Paul McSorley's Jottings

December the final month of the year 2000 is upon us. Reflecting back to that month in the year 1999 one recalls all the turmoil forecasted because of entering the new millennium. It occurs to me that it is misnamed as well. The word December comes from the Latin and should refer to the tenth month of the year. Somehow, thanks to the Romans, and other calendar makers along the way, it is the twelfth month, which would or should be called “Duodecember” (if you stick with those Latin guys). But whether it’s Duo or Uno, it is here. We are still thanking the good Lord for sparing us all the calamities we were assured would befall us on January 1,2000. But just so the prognosticators have something to do, now all they need to do is predict who will be our next President.

The present crisis reminds me once again how truth, or fact, is really stranger than fiction. Who would believe a novel in which the main character running for President has a brother, who governs the state, that is the deciding one? “It could never happen, it sounds too contrived”, says the cynic. Or what of the factual irony, not a fiction, of an accuser and an accused ending up in the same prison. “No way” one would say. Yet, in the life of Ring Lardner, Jr., one of the Hollywood Ten, it happened. He reports in his memoir, as reviewed in the N.Y.Times, that the screaming, gavel pounding Un-American Activities Chairman, J. Parnell Thomas was sent to the Federal Prison in Danbury, Connecticut while Mr.Lardner was still a guest there. Lardner was there on a contempt conviction. They never talked while residing there. Incidentally, the Chairman was convicted of carrying invisible employees on his Federal payroll. That is, in simple language, stealing, but at least he was not in contempt of Congress, but just in violation of the Ten Commandments, the Federal and State laws, and probably something even his mother told him not to do.

The election presents another test of the theory of fact versus fiction, namely it is a repeat. About one hundred and twenty four years ago in 1876 the nation was treated to another wrenching finish in a Presidential Election. Tilden versus Hayes ended in virtual tie with l84 electoral votes each or almost, depending on whose certification you believed. The deciding state was none other than Florida with 4 electoral votes. It ran into the courts and over into Congress, then a commission which finally by a 8-7 vote named Rutherford B. Hayes, a Republican, the winner on March 2nd, two days before Grant’s term expired. Where could you find a better script than that? Not once but twice in history of election the state of Florida is the pivotal state. As reported recently, “In a parallel to the current vote, a nail-biting race(in 1876) led to a starring role for Florida”. I wanted to point out, to all my suspicious political friends in Philadelphia, that my working the polls in Florida on Election Day had nothing to do with the results being challenged. It all happened here before.

The candidate, almost President, George Bush in an interview on December 5th said much the same thing. “It’s been a fascination, as I’m sure you can imagine. I’m not a very good novelist. But it’d make a pretty interesting novel”.

A good friend Bill King sent me a book review written by Tom Ferrick of the Philadelphia Inquirer. The book, whose title I can’t now recall has something to do with a journey for truth, but was a memoir, or biography of Arlen Specter. Mr.Ferrick’s review was none too flattering in that he thought it misnamed since the search or journey of the Senator has been for self-aggrandizement fueled by unbridled ambition. I was reminded of my last meeting with the Senator some where around 1974 or 75. I was coming from a track meet which had been held for Masters at Ursinus College just out side of Chestnut Hill area of Philadelphia. Frank Wick and I were at a bar in Chestnut Hill having a beer when who should I behold near the end of the bar , Arlen and the then Managing Director, Hillel Levison. One of us greeted the other and then I facetiously reminded Hillel that Frank, i.e., the then Mayor Rizzo, had not called me. He assured me he would. I than got a pronouncement from Senator Specter with words something like, “Ah, there’s McSorley still waiting in the wings”, referring to my having failed to be elected and waiting for another call to go on stage. I assured him I was no longer waiting but had enough to keep me busy and happy working at the law and as a Jury Commissioner. I subconsciously noted that here was a Republican Senator meeting quietly with a city Democratic big shot during an election period. Hmmm went my mind,you see with Arlen no matter how innocent his conduct should seem, I, due to his past behavior, would read something conniving into it. I sent a note to Mr.Ferrick commenting on his review. I agreed with his assessments of the character of the Senator, which he gathered from the book and his knowledge of his life as a politician. He responded saying another writer called the book an ” unflattering autobiography. Only someone with the egotistical talents of Arlen could have achieved such a goal.

The forgotten phone call by Mayor Rizzo, which I humorously asked Hillel about, was due to Hillel having called me after Rizzo was elected in 1971, but before he took office. He asked me to resign as Commissioner of Records. I suggested that since Frank and I had served together as Commissioners that he should call me. Hillell agreed and said Frank would call. As you can see then some four years later, Frank is now running again, and I still had not received that promised phone call. Incidentally all of a Mayor’s appointees terms expire with his leaving office, even if the mayor had been re-elected, you need to be re-appointed. So with or without the phone call come December 31,1971, I was out of office. Rizzo incidentally had no time for those referred to in Philadelphia Magazine as Mayor Tate’s Irish Mafia.

My grandson, Tommy McSorley, flattered me the other day. He flatters me by just being the outstanding young man that he is. His Dad and others continually claim that all his scholarly achievements came to him via his Pop-pop. This of course in not true but I enjoying taking any and all the credit I can get. But the flattery in this instance was that Tommy asked if I ever thought of having my monthly ramblings published? I answered, “Not really, but now that I have a Web Page, I feel like they are.” Such compliments are a bonus. I enjoy doing the writing and naturally enjoy that others like it. I am enough of egotist, however, that even if they didn’t, I would still enjoy doing it. It is supremely complimented when I hear some one like my nephew Bob Lukens in giving an eulogy to his Mom, my sister Anne, say how much she enjoyed receiving them. She liked them even to the point of getting angry with the computer for not producing them properly nor fast enough. Everybody likes compliments but the joy in doing what they like certainly shouldn’t depend on them. Amen.

I like words. It is not a mystery since I have been dealing in words for many years. I am now reading, thanks to my good friend Bill King again, the book “The Professor and the Madman; A Tale of Murder, Insanity, and the Making of the Oxford English Dictionary”. The OED, as it is usually referred to is as “the” English Dictionary. It is now some 20 Volumes and is found in any Library wanting to be known as such. Today we take something like a dictionary for granted. In fact there are so many around that you could compose a dictionary of the dictionaries. For example, I have a Latin dictionary, two Rhyming dictionaries, a Crossword one, The American Heritage (Second College Edition), Roget’s 21st Century Thesaurus, and the Oxford Dictionary and Thesaurus, American Edition. In addition, I can go on line to OED web page and look up any word I wish. I can get a definition or definitions and the history of the word in the English Language. It was creating that history with its definitions that lead to the crossing of the lives of the Professor and the Madman. The madman incidentally was an American surgeon, graduate of Yale, retired Officer of the U.S. Army and had been in the Civil War. The professor requested volunteers to submit from their reading definitions but particularly quotations to show how it was used, the nuances of its meaning,and when it was used. It is a fascinating history. It is another example of truth being stranger than fiction. Dr. Minor, the madman, his most proficient and voluminous contributor was incarcerated in an lunatic asylum for murder conviction. There’s fiction for you, it would seem, but no, it is fact.

