone would be saving them for posterity {or posterior use}, or as an old wag story I remember from high school days goes… it could be saved so that some day it might be a second or third class relic…my relic classification code is a bit rusty… but you get the point and I got to laugh.

Thinking about her I also thought of the lines by Shelly: ”Hail to thee, blithe spirit!” and a verse from the same poem, To a Skylark:

“We look before and after,

And pine for what is not;

Our sincerest laughter,

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell

Of saddest thought.”

The month of October opened with a cool bright Sunday morning. We watched from the Belmont Plateau in Fairmount Park. Paul Jr. and I participated in a 5K run around Memorial Hall for the Alzheimer Association. The Memorial Hall was erected in memory of the centennial of our country in 1876 and in that year was the center of the Nation’s celebration. It was a great way to start a month!

The beginning of the month also saw the end of the miracle referred to in September Jottings. There was a hearing to confirm the Mother’s consent and the natural mother did not appear and the Court confirmed her consent and gave custody of the child to our Petitioners, with the right to adopt. All that remains now is to have a “pro forma” hearing on the adoption. The miracle will then become a reality!

Some other good news is that Winifred survived her catheterization with flying colors and is resting at Mary T’s. (Unfortunately as you’ll see later in this report, she is back in the hospital). She had to forego her planned trip but I am sure she’ll get it in later. Win also told me about Father Dick being the subject in another book. He was an interviewee in Studs Terkel’s non-fiction, “Coming of Age: The Story of Our Century by Those Who’ve Lived It”. A Reviewer in the New York Times notes that: “The people interviewed for (the book), though diverse in their life histories are an inordinately a like-minded crowd, and the language spoken here in pure Terkel: the voice of the embattled old liberal shaking his stick at the 20th century – “Coming Of Age gives us a glimpse of a stage of life we all look forward to eagerly, considering the alternative.” I am sure if you wish a autographed copy of Father Dick’s interview that a letter to the Georgetown Community House would accomplish this. I plan to steal a look at the interview my next time in Barnes & Noble browsing the recent releases. So I’ll report to you at a later date whether you should fork out $25 for this “noble” experience.

I promised Meaghan McSorley that I would return to her “Grandpa’s Memories”. The next set of questions is entitled “GROWING UP”. It has questions like: “Grandpa describe the best birthday present you ever had. Why?” ” Who was it from?” and “What was your favorite toy?” ”When did you receive it?”

To these questions the memory cogs don’t operate sufficiently to produce truthful responses. There are some though like… “How much did the tooth fairy leave for a tooth?” “How old were you when you got an allowance and how much was it?” ”When you were given money, what did you spend it on? What could you buy for quarter?”

These bring some thoughts of the past. Like, when I was about 11 or 12 years of age, we were given a $1 a week. More properly we were permitted to blow a $1 on something frivolous like, piano lessons, violin lessons, or pay dues to become a Boy Scout. The choice was easy! The Boy Scouts, since then you could go to the summer camp…Treasure Island up on the Delaware where all the real men went in the summertime. Most people didn’t have a home at the shore and strange as it may seem now, the shore became a bore! (Words I have heard from some eleven year olds I know now!) So I opted for the Boy Scouts and later regretted I didn’t take those piano lessons like my sisters did. There are some others who also regret that I didn’t take those piano lessons every time I try to “fake it” on the keyboard.

The answer to the other questions are that the “tooth fairy” was very thrifty and I don’t think we ever got above a quarter, but maybe for a large tooth a dollar. A quarter wasn’t the standard in those days. A nickel was still a fairly good deal. It got a newspaper, a candy bar, a telephone call, or a soda. What vending machines I remember, all took a nickel… I think the allowance was a dollar but it was also tied to certain assignments. The first of which was keeping your section of the room clean, or drying or washing the dishes, as you were assigned. This was a great bargaining token. Like “If I do your washing today, will you do two of my dryings later in the week?” Drying was always a lot easier and less time consuming. You must remember,

Meaghan, we did not have dishwashers and none of those automatic washers and dryers that are standard in today’s homes.

It occurred to me after finishing this paragraph one of the important things a nickel could do: It could play a Juke Box record and for a quarter you could get six songs! So a quarter sure went a lot farther (as I am sure your Mom and Dad will often remind you!).

This recalling of things past seems to bring back some strange ones, like recalling walking into Winnie’s room and talking philosophy with Therese and Pat Sheehan and a friend named Peggy. I think it was called “Winnie’s room” because sometime before I was old enough really remember, Winnie had used this second floor bedroom. So it was Winnie’s room even though now Marge and Therese occupied it. The discussion of something so weighty as Philosophy by my sister and her friends sticks with me, probably because it was something surprising when it first happened. It was so revealing that I never let it slip away or it is just another one of those quirks of memory we all seem to have. Why it was surprising, is at that young age, I believed only men had such intellectual occupations and discussions. All derived, I’m sure, from my Father, I suppose, or at least I can blame him, since he’s not here to defend himself. In the same vain I often recall an incident of my mother scaring me on the second floor landing. She was coming up from the first floor and I coming down from the third, and in the darkness she said “Boo!”. I jumped a mile and I still remember it. Why, I never know?

The rest of the section on “Growing Up” section of Meaghan’s memory book, has these additional questions: “What was the naughtiest thing you ever did?”, “Grandpa, what games or sports did your Morn and Dad play with you?”, What was your favorite story that your parents either told or read to you?” “Grandpa? I’m curious to know about the worst spanking or punishment you ever received.” Why did you deserve it?” “Did you ever run away from home? Why?” How old were you at the time?” How far? For how long?”

No one likes to recall bad times, nor the things we did wrong. The memory computer is blessed with a capacity to forget those kinds of things. So it is not surprising that I like most cannot recall a great number of “naughty” things or at least I can’t recall any of those things I would want my grandchildren to know!

I do remember running away because I expected to be sent to Moco, short for Moyamensing State Prison. Every time we drove around the prison, which was somewhere around 21^st and Fairmount, my father would exclaim: “If you don’t behave yourself, you’re going to wind up inside there”! (Pointing to the enormous stonewalls that surrounded Moco). So one day when I was practicing my snowball tossing I managed to break the window of a passing trolley car, the car stopped, the conductor pursued, and I disappeared as fast as my legs would allow. I went around the block somewhere to a place behind an apartment house, which was known to Anne and Roie, and maybe even Marge (though I doubt it, Marge was always too old to play with us!). Later Anne and Roie came to my hiding place and gave me a complete report. The reports were all grim. The conductor had gone up to 4116 Baltimore Ave. our home, and reported the incident to Mother. The trolley car, Route 34, ran up and down our street, so it was no problem for the conductor to do so. It was further reported that Father was expected momentarily and that it was to him that the report would be relayed for proper disposal…or action. The conductor left with the assurance that no further prosecution would be necessary. I know I was there until after dark. My dinner was still waiting for me and I was assured by either Anne or Roie that I could come home and would not be sent directly to Moco.

I remember also that I didn’t receive a spanking for the incident but a royal dressing down by the “Judge/Archbishop” who probably assured me that I was closer to Moco than I could imagine.

I think this is the best I can do right now, Meaghan, but between now and my next report I’ll think about the questions and see if I have any more “naughty” incidences to be recalled.

I also must report that Winnie is continuing to have problems with her health. She had a few more visits to Paoli Memorial and is at this present date (10/22) still a guest at that establishment. I won’t bore you with the details but I thought you’d like to know so you could drop her a line or a card.

I had a request from Father Dick to wax philosophically about “time”. But I am going to save that until the “next time”. See you soon!

The end of August and early September brought two miracles to this Lawyer.

On August 30, I had a “Confirmation of Consent Hearing” for a couple who had a child placed with them through an Agency. They came to me in February when they learned that the Agency was going under. It took us till May to make the agency’s Trustee in Bankruptcy cough up the file. They had had the child since August 17, 1994 some 10 days after his birth. With the file we began the proceedings including a Petition to Confirm the Consent and to Involuntary Terminate the Father’s rights. The natural Mother had, after placing the child with the Agency, stayed in touch with the Agency to learn of his, the child’s progress. When the Agency went “Kaput” there was of course silence…no communication between the natural mother and the agency. We served the mother with notice of the hearing to confirm her consent to the adoption, given to the agency in August 1994. Then the clouds appeared … a telephone call from a friend or her brother-in-law stating she had “changed her mind”. We advised that she had to still appear in the Court and write us a letter revoking her consent.