Have a happy and blessed Christmas and may 2001 bring you only more blessings and good news. As we are prone to say around this time of the year: “See you next Year!” Deo Volente! God Willing!

This is the season of giving thanks. It is easy when you have so much. I am happy that our country has such a holiday but regret is that it we don’t do it once a week, or maybe once a day. I was surprised to learn that the day, which was proclaimed by President Lincoln, came about as the result of a widow’s determined politicking. Her name was Sarah Joseph Hale. Her husband was a lawyer who died young leaving her with four children at age 33. She never had a formal education but went on to be the first American woman to publish a novel, and wrote the classic verse “Mary Had a Little Lamb” which has touched the lives of virtually ever child who ever spoke English. She worked on getting Thanksgiving Day for 40 years and also managed to get a memorial built for the dead at Bunker Hill. All this information came to my attention at one of our stops at the “Crackerbarrell Country Store & Restaurant”. Our recent trip to Charlottesville gave us many opportunities to once again try their country cuisine and store.

The trip was worth the nearly 900 miles each way. We did Jefferson’s home and his University, drove to Luray Caverns and down the Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah National Park, visited the oldest continuous active Lutheran Church in America, had some great walks except found hills once again a tough challenge, and ate some great meals.

October ended with great news. Dan, number five son, ran his second Marathon in the time of 3 hours and 9 minutes. He did it in Columbus, Ohio on October 29th. I had hoped to be there as I was for the first but other business kept me in Florida. His time qualifies him for the Boston Marathon. I ran Boston in l971 and 1972. I was amazed at the number of runners, nearly two thousand. Now the numbers are more like thirty thousand and up so they now need to qualify to enter. We hope to be there in April on Patriot’s Day (4/16/01) when he makes his run.

The first weekend of November brought the running of the now famous N.Y.City Marathon. I remember running it when the course was three loops around Central Park beginning and ending at the Tavern on the Green. The tavern was just that in l971-72 when I ran. It later became, and is, a classy restaurant. The reason I remember it so well is that two of my brothers, Jim and Pat, journeyed with me to watch the event. They both spent the time watching in the tavern. One loop around Central Park took about an hour, so as I would come running by they would rush out to greet me, and then returned to the tavern. They both thought Marathon watching to be great sport! Today the course starts in the Narrows-Verazano Bridge and runs through all five boroughs of the island of Manhattan.

This time last year the nation was obsessed with the fears of a collapse due to Y2K. I wonder where all those supplies people stored are today. The other interesting phenomenon that Y2K brought was utterly semantic concerns as to when the centennial ends or begins. It has never been resolved so you can pick any date you wish if you are really into that sort of thing. The date juggling was brought to our attention recently when we visited the grave of Thomas Jefferson at Monticello. They have two dates for the day of his birth, one under the old system and then another under the Gregorian Calendar. It was during his lifetime that the British Empire decided to join the rest of Western World and adopt the Gregorian Calendar. It had resisted previously due to the fear of seeming to support the Papacy.

Charlottesville named for the wife of King George III, sits in a bowl on the edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains. We stayed at a Best Western Inn called “Cavalier”, one of the nicknames for University of Virginia athletes. It is located on the edge of the campus of the university. We could walk in a few minutes to the famous Rotunda and Academic village the original school as designed originally by Thomas Jefferson. The avenue was called “University” and further south it would change into “West Main Street”. You would then find yourself next to the “downtown” mall and the center of the city. We did that walk and one time even dined in the mall at the “Downtown Grille”.

The trip was on our agenda for some time mainly due to my interest in things Jeffersonian. It was not one of June’s contemplated joys. I am happy to report that the outcome was the exact opposite. She had an enjoyable time in her trip back through history. It was particularly so at Madison’s Home, since after the guided tour of the house, they provided us with portable audio equipment which we could carry and visit the surrounding grounds, including the graveyard, and the slave quarters. Our first attempt, on Sunday, to visit Monticello was thwarted by the large crowds. We were advised that after we were bussed up to the house we would have at least an hour’s wait before the tour. So we went elsewhere. When we visited the Visitor’s Center they advised that they had a package deal of three places to visit which was a bit cheaper. They were Michie Tavern and museum, Highlands Ash-Lands, the home of James Monroe, and Monticello. Michie Tavern was the closest so we stopped there first. It was a still an active tavern for lunch and a number of people were lined up outside the door waiting for tables. A costumed lady who told us to wait on an adjoining porch for the tour to begin however greeted us. When it did it was only Jun and I and another couple. We learned that the Tavern was brought from some other locale and placed there. It showed the typical stopping off and meeting place of the early 1700’s. All lighting was by candlelight. On the card table we saw a candleholder atop an iron corkscrew stem. We learned it was to lower the candle as the night went on to bring it closer to the cards. Along the way we learned the meaning of some expressions still in use today. “Sleep tight!” comes from the fact that the beds had no box springs but were supported by rope, so you had your servant (slave) make sure the ropes were pulled tight. “Mind your beeswax!” came from the fact that women’s cosmetic base was from bee’s wax. You were cautioned to ‘mind it’ meaning that you keep away from standing too long or too close to the fireplace or your face would begin to melt. “Three dog night” came from the having the dog or dogs sleep in the bed with you. An exceptionally cold night required at least three dogs. Our visit to James Monroe house was apparently uneventful since both June and I have no recollections of going through his home. I do remember that he died younger than did Madison or Jefferson but did so out of debt unlike the other two. He played a part under Jefferson as an ambassador to France and with Jefferson’s friend Pierre Nemours Dupont negotiated a secret deal for Napoleon to sell America Louisiana. It is of interest that later Duponts owned James Madison’s home for years and built on to it. It was ultimately left to the National Trust. It is amusing to note that in a newscliipping from the travel section of a l998 New York Times on visiting Monticello, the author refers to the Monroe home. She writes, “But who other than the sturdiest academic contemplates Monroe?” So it appears we didn’t qualify as one of the sturdy ones.

Following our touring that day we had planned to drive down to the town of Scotsville on the James River to try an Italian restaurant, Cafe Bocce. The cafe was not open when we arrived and would not be for an hour or so. We toured the little town and what a revelation to see markings on the wall of a building about a block or so up from the river indicating how high the river had risen over the years. The highest mark was over twenty feet up, where a second or third story might be.

The next day bright and early we traveled to Monticello. My first impression was it was much larger than I imagined. The foyer, or rotunda entrance room, had on it’s wall moose heads, deer with horns, skins, behemoth bones, all of which we learned were items sent or brought back by Captain Meriweather Lewis from his expedition. I was and still am reading Stephen Ambrose’s “Undaunted Courage” the story of that expedition. In every room there was a clock on the mantel or somewhere. All had been made by Jefferson and were still running. The home is aptly described as “an essay in architecture”. This included the house, the gardens, and the vineyards. His genius was evident every where starting with the clocks, his violin, his books, his inventions like his travelling desk, drawing tools, and the design in the house to use curves rather that corners in order to allow the light from the sun, candles and firelight circulate easier. It was a great week and we’ll tell you more about it later.

While we were staying in Townsend’s Inlet we could walk over the bridge to Avalon. It was a regular walk. The view was outstanding. It brought back memories of great times at Windward Harbor where we spent many days. The building were the first large structures you saw as you came down the bridge on the Avalon side. As we would come down we often saw cars parked on the shoulder of the road. They would usually  be on the side of the road nearest the ocean and the participants would be either out  fishing, or sitting there just taking in the view of the Inlet water rushing out to the sea. On one of these occasions we saw a gentleman sitting in his car eating. As we walked by June noticed what he was eating and commented it looked good. I asked if it looked good enough to be on my forbidden food list. She thought it probably was not within the limits of my low cholesterol diet. So I started thinking, since the gentleman was at least  as chronologically gifted as I,   that maybe he too had a restrictive diet with a wife-dietician that saw that he ate only “good” food. It occurred to me that he was quietly having himself a feast out of her sight but the hour, early in the morning, added mystery to the thought. I could however see him planning the event. Questions could be raised since it would be the most unlikely time to be leaving the house. I could hear him giving his wife one of those classic excuses for his going out at that time of day, namely, “I am just going out to mail a letter”.

The alibi brought back memories of when I had heard that explanation offered. It was often tossed out to the police where spouse or relative is reported to be missing, “He or She said they were just going out to mail a letter!” I remembered too that in the In-Oh-Ho murder trial the victim, a Korean student, was beaten to death as he went to the mailbox to mail a letter. So I wondered if the feasting sojourner had used that excuse. I never got to ask him since we just ambled up, took a peek at the delicacy, and charged on.

What interested me as we continued walking was that I was thinking so. I was, in a small way, creating a story around some guy sitting in a car by the side of the road. I mused this is the way fiction is created. Every one who writes it doesn’t get away from his past and what those events meant, or could have meant. They come out of his imagination to help the character he has now created to move about as if he were real. Fortunately, or otherwise, my bent was not to continue to have him become a character in my great American novel, but the trip my thinking was taking gave me a smile. I even went so far as to write down the thoughts after we returned home. That was a month or so ago and it continued to haunt me. I don’t see my self writing fiction. I know some of my attorney colleagues would point out, that on an occasion, the legal argument presented could classify as ‘fiction’. They would argue so since it allegedly omitted some salient facts. But that was true of a great number of lawyers’ arguments. It is called the “art of legal reasoning”. My trouble with some fiction is I find myself questioning the realism of the situation. It is one of the reasons why I am not allowed to watch television with June, particularly legal shows. I can’t resists noting the lack of reality in some of the actions or statements or procedures. It is then I get “sent to my room”.

Fiction is fun. I only wish I could write it. If I did I would like it to be like E.L.Doctorow’s, PD James’ or Graham Greene’s. I recently finished JKRowling’s Potter’s, “Goblet Of Fire” (number four), now there is great fun. I had a discussion (?) with a fellow Via de Christo-member about reading it. He knows she’s into magic, witchcraft, and wizardry. The Bible prohibits such things, says he. He knows all this without even have read the book!  He apparently would have some problems with C.S. Lewis’ fictional series the “Chronicles of Narnia”. The first two “The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe” which I haven’t read are described as  “fantasy tales for children of all ages that conjure a world of magic and wonder”. Our friend probably doesn’t read C.S. Lewis either nor his friend in life JRToilken the creator of much fantasy. I suppose in my friend’s eyes Toilken could be excused for his writing since he practiced Catholicism.

Gordon flew by us the other day. Well, not the other day really but in the middle of September. It was Hurricane Gordon, not Flash or Jeff Gordon. I wonder how many remember who “Flash” was?. Now Jeff, you can’t live down south and not know the car racer Jeff. This Gordon decided to go straight up the Gulf and ashore at what is called the Bend. It is the area between the Panhandle and where Florida starts running parallel to the Gulf. The exact area is where it entered was Cedar Key. We had lots of rain, about 4 inches, and wind. The street got flooded and water came up about 3 feet on the lawn. But no damage to the property the only damage was I suffered several ant bites. While cleaning up the next day my shoes twice got overrun with fire ants and they got to my ankles and a couple even got on my wrist from trying to wipe they away. They itch, then burn and then leave red welts, some of which swell.  But considering all the damage that could have happened it was minor, you might say it was limited to “ant-size” problems.

We spent the last week in September at the beautiful Don Cesar Beach House in St.Pete’s Beach. It was a Christmas gift from our children. We had a great week weather wise and reading wise. We managed to walk every day and saw at least one gorgeous sunset. We gave it an”8″ on the scale of 10 since there still was a bit of cloud blocking the point where the sun meets the water on the horizon. We read once again the name “McSorley” in the news. The headline “McSORLEY…” brought June up short. It was a report on the trial of that now famous ( or infamous) Marty or Martin McSorley of the ice hockey genre. He is being tried for an assault with a hockey stick on an opposing player. Around the same time in my reading I was surprised to find the mention of a “Mr.Sorley” a young missionary in India. The book was the classic by E.M.Forster, “A Passage to India”. It later was a movie with Alec Guinness and James Fox as two of the actors. I once in a while have been called “Mr.Sorley” when they think the ‘Mc’ is a first name like, Mick or Nick. It may be why or how the young fictional missionary lost his “Mc”.