The legal tragedy was, that all of this should have been completed by November 1994 and maybe even into February 1995, but the Agency had not been diligent…or was too busy trying to survive. In any event the mother’s consent, which could have been confirmed in 40 days after it was given, was now being revoked a year later. We also could not allege that the mother had abandoned the child since the facts were seemingly against us. She had stayed in touch with the Agency until they, the Agency, was not there to contact. We waited for the hearing and prayed for her to again” change her mind” and not appear. BUT SHE DID! The court terminated the Father’s rights and postponed the hearing to permit the mother to get an attorney or have one appointed. I indicated to the Court that my clients, the Petitioners, were contemplating filing an action to involuntary terminate her rights on the theory that she had abandoned the child for a period of more than six months. It was a weak attack at best, but the only one we had.

I met with my clients on Thursday, August 31. They were, of course, not happy about the situation, and did not want to sue the Mother. They are Mennonites and their religion would not permit them to sue. They were torn between their love for the child and their faith. So despite their anguish I was advised “No suit!” unless it was a sure thing, which it was not. So for this reason and not wanting to prolong the agony, they said arrange for the transfer back to the Mother. We decided to transfer the child back on Tuesday morning. I made the arrangements. The Petitioner-father, and his Pastor-friend, brought the child and his new birthday gifts to the office. The

Petitioner-Mother could not bear to be there to say “good bye”, She felt better doing that at home, She also now had to break the news to the other three children who had been joyous about having a baby brother. It would be almost as hard on them as on Mom and Dad. The transfer was made and the natural mother and her sister and her sister’s husband, assisted her. The story appeared to have a sad, even if legal, ending but then THE MIRACLE!

On Thursday morning, on my tape of phone messages, there was a call from the natural mother. She asked: “Would the petitioners consider taking the child back?” I had no problem answering that question! Unfortunately I could not do it on that day, so I arrange for them to come to the office on Friday at 10 AM. The natural mother was to come in shortly before that (She worked until 9 AM).

She, the natural mother, came alone this time with the child and his toys, etc. She arrived even before time. She executed new consents and since we now had a hearing date we served her with notice of that also. She left by 10 AM. Judy babysat with the little guy out on Oxford Avenue. He, the one year old, liked watching the traffic. It kept him amused. Judy and he waited anxiously for the return of the Petitioners. The reunion was tearful and joyous at the same time. Then the happy couple went off agreeing with me that indeed a “Miracle” had occurred. It was the work of the Lord they proclaimed.

The Natural mother’s change of heart, she said, had come after reading a letter the petitioner-mother had sent along with the baby’s things. It was a letter full of love and hope for her (the natural mother) and for her son…but she also let her know that she would sorely miss him and would be here, if she ever changed her mind.

The other miracle was a bit less dramatic but just as heartwarming. We were instrumental in bringing together two girls born of the same mom 26 and 27 years ago. The youngest some how learned that although she was adopted, she had a natural sister who was also adopted. She traced the paper trail to Paul McSorley as the attorney for the adoption of her older sister. She wrote me a letter asking my help. Judy located the file and it confirmed that she and our child had the same mother. I had placed the child in 1969 and so I proceeded to try to contact the adopting parents. We succeeded and the father agreed to leave it up to his daughter now 27 years of age (teacher and married). She was ecstatic about the idea. So I called the sister who had started the whole thing and told her the good news. I gave her the phone number of her newly found sister, and said I would call her and advise her that she would soon receive a call from her newly found sister. I never had the chance to make the call. They decided not to wait…both phones were soon busy! I later learned they were to meet over Labor Day weekend at the Adam’s Mark Hotel on City Line… a halfway spot between their homes. I received a note of thanks from the seeker and it was she who advised me of their anticipated meeting. I also received a phone call from the grandmother of the girl I had placed. She was very pleased and reminded me that she was the one to whom I had physically delivered the little girl some 26 years ago. She was almost as happy now as she was then!

Some people hearing the story of my bringing these two sisters together suggested it should have been on the Oprah show or the likes

A follow up to the miracle “number one”: “The mother who changed her mind” story: I have received another written document from the mother confirming one more time her intent to leave the child be. The hearing is in 10 days and with her present conduct I feel certain I could convince a court, that should she appear and start to revoke again, they should not and would not allow a revocation.