The Potter conflict continues. At a breakfast with some of the members of the church including the Pastor, we learned that the Day School had some one who objected to the books (which were donated) being put in the library. The school Administrator and the pastor however agreed without any accent on their presence they could be kept. I no sooner heard that than the dentist hygienist cleaning my teeth reported that she was keeping them away from her grandchildren. She agreed however if they became “prohibited” reading the youngster would have a better reason for finding them elsewhere and reading them. She agreed before I left that she should read them her self before making a decision. Two minutes later she told me she read all six, or maybe it is now seven, of the series called  “Left Behind”. This is a fictional series based on a reading and interpretation of the Book of Revelation. I had a course in that Book and believe there is as much wizardry and magic and visions as Potter’s. “The Revelation Story revolves around the centerpiece of the  Woman (The people of God), the Child (the Messiah),the Dragon(Evil) and two beasts (one is the ’empire’) and the other its propaganda chief.” These lines are taken from my course notes. I marvel at the weaving of the stories in ‘Left Behind’ since my reading of Revelation left me completely at a lost as to what some or all of it meant. Even the professor said that without putting the writings  (which are really letters to three cities) into its time in history, it could be incomprehensible. It contains codes and ciphers of all kinds, according to him, and others, that were really only understood by the contemporaries that John was addressing in the Cities where they lived.

We have a busy October. We expect our good friends the Keeley’s for a five-day visit starting on October 13^th. We will travel with them to Universal Studies. We then leave on the 20^th for a trip to Charlottesville, VA. We will be there the week of October 22^nd arriving home on the 27^th.I am looking forward to both events but it is clear that my time at this machine will be interrupted so I best be getting this off. The visit to Charlottesville is of particular interest to me since I will get to see the home of Thomas Jefferson at Monticello. We might also get to see James Madison’s home called Montpelier.

We spent the last two weeks of our journey at a home on the beach in Townsend’s Inlet. The inlet is at the south end of the island, which also contains Sea Isle City and Strathmere. It was the last street on the island. With just a short walk across the Inlet Bridge we could be back at Windward Harbors, Avalon where we had spent many summers (and falls, springs, and winters too). We planned on the middle-weekend of our stay to visit June’s daughter, Tracy, and her family who were staying in North Wildwood, NJ. On one of the evenings there we walked on the boardwalk to have a special dinner of Pizza and “Curley’s” French fries. The French fries are freshly made and remembered by apparently any and all who have ever eaten on the boardwalk in Wildwood.

The “we” included June, daughter Mary Lou, our sixteen-year-old twin-Grandson, Dave, and Grandson Eric, a 45 pound, 5-year-old bundle of energy. Eric was on and off his brother David’s shoulders. Then I became his keeper for a while and he once again decided he would like to ride. So up he went. We had some discussions about choking Pop-pop with his hands around my throat. I had him move his hands up across my forehead. I got a firmer grip on his legs. As we bounced along amidst a cacophony of sounds, such as music blaring, barkers hawking, a tram passing bellowing “Get out of the way!” and gulls squawking overhead, I thought of a short piece I had read that morning. It was one of C.S.Lewis’ famous “Screwtape Letters” in which the head devil writes to his nephew and student about not letting the patient slip away to a quiet brook with his favorite book. It is better, says the boss devil, to keep him near noise, which is called “entertainment” so his mind is on worldly things. Otherwise, the boss warns, your patient might get into the quiet and begin to think about the Enemy, heaven, or spiritual things, so keep his mind on the world. These philosophic musings were suddenly brought back to the reality of the Wildwood’s noisy boardwalk, when I found myself being choked once again by the bundle on my shoulders. We had another discussion about where the hands needed go and he moved them up to my head and then into the bit of hair I had. He ran them thorough the hair and suddenly the little dynamo gave out a pronouncement that stopped us all, “Pop-pop you’re going bald!” Everyone roared at his observation, myself included. I tried then to explain that it really wasn’t so. I was just ‘thinning’ a bit on top to make it look like the monks of old who had their heads shaved on that spot. He was unconvinced, and exclaimed once again, “You’re going bald!” About that time I decided that my shoulders and its supporting muscles were having a tough time, so I brought Eric down to the ground. He then rejoined his brother amidst much laughter. He and Eric then headed towards the famous “Curley’s” French fry place, which was just ahead. My philosophical musing then turned to that old maxim, “Out of the mouths of babes…”

The view from our temporary home in Townsend’s Inlet was magnificent. We were about 20 feet up, with a large porch, and had an unobstructed view of the beach and the water, where the Inlet met the Ocean. It was a great comfort since beach time the first week was almost nil due to rain or threat of rain. June I did escape one of the biggest rain days by visiting the Casino in Atlantic City. Unfortunately the rain did not bring her good luck. I did have one of those “Isn’t it a small world?” experiences. I have a lawyer friend, Dave Balcer, whose office in just outside the city limits. I visited him, since a client of mine had recently died and I was going to handle her estate. So on one of my jaunts over to the big City, I made it a point to call and stop to pick up some forms and say hello. This occurred on July 12^th. We visited the casino on July 26^th. I was walking from the casino, Tropicana, to the parking garage attached to it and who do I meet coming the other way, Dave Balcer! One more time before we left, on the trips back and forth to the car I saw him! The client who died was just shy of 101 years of age. She had lived in three different centuries. She was born in 1899 and died in 2000. She was single lady who began working for AT&T as a telephone operator in 1920 and retired from there as a Supervisor in 1965. She was an active member of the Church of Jerusalem with a its magnificent Gothic Cathedral in Bryn Athn, Pa. I learned, at the sharing after the service, that she was such an active member, that since she was without transportation, she didn’t drive and busses did not proceed out Huntingdon Pike to the Cathedral, that services were held in her home in Philly. She and I became client and lawyer in l980’s. We then became friends especially when she moved from her home to the Paul’s Run complex. Over the years she had taken into her home her mother, then a sister, and when both died she decided she didn’t need the big house on Naple Street. She moved to the Paul’s Run complex with another sister, Ruth. I visited them usually once a week and played the piano in their dining room at lunchtime. Ruth died while she was in the nursing home part of the complex. Her name was Edith Hansen. I shared with all her friends that Edith was of such a feisty nature that she would have St. Peter agreeing to admit her shortly after their first meeting. They all smiled and agreed.