This writing of the Jottings commences a new thing. I am typing this myself on a computer, a PC, if you please. It is my good neighbor’s but I am doing it in anticipation of purchasing one my self. I thought a bit of training and info about them might be better than just diving right in…so here I am. I even purchased and am reading the book “PCs for Dummies”… a classic in its field. (Footnote: Sept. ’97 I have just reset and corrected the one typed in 1992)

The Inquire recently had in an insert called, “Weekend”, a story describing places in West Philadelphia. The area is now called “University City. It is comprised mostly of the University of Pennsylvania which now goes out as far as 43^rd and Chester Avenue. There to my surprise was a story on” Clark’s Park”. The park we played is as kids – the park where I had a nightmare experience one time when deserted by my brother John and cousin Eddie. But the Inquirer was not reporting that but did observe that.

“In l990, John Edgar Wideman immortalized the park and its basketball players in his Pen/Faulkner Award winning novel, “Philadelphia Fire”. Turn left and head south about one block. Just before Chester Avenue, you’ll find a bronze statute of Charles Dickens with the character Little Nell from The Old Curiosity Shop (1841) staring up at him. They are separated and locked together by her gaze’, Wideman wrote, “Both figures larger than life, greener than the brittle grass.”

What I found of interest was that this statue, which I saw often as a growing boy, is the only one of the author in the World. His will stipulated that none be erected of him. Frank Elwell created this one in 1890 and gave it to the Dickens Family, who rejected it. It was erected in the park in 1901. Every February, the author’s fans celebrate his birthday by holding readings at the statute he never let stand. I was amazed that such a thing had happened in my old neighborhood. It never impressed me as being of the “historical” type.

The experience of a “nightmare quality” referred to above, was when John and Eddie left me with two sleds after an afternoon of sledding. Darkness came and as I started to leave I was surrounded by six or seven boys who started to taunt me to give up the sleds. I ended it by dropping one and swinging the other over my head as I ran for what I believed my life out of the now famous Clark’s Park.

I now bring this issue to a close. I am now in the computer world. This part of the September Jottings was typed on my Packer Bell. I am now an owner, and into the world of Computing. It is a strange world – a language of its own and a new culture growing by leaps and bounds (see footnotes). I’ve jumped on the comet and am hanging on with both hands. I do rejoice every time I make a typo and then watch it dissolve with the push of a button.

A thought before I leave: “You’re not a realist unless you believe in miracles.” (Sadat)

See you all soon! (f.n. Retyped and edited, Sept.97)

 

NEW YORK TIMES

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1995

P.S. September Jottings:

We received word yesterday, Sept. 27 that Win had been hospitalized. The news today is that she under went a catheterization and all is well. She will be staying with her doughier, Mary Theresa, when she leaves, which we hope will be today, Sept. 28th. Mary T’s phone number is 1-610-436-5656.

I’ve enclosed a cartoon that appeared in the N.Y. Sunday Times “Views and Opinions” Section. Who is the fruitcake maker?

I was recently reorganizing my office bookcase when I came upon something I’ve been saving since our days at 631 Land Title Building – my father’s 1909 Law School Yearbook. It is a small one compared to what we see today, but it is so well preserved that it is remarkable. The binding is of cloth and sturdy hardboard. The pages are glossy and still easily read and the pictures un-blurred with age.

Some surprises were: A section on lawyer’s jokes with cartoons! Advertisements! And lo and behold, in the graduating class of ‘66 there was a woman! Remember, this is the class of 1909, not 1990.

The names of the faculty include one who later was a Supreme Court Justice and others whose casebooks and texts I used in the Class of 1954. There were pictures of their new building at 34^th & Chestnut Street – they opened there in 1904. There were names of professors whose names became title to halls in the school by 1950.

A good majority of the graduates listed only high school as their prior education or degrees. It listed the year they were born and the year they graduated or received a degree, some even omitted that. Some of the classmates became the names of firms I remember in the 50s, but are even gone now in the 90s.

Dad’s read: 1886, Central High ’04. So the story about a year in school and a failing and then working was corroborated.

He allegedly flunked his first year, went to work as a stock boy at Wanamaker’s and then was “fired” or he said he resigned when he was ordered to go out into South Penn Square opposite City Hall and unload a truck. He refused to do so. He expressed objections on the grounds that he might be seen by someone who knew him, and that would be demeaning or at least not what he’d like them to know, so he resigned (?). His father pointed out he better head back to law school since it appeared he best be his own boss. Taking orders was not one of his fortes, so in ’06 he began again and graduated 3 years later in ’09, some 89 years ago.

The book was part of his library and now mine. I don’t think in ’54 that there was such a thing, although I do remember them in high school and college. The ones I recall included info about the clubs and activities that were engaged in by the graduate. This one had something similar in that under the graduate’s name there appeared for some a Greek letter indicating the fraternity or society of his choice. It only appeared where it was also indicated that the graduate had a prior degree, such as a B.A., or M.A. Dad’s name had no such indicator. The book also had a picture of the various law clubs and a list of their members. Dad avoided them also; he apparently had to keep busy elsewhere, at the library or work.

I remember the Law Clubs. They worked like a fraternity in that you had to be sponsored in order to be admitted. One that existed in 1909 and 1954 was the Sharswood, which, as recall, was limited to Ivy League graduates and usually only those from Harvard, Yale or Princeton. I was a member of the Hare Club; it allowed graduates from St. Joe’s, LaSalle and other such institutions. All I do remember is that the club had, as others did also, a collection of previous exams for some courses with answers, presumably acceptable ones. I remember in the first year I had a professor, W. Foster Reeves, for contracts. His exams were in the collection. I was encouraged to read them, but I was loathed to do so since I was going to do it on my own, as a student who would “know” the subject, not regurgitate an answer. Sadly, I flunked the exam and being one with heavy credit, put me on probation. I was permitted to continue only after a formal appeal. I learned a lesson however about this particular professor. In my third year I had him for Trusts and I pored over his old exams. I finished first in the class in the exam, and this, plus other fair marks allowed me to win the “Most Improved Student” award at graduation. I had a jump on everyone else for this award because I was at the absolute bottom of the class. I technically had failed the first year by some tenths of a point, so if I stayed I had nowhere else to go but up. I ended up in the middle of the class. Thus the Most Improved Ball Player award, all thanks to my regurgitating Professor Reeves exams.

He, Professor Reeves, even publicly referred to my achievement and privately in the presence of one other student advised him he should read my answers to the exam questions. It was a bit of an embarrassment to be reminded that all I did was memorize the canned answers and the Professor made it sound like I was a real student of Trust Law! So it goes!

The month of August is coming to its halfway mark the 15^th. This time it will also mark an end and a beginning. It will be the end of the Avalon retreat and the beginning of the 15^th year of marriage. We will enjoy both in different ways.

We were the guest of some 5 other residents and their wives at a dinner. It was held at the Avalon Country Club. We were toasted and toasted to the past and the future. The tribute and thoughts that went with it were heart warming. It is comforting to know you were considered a “good neighbor”. I came across the thought put differently ” …he found comfort in friendship, the true old man’s milk and restorative cordial” (p. 218 Jefferson, Mapp).

The other “restorative cordial” is memory. Good memories are particularly so. Bad ones we must live with and hope time heals all wounds. I have been asked to recall in these scribblings some of the good ones. Lori, Dan’s wife and mother of Meaghan McSorley (has a nice ring to it, no?) sent me a brochure or pamphlet asking the questions a child might ask of his or her grandpop. It is appropriately entitled “Grandpa’s Memories”. It is divided into sections, e.g., “The Early Years”, “Growing Up”, “My Home”, etc., etc. In the first section, “The Early Years” the first question is: “Grandpa, did you have any brothers or sisters, and what are their names and birthdates?” The answer is: Fourteen, six brothers and eight sisters. Their names I could give her, but the birthdates would be tough. One sister, Rita, I never met because she left to go to heaven at the age of only a few months, 10 years before I was born. She was a victim of influenza.

What I could do to answer the question would be to refer to Father Dick’s book on the family, “The More the Merrier” for such details, some of which are subject to a closer look. One of the episodes had Anne and I born in the same year, me in May and she in December. Mother was a “wonderful” woman, but not that wonderful.