We had another Journey in the beginning of September. We flew to the baptism of Owen McS Yake on September 3^rd in the church of St. David the King in Princeton Junction, NJ. Owen was the 20^th grandchild of June and I and our families. Owen was the third son of my daughter Mary and her husband Ron. He was born on April 22,2000 weighing in at 11 pounds 12 ounces and 20 and ¾ inches long. He has twin brothers, Alex and Aidan, now over three years ago who by the way came into this world each a bit over 7 pounds! So you can now envision this plump and nearly six-month-old Owen as he is raised in his birthday suit over the baptismal fount then lowered into the water. He fits neatly into the nearly two foot across fount and is dipped in carefully by his Uncle Tom, the presiding Deacon, each time the words Father, Son, and Holy Ghost are pronounced. He does so without objection by Owen. As he lounges in the fount with neither a clamor nor outcry some water is gently poured over his head. His becoming one of God’s children was witnessed by aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, neighbors and his two older brothers who were keeping mother and god-father, uncle, Paul, busy seeing they don’t climb in with the lounging Owen. We gathered afterwards to celebrate the occasion at Owen’s home with his Mom and Dad in Yardley, PA. It was a celebration of life. It reminded us once again of the circle of life as just a little more than one month earlier we had gathered to wish my sister Ann good bye and into eternal life. I returned to our home in Florida in the early hours of September 4^th happy to have witnessed the beginning of the new life of Owen McSorley Yake.

The trip gave me more time to read than usual. So I had grand time climbing through many pages. Our grandson Matthew Golden, a ten year old, had an experience purchasing the No.4 Harry Potter Book, viz. “Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire”. He, like thousands of others, went to Barnes & Noble Bookstore shortly before midnight on the day it was to be released. He didn’t get his copy until nearly 1 AM. This and other such episodes regarding the books intrigued me, so I borrowed numbers 1 and 3 from Matt. I finished number 1 and immediately brought Number 2, and went on and finished number 3 all in a matter of two weeks (7/10 – 7/23). I am now into number 4. I took a break from entertainment to read a wonderful memoir by James Carroll, entitled “An American Requiem: God, My Father and the War that Came Between Us”, “Papal Sin: The Structure of Deceit” by Gary Wills and a few others. However, J.K Rowling’s imagination and expression of it, is entertainment to me at its very best. I was pleased to see Stephen King of the mystery genre applauding her talent but was quick to remind the readers that when they got a bit older, say reach 16, there is always “The King”. I wonder what he would say about seventy year olds being enthralled by a so-called “children’s” books? Probably not much. But I include these thoughts to let you know here is one guy over 16 who thinks they are worth reading.

I spent Tuesday September 5^th once again at the Polls. I am beginning to feel at home since this time I was back at the same Polling place as before. It is a long day. It runs from 6 AM to 7:30 PM but I enjoy feeling my hand is still in that part of my past life, politics, at least a bit. We had a fair turnout but now it on to the Presidential and we should have a busy day. I read a columnist advocating people to get out to vote and the importance of voting. He is a regular in the St.Pete’s Times and has great humor. I agreed with him but I sent him a note. I told him his paper as with many, gave little or no coverage of the upcoming primary. So I suggested he advise his editor and publishers likewise that voting is important, maybe even more important than football!

Until next time and remember God loves you and so do I!

This month’s rambling was only to be a report on our Journey up north beginning on June 25th and ending on August 8th. I had written sometime in July of the beginnings of that trip but its ending with the death of my beloved sister Anne changed it all. She died on August 2nd with all of her children present. The last, Roey, arriving from Africa just in time. She had entered the hospital on July 27th for what was billed as a routine aneurysm removal. One was removed and another which was thought in advance not to be a problem became one. The operation of four hours was extended to eight and the conditions went down hill from there. We, June and I, were with my nieces, Beth and Winnie Allen, enjoying a beach front stay of two weeks in Townsend’s Inlet, New Jersey. All our communications were by phone. We did spend some time with Anne on July 15th at a cousin’s party hosted by her son Frank and his wife. We spoke to her the day before she entered the hospital. The loss was a shock in as much the whole matter was treated as something she had just put off until it was now the time to do it. Anne would have been 70 in December. She lost her husband to cancer several years ago after nursing him for months at home. She then went back to school and obtained a degree in children’s education and began a day school. Her youngest son, Joe, now a lawyer, who was about 8 or 9 years of age at the time, couldn’t understand why she had to go back to school to learn about kids, since she had so many, namely seven, to give her on the job training. She raised 6 boys and one girl all of whom have made a success of life by learning from her what life is all about, namely, love. She loved all, was loved by all, and her love was the energy of a life filled with giving. We will miss her laugh, her love, but we will as long as we remain here, remember her as one we have been blessed to have had as a sister, a friend, and as one who always made me feel important!

We were looking forward to our extended trip. We had planned to leave on June 28th, and arrive on June’s birthday June 29th. We were going to stay at her sister Mary and her husband John’s new home in Marlton, N.J. When Vacation Bible school was over and we were into the next week our thoughts changed to, “Why wait until Wednesday, why not head out on Tuesday?” So we revised our plans by changing our reservations in Fayetteville, N.C. to Tuesday night, not Wednesday. The “wish to get going bug” really bit us on Monday as I organized the car by adding a roof carrier, and June handled the ordeal of packing for six weeks or more. We began to think what is to stop us from taking off today, when everything is completed and save the cooking and cleaning up of another meal. So we left on Monday, June 26th around 4 PM!

Our plan was to head north to Ocala area have a bit of dinner, and then hopefully onto Georgia before night completely surrounded us. It began to rain. The trip through Tampa to reach I-75 dragged. We were hitting the top of the evening traffic and the hope of Georgia by nightfall quickly diminished. We got to Ocala around 6:30 PM. We picked our usual spot for chow on the road, “The Crackerbarrel: Restaurant and Country Store”. It has good food and low prices. We were seated and ordered, then waited, and waited, and waited. June decided to browse the store. It is one of her standard customs whenever we stop at a Crackerbarrel. It was now over 30 minutes since we had given our order to our waitress. We unfortunately learned that this was her first day on the job! Somehow we manage, it seems, to have this happen enough times to make us suspect that maybe it’s us. Do we look like the kind of people that it would be good to try out that new waiter or waitress on? I guess we’ll never know. The manager, “My name is Kym spelled K-Y-M!” came by. June was gone at the moment. She explained she knew we had been waiting sometime but that regrettably our waitress had dropped our dinner onto the kitchen floor. Our wait would earn us a free dessert (!) June returned. The manager returned. The time of our wait was now, June noted, (more like “explained”) at least 45 minutes despite the Manager trying to make it 35 or less.The manager agreed and stated our meal would be on the house. I had advised June when she had first return, that the manager had been by and said that because of the delay we would receive a free dessert. So now when it seemed the meal would be free, June inquired, “Does it include dessert?” It did. Finally we ate and it was as good as ever, but we passed on the dessert. We were beginning to feel the affects of our tasks of the day, the ride, the packing, and now this delay, so we decided to pack it in for the night. Thus our journey had begun.

We arrived at Marlton, N.J. around 3:30 PM on the 28th (June). We had covered 1089 miles most of it on the Interstate. John and Mary’s new home is a large single in a new development called “Village Greenes” It is restricted to over-55 couples. John and Mary reversed the ordinary trend of leaving the empty nest. Most people move to a smaller home but they did the opposite. They had raised three children in a row home in the Mayfair section of Philadelphia. They went from a two story (excluding the ground floor basement) one-bath house, to a large two bath mansion. It rests on a lot with the rear of house facing a forest. Besides the two bedrooms it has foyer, living room, family room with a large fireplace, breakfast nook, large kitchen, an office/den, and what we in Florida call “Florida room” but there is just a “Sunroom”. This room faces the forest and has a sliding door to a patio. While we were there they placed bird feeders on the slight hill going down to the trees and we watched the variety of birds come for a meals. Unfortunately the feeders also brought gymnastic squirrels who could leap the 3 or 4 feet up in the air to land on the feeders platform. It brought thoughts of squirrel killing to the new owners. The house is airy and bright with large almost floor to ceiling windows, air-conditioned and tastefully decorated by its new residents. A great place to hang out. It became “our hang out” or headquarters, if you will from June 28th until we went to the shore on July 22nd. Incidentally, we have learned that the use of the word “shore” is a Jersey exclusive, elsewhere, say in Florida, people go to the “beach”! We celebrated June’s birthday on the 29th with a dinner at Braddock’s Tavern in Medford, NJ. It had me thinking of a British general in the Revolutionary War. The Tavern was a house with decor that was colonial and dining was in one of its rooms. I found no evidence that it was meant to honor the General.

We spent the first weekend, the fourth of July one, at Tracy’s, June’s daughter’s home in Ardsley, Pa. Looking back it seemed to me June never left the kitchen for long on either of the days there. She is just too good of a cook for any of her children and others to not take advantage of her presence. We did get to walk a bit and the hills of Ardsley became a real challenge after the flats of Florida. As we headed back to Mary’s June began to act like ET. She already was wanting “to go hoome!” The whirl of activities the next three weeks softened the complaint but it remained with us from then on. We had a day in Frank Lukens home meeting with my family, including Anne, and all the cousins.We had another day at my daughter’s home visiting with all of my children and their children. We had an overnight stay at June’s son Michael’s new home. It was there that Mike son launched me into the Harry Potter craze. The fourth book in the Potter’s series had been issued over the weekend and Matthew with thousands of others around the country waited at midnight to buy his copy. He waited with Mom and Dad until 12:45 AM. In the weeks that followed I read all three and understood the reason behind the craze. They are supremely entertaining. The imagination of J.K.Rowling is worth ten TV shows. She brings the world of wizards, goblin, witches, and spells, right into the cyberspace of the 21st Century. Speaking of imagination and so-called children’s books, we had the pleasure of being given a book being written by our ten-year-old granddaughter, Kate Baker. It is entitled “Mrs.Nesbitt and Nobody”. Nobody is the main character. Her problems in school and home make up the plot. We received five chapters and look forward to the rest of it. It is right up there with JKRowling.

[I will continue this journey next time around but for now I’ll hopefully drop each of you a note.]

PEACE ON EARTH

We come to the end of the year, the end of the century and the end of the 1900’s. It is a great time to be alive. The talk around us is of the millennium, 2000 years since the birth of Christ. But is it? The calendar makers in the past, Julius, Gregory, and others, had to make compensations. There is a question of some four years. Some of the Fathers of the Church and others have indicated that Christ may have been born around the year 4 B.C.

In an article on Washington’s birthday last February the writer noted, “by the 18^th century, the British Empire was practically the only part of the Western world that was still using the ancient Julian Calendar, which was about 11 minutes out of sync with the actual solar year. Pope Gregory XIII had fixed the problem in the 16^th century, by directing that every one simply skip from Oct. 4, 1582 to Oct. 15 in order to get the sun and the calendar back in harmony.” So at least for some the New Year should begin on December 20^th or does it? What too, speaking of facts, about the rest of the world, like two-thirds of it, that don’t use the Gregorian calendar? Do they suffer the same consequences because of “our” millennium? The facts are not what the fear-mongers are selling. They want to profit from the imagination of all of us, who are always ready to believe in the worst. I enjoyed what Father Dick said when asked by a nephew, what preparations he was making for Y2K. He responded, “None, I will just continue to pray and have faith in the Lord!” I can’t think of any better advice than that to handle Y2K fear, or any others.

On the last Sunday in November I had a great experience. A res mirabilis! I have a friend Steve Cropper, who is a ship-pilot. He pilots cruisers, tankers, barges, liners, etc. through the Tampa Bay and into its ports. Sometime ago I lent him a copy of the book “the Perfect Storm”. It is the story of a disaster of a sword fishing boat at sea, off the coast of New Found land. He returned it with a note indicating that one of the ships mentioned in the book he had piloted through the Tampa Bay harbor. He also mentioned he was familiar with the area since he had been a merchant mariner out of the New England area. Upon returning the book, and at other times, he asked my if I would be interested in riding with him one day while he piloted a ship. I gave him an emphatic “yes!” Thus on Sunday around 12:45PM he called to ask if I would like to go with him. He picked me up at 1:15PM and we were off. He told me he thought this would be a good introduction for me since it was a tanker moored at berth in the old port of Tampa, and he was moving it from there to a new berth in the Tampa Port. It meant I could go aboard from a gangplank and not up the side of the ship by boat ladder. The same would apply on exiting at the new berth.

We arrived at the bridge standing four stories up after a zigzag walk up several stairways. We were looking out on a perfect day. It was awesome. The water was smooth as glass. No wind perturbed it. The temperature was near 80 degrees. On the bridge when we arrived were two women. Both I later learned were crewmembers. Steve went across the bridge to the opposite side and outside to the Captain. We were introduced. The ship is an American registered ship. The captain, I learned from his posted license, was born in Portland, Oregon the same year I graduated from High School. Steve went to work immediately on the phones and radios. Soon our small channel now two tugs approaching. He speaks to them via the walkie-talkies, or maybe they are now just plain old cell phones. One immediately went to the rear of the ship and had a line tossed to waiting crewmen. We would be towed out backwards from this narrow channel to the main one. The other tug started to position itself forward to push. Our lines to shore were pulled in and we were, after much puffing by the tugs, beginning to inch backward out of the channel. It was about 2PM.