The next questions is, “Who were you named after?” The report I received is that Dad and Mother were enamored with a Pope of the 1890s named Leo XIII. He was the author of some famous encyclicals, particularly one called “Rerum Novarum” pertaining to labor, labor unions and working people. It seemed that their 13^th child should bear the name of that distinguished Pontiff, but not that alone, or so I have been told.’ Since Mother also liked the name “Paul”, it resulted in Paul Leo. So I was named after a Pope and given a name my mother liked. Besides, being the 13^th child made it tough to be named “after” someone. Already the grandparents’ names had been used, as well as father’s also in Dick and Frank.

The next question is, “Who was he?” That is already answered in my answer to the first question.

Memories are the old man’s cordial – sometimes! There are times when they bring thoughts like what did we do in the summer of 1965? Some specifics in the past are impossible to recall. But those specifics fortunately include some we would not want to recall.

The balance of the section “The Early Years” had three other questions:

“Who did they say you looked like?” “How old was your mother when you were born?” “Were you the youngest of her children?”

I never heard whom I looked like and it is obvious from the proceeding paragraphs that I was not the youngest of mother’s children, and Mom was 42 years of age when I was born. A fact that today would be looked upon with derision and disbelief. The facts of Mother’s multi births and caring for us resulted in her being named “Catholic Mother of the Year” in 1948. It also resulted in her being mentioned derogatorily in Margaret Singer’s book on Planned Parenthood. It, as I recall, claimed Mom was able to have all those children because she was married to a wealthy Philadelphia attorney! I met my first case of some wishful thinking being recited as “fact”. It caused a great laugh to both Mom and Dad.

Today is the 25th of August. I am writing this while viewing the Atlantic Ocean from a Myrtle Beach, SC motel. It is the next to last day of our stay and it is also the day we once celebrated by the Atlantic Ocean in Sea Isle and Avalon as the birthday of the McSorley’s Two Beautiful Twins”, Frank and John. They were born on this date 10 years apart. Frank in 1913 and John in 1923. There was a song of the title given above about McSorley’s twins, but I don’t think we ever sang it to either of them. They are both gone and we now celebrate their date of leaving.

John I always have with me, as I seemed to in life. I have his and his son Pat’s memorial cards attached to the visor in my car, they travel with me wherever I go, as they did on occasion in life.

I recall one trip to Canton, Ohio, home of the Football Hall of Fame. John thought Pat would enjoy seeing it and could help as an assistant coach as I ran the Canton Marathon. This was in 1971 or 72, in the fall.

Later I learned that Pat had decided being an assistant was not for him, at least when the runner was his Uncle Paul. An assistant rides ahead of the runner and provides him with water, Gatorade, and time. It as the “time” that caused his change of heart. The runner, Uncle Paul, had certain goals at certain mile marks, to break 3 hours for the run. Things went smoothly enough through the 18-mile mark and then somewhere between there and the end, John took over. The explanation was that at some particular mile mark Pat gave out the time and then the admonition that the runner was so many minutes, seconds, etc., off, or behind his mark for that point. Apparently (he says with convenient memory block) the runner took umbrage with the admonition and verbally indicated the same to his assistant, nephew Pat. After one or two such incidents, Pat resigned, telling his Dad that he didn’t care to advise the runner, Uncle Paul, at the next mark since he was even further behind, and the resultant verbal response was not one he wished to suffer! So it was that John ambled on out to advise brother Paul of his failure to meet his goals. I did 3:06 or so and had ample hills to blame it on.

John is often in my mind. I keep thinking of what he should have done to prolong his life. He knew in 1980 when we took stress tests together that he had angina and blockage problems. He even started an exercise program at the Human Performance Lab at Holy Redeemer Hospital. Exercise was always difficult, but not impossible, because of the injured leg. He did not persevere and so it could be said that he shortened his life span, but really, who knows for sure? He just angered me, in his refusal to try. I became like big brother in this and many other ways. My anger was out of love for him, but was nevertheless, anger.

I can still see his eyes, saying goodbye from the bed in the Veteran’s Hospital in 1990. He was promising to get well so we could come back and play golf in May or June, or whenever. But he left us some 6 days later, still not obeying his “big” brother, I say he looked at June and me and said “goodbye” but I didn’t think of it as that sort when we left the room. I had believed he was being moved to a room and out of intensive care and we would see him in May or June. It wasn’t until after his death that I really felt those eyes saying “goodbye”, so may he rest in peace.