The ship was called “Anasza”. It is the name of an Indian tribe. I am not sure if it is an American or Mexican Indian. It was 680 feet long (about 2 and 1/3 football fields). Its deck was covered with pipes down through its middle. It contained some hundred thousands gallons of gasoline. It had come from the Shell refining plant about 30 miles north of New Orleans on the Mississippi. This was its regular route, to and from there to Tampa through the Gulf where it delivered the gasoline to tanks located around the port. It had delivered some at this present location and was now moving to the main port of Tampa to deliver the rest. It had a 30-foot draft in the water as a result of the amount of gasoline still in the hold. Steve also pointed out from our vantage point how the ship was really two ships. He showed me where the hull of another ship had been welded to the one on which the Bridge was located. He said it was a common practice these days of huge shipments of oil and gasoline.

One of the marvels for me was watching Steve operate. He stood on the bridge calling out “right 2.0” or the likes. The helmsman repeated it. The first helmsman was a black guy named “Marco”. I commented to him how appropriate a name for a sailor! He laughed and agreed. I commented later to Steve that I thought, from my vast nautical knowledge that he should be saying, “Port” or “Starboard”, for right and left. He advised that in the U.S. the use of “Port and Starboard” had vanished a long time ago. In fact, he felt if you did it today that the helmsman wouldn’t know what you were talking about. So my nautical knowledge is in need of an updating. The old story told by President Kennedy at an Annapolis Graduation will now lose all its meaning. In it he told me an Admiral, who every time he was to appear in public, went to a locked drawer in his desk, took out a sheet of paper, read it, and then returned it to the drawer and locked it. His aide, on the day the Admiral retired, rushed to the drawer, unlocked it, and took out the sheet of paper. It read, “Port-left; Starboard-Right”.

Like all professionals, Steve made it look easy moving this object the size of a huge office building lying on its side. One of the crewmembers happened to mention how easy these Pilots made it look and I certainly agreed. We moved out into the main channel. It is one that takes ships from the Gulf of Mexico into the main port. We were moving under our own power now with just one tug escort. He and Steve chatted about things ahead and Steve pointed out to me how deep our draft was. He said, watch that small protruding sand bar ahead. As we passed the bar became an island of sand since the ship’s draft pulled all the water off of it. I noted how easily he gave commands left or right to the helmsman and the speed to the other crewman, or rather crewwoman, who controlled the speed. I said, “It’s apparent you’ve been down this channel before”. He looked at this notebook and said, “This is the three thousand and ninety third time!” We took about 2 hours to get to the entry of the main port and down we went past the huge Cruise ship called “Sensation”, some 780 feet in length and about 15 stories high. Steve mentioned it just barely gets under the Sunshine Skyway. That is the bridge crossing the water where the Bay and the Gulf meet. The Sunshine Skyway is the highest suspension bridge in the Western Hemisphere. It stands 19 stories up from the water’s edge to its apex. We inched into a small channel again with the aid of two tugs, one at the rear and another forward on our left front, to the berth, which was beside a large area of gasoline tanks. We left the Anasza at 5PM. My first ride with a pilot was done and I was still full of “mirabilis”, awe, and appreciation for the job so well done.

As we came into the berth I met an older crewmember that came onto the bridge for some reason. He was shorter than I and had even less hair. I found out he was the Second mate. He told me he was 76 years of age! He was born in Belgium, sailed until he was 65 out of Great Britain. Then he was forced by law to retire. So he came to the U.S., took the physical, and was hired here. As with so many lifetime professionals when asked why he didn’t retire, he said, “What else am I going to do?” Ah! Yes, the age-old dilemma nothing to retire ‘to’ so why retire ‘from’ something we are able to do and enjoy.”

I want to wish everyone a Happy and Holy Christmas. May the New Year bring you good health and much happiness! As I always enjoy saying around this time of year, “Se ya next year! God willing!”

As I begin these jottings the house is empty. It is the middle of November. June is away for the weekend. She has since Thursday night been at “Via de Cristo”. I’ll pick her up on Sunday evening after the final service. I made the ‘renewal-excursion’ last weekend. We both thought the idea of having two or three days by ourselves would be a welcome change. Boy, were we mistaken! The words “empty house” were never more meaningful. June’s response was similar. She said she never knew the house made so many noises. It made sleeping even tougher. I wait with anxious anticipation to see if her weekend’s lessons result in the same peace and joy that mine did. I pray it will.

“Via de Cristo” is Spanish for “The way of Christ”. It is same as the Cursillo (pronounced Cur-see-oo) program of the Roman Catholic Church. The original founder was a Spanish priest. He began the idea in the 40’s in Spain and it spread to U.S. in the SO’s. I had heard about the program from by Brother-in-law, Dan Walsh. It was offered here under the latter name and both June and I decided to try it. It was also I should add enthusiastically endorsed by a number of our friends. The Lutheran Church took part in it in the early 70’s and a number of members here took it when it was still called Cursillo. I am not sure why the name was changed but it is an identical program. At my weekend some 29 denominations were represented including Roman Catholics. It is a not a sect, or doctrinally oriented study. “It is a short course in Christianity and a method for renewing Christian life. It is designed to strengthen and renew the faith of Christian people and through them families, congregations, and the environment in which they live, work, and play. It is not part of the ‘Charismatic Movement’, nor does it actively promote a ‘specific conversion experience’. The three-day renewal is a lay movement, involving laity and clergy in the renewal of the church” (Excerpt from an information pamphlet).

I can happily report that June’s reaction was equal, if not surpassing mine. She broke up the entire church, when she spoke of her reaction to the weekend, by saying, “I’m so high I ought to be arrested!” I offered to serve the warrant myself and carry out that arrest immediately by bringing her home. We are both extremely elated with the

Lord having moved so strongly and sanely into our lives. The program last three days and the fourth day is the rest of your life. We look forward to living the fourth day together with Christ. These words partially explain the feeling after via, “When you are set free you will celebrate and travel home in peace. Mountains and hills will sing as you pass by…(ls. 55, 12)”

The date November 15^th passed with prayers to and for Winnie and Mom. Both who went to heaven on that day and we remembered that granddaughter Katie Cosgrove (Mom’s maiden name) Baker was born on that date. We heard via Linda McSorley, with whom we chatted on line via instant messages, that Katie had a grand party on the 14^th with lots of gifts.