August is over! September has come to its 9^th day of this 9^th month and I have not put August to rest. It is similar to the Augusts of the past -they were over and we were in mid-September before you realized it. The change of scenery, shore to city, the change of habit, loafing to school rituals, and the change in weather (sometimes, but not in 1995) all made for excuses in leaving projects undone. So, I must bid adieu to August and hope my August rambling has been readable and semi-interesting. See you in September!

Saying for the Month: “I’d like to grow very old as slowly as possible.” (I.M. Selznick)

Today is July 15, 1995. We are about to set a record for heat here in the Delaware Valley. It is also the date on which my father, Richard T., was born some 109 years ago. It is remembered today as the day on which we, as children, performed for his birthday. If not that day, the weekend nearest to this date.

I can still remember a song “Jimmy Valentine” which I learned to sing for one of those occasions, and even remember some of the words: “Look out! Look out for Jimmy Valentine! For he’s a pal of mine and he’ll steal your heart away!”

I vaguely remember that “Jimmy” was a noted burglar or safecracker, but maybe just in fiction, like one of the Damon Runyon characters from “Guys and Dolls”. He was as good at stealing hearts as well as other things worth stealing.

But my memory of Dad, like many other things, has receded. Only the “good” remains, unlike Marc Anthony’s warning that it is “oft interred with their bones”. My memory lapses and receding) reminded me of a passage that I was struck with in E. L. Doctoro’s “Waterworks”,  (so much so that I wrote it down) It goes like this:

“I’m on old man now and I have to acknowledge

That reality slips, like cogs in a wheel…

Names, faces, even of those close to you, become

Strange, beautifully strange, and the

Commonest sight, the street you live on,

Appears to you one sunny morning as the

Monumental intention of men who are no longer

Available to explain it.”

I’m becoming an old man and my memory “cog” slips more and more.

I do remember Dad writing a weekly letter, addressed to all those away, with a litany of names running across the top of the page and on to a second line. I wonder what happened to all those letters? I had the occasion to be reminded of it when received an envelope from Margaret A. McAteer, enclosing letters sent to her from “Arch”Bishop Frank McSorley, mostly soliciting help.

Miss McAteer was a legal secretary to Judge Clare Fennerty and remembered “Rebecca Welsh”, Dad’s multi-talented secretary of many, many years, probably close to 40 years. I know in 1958 when I returned to Philly she was still around, along with Miriam Garvin, who came in the summer of 1929 for a part-time job and was still there when the son born that year came to the bar to practice in 1958. Rebecca’s beginning was, as we sometimes say in the legal profession “beyond the memory of man!” (at least this man, for one!).

Ms. McAteer served in the Jury Selection Committee after Judge Fennerty’s death in 1952. She served as secretary to Bill Brady, a friend of Dad’s right back to his wedding days. Bill Brady’s son, Bill, is now a Judge in the Municipal Court. The Jury Selection Committee is now the Jury Board, and it is where I served some 19 years, from 1972 until 1991.

One of the notes she sent me is from Dad dated July 22, 1970 from 4718 Windsor. It is a thank you note for her and her sister’s card for his birthday. It refers to Margaret having a hand in having Miriam placed with a Judge after Dad retired in 1966, and her having died since then. In a few days it will be 25 years since Dad wrote that letter.

I remember letters I sent to home in 1947-1948 being returned with corrections. The Father was also teacher and critic. I am happy to report that these epistles or reports, or whatever, have yet to be returned with similar criticisms, but I have received oral “suggestions” which I’ve tried to heed.

The thermometer in the sun over the pool here in Avalon just topped 100 degrees. So it’s hot, as predicted. Nice to have the weatherman confirmed! Here in the shade of the porch it is 95 degrees. I have a fan blowing on me to keep the air moving.

The news that’s new is that June and I have sold our condo in Avalon. Settlement will be on the 14^th or 15^th of August, which will be our 14th anniversary. It is not without regrets and fond memories that we bid adieu to Windward Harbor and the many friends we have made there. As with any major change in life’s pattern, it will take some adjusting. First, it will take some hard work to have our personal things moved from the premises. One of the things that will soften the blow is that we leave on the 18th of August for 10 days in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.

Thought for the month: “Whether it’s the best of times or the worst of times, it’s the only time you got.” (Art Buchwald)