Part of the program of Via de Cristo is to solicit letters from your immediate family. It was done in our case and we received great letters. I promise to respond to each and every one of them over the next few weeks! I also received letters from Sr. Rosemary, Anne, and Marge and learned for the first time that they too had take a “Cursillo” and wished us Godspeed.

Earlier in November I went to work. Yes, I actually got paid for going to a polling Place. Election day was November 2nd. I was appointed a “Deputy”. I had a badge. It was however really just a picture of a star on plastic with the words “SHERIFF DEPUTY” printed across the star. No six-shooter was provided. My job was to greet the voters and if necessary keep order. I had phone numbers to use if the ‘keeping order duties’ had to be carried out. I had to place the “Solicitation Area Only” sign-cones some fifty feet from the polling place. It is the only area in which one could solicit votes. There being no candidates running for office, it seemed to be a bit of overkill. The area was designated on a map sent with the voting material including a rope fifty feet long in order to properly measure the distance from the Polling place door to the designated spot! I also had to help set up the voting machines and help close the polling place. I had a long day. It started at home at 4:45 AM and ended when I arrived back there about 8 PM. The polling place I served in was located in a mobile home development called “Pinewood’s Mobile Homes”. The development’s community hall, or center, was where we were situated. The election concerned two referendum questions regarding the County Commissioner’s charter and nothing else! No candidates, no other issues were involved. We had a total of 73 votes cast by the voters, most of who lived in the development. The total registered voters in that precinct are 2000 or so. There were 18 machines, 6 women, a chief clerk (male) and myself. It was tough to stay awake sometimes since no newspapers, radio or TV was permitted. One thing did help. There was a piano at the other end of the hall. I happened to notice it when I visited a few days prior to see where I would be on Election Day, so I had a songbook with me. The other workers received it with elation, only I had to cool it whenever a voter appeared heading down towards our door. I expect, come March 14,2000 and the Presidential Primary, we will be a bit more active and the music will need to wait.

I had an essay I wrote published. It sounds complimentary to say, “published” but really it was more like “filler”. It was an essay on some twists in American History. It appeared in the Shore Acres Newsletter. The Shore Acres Civic Association in which I have been semi active issues it. It appeared under the pseudonym “Paulus Advocatus”. In substance what it reported was that most of us remember the ride of Paul Revere when actually there were two other more heroic and successful such rides. One of them was Caesar Rodney’s ride from New Castle Delaware to Philly to arrive in time to have Delaware vote in favor of the motion to declare our independence from the Crown. He is now memorialized on the new quarter. The other was Jack Jouett who saved Thomas Jefferson with a forty-mile overnight ride to warn him of the approaching British troops. Paul never finished his ride. He was captured. Contrary to Henry Wadsworth Longfellow inferences, Paul was carrying out orders. When it was learned that the British were getting organized to move out he was sent ahead to warn Sam Adams. Paul was one of the Sons of Liberty soldiers. His ride was completed by a friend he met while enroute who was returning from a bit of courting. He was captured by the British and thus never finished his ride. Paul however thanks to Longfellow will always be remembered otherwise. It is fitting since he was a great supporter and soldier, and later one of best silversmiths in the Colonies. His name is further remembered in “Revere-ware”.

We will miss you all on Thanksgiving. We are going out for the dinner with a friend who is single and who would probably have spent Thanksgiving alone. We look around and find much to be thankful for so we will do so. We are having a dinner party on Saturday night of the Thanksgiving weekend with some of our favorite friends. There will be three couples to help us offer our thanks with the great cooking of June. We know that her cooking on that day will be missed since we have heard the regrets from all who participated over the past years in her Thanksgiving Feasts.

November 22^nd reminds us of John F. Kennedy. It is 36 years since that day of killing. A St. Petersburg museum has opened an exhibition entitled “John F. Kennedy”. In its promotional material is says, “Despite well-publicized blemishes in recent years, this ‘bright shining moment’ in history lives on in people’s hearts and minds” And so it does in mine.

I hopefully will add a note to each but wish you all the best of the Thanksgiving season.

 

In the last few days of September a new book by Frank McCourt was published. The New York Times Sunday Magazine ran an excerpt from it. It is as good as “Angela’s Ashes”. It is the continued story of his life after arriving in America. The last word in the book “Angela’s Ashes” was ‘Tis’. That is this book’s title. The excerpt that appeared is about his first teaching job in a Staten Island Vocational High School, and the first day on the job. It brought back memories for me of my first day of teaching in high school. I noted that in the next week’s New York Time’s magazine a number of letters to the Editor praising the excerpt, and saying the same thing, i.e., how it reminded the letter writers of their first day and later of teaching in high school. So I was not alone in the memory of that frightening day. McCourt’s language makes you feel the fear and trembling with which one approached such a task. He talks about how should he act? “Should I be like Robert Donat in ‘Good Bye Mr. Chips’ or Glenn Ford in ‘Blackboard Jungle’. Should I swagger into the classroom like James Cagney or march in like an Irish schoolmaster with a stick, a strap, and a roar?” I can’t recall my making any comparisons. I did have one thing in common with his experience. He went expecting to start in maybe a week and then found himself starting the next day. That happened because the teacher, who taught the class upon learning that there was someone ready to replace her, decided to leave immediately. No turning over of notes, ideas, or passing the baton she just went. I went, believing I was starting because the sister who had taught the class had taken ill. I learned on the day I was to start that the ‘illness’ was a nervous breakdown brought on, allegedly, by these young ninth graders I was about to face. I still can feel a chill even now over 48 years later. The other thing I remember feeling was, “I am the boss”. This is a parochial high school, and all the teachers I had made me believe that the ‘Teacher is the Boss!’ I had the authority that McCourt did not have and it bolstered my confidence. I also had one class, in one room, all day, with all subjects but religion. I cannot for the life of me now recall how I managed. The other strong memory was handling the wise guys. We had all boys. It was an annex to Roman Catholic High school at 2nd and Girard Avenue in, I believe, St. Michael’s Parish. The Sister’s nervous breakdown put me on guard as to what I might expect. I found it in a few smart alecks and we soon had them kneeling in the aisles with their arms extended, where they remained until the warden-teacher felt they had repented sufficiently and would sin no more.

The opportunity to teach occurred in the last semester of my fourth year of college. It was required by the State that prior to obtaining a certificate, or license, to teach, a practice period had to be fulfilled. It was something akin to the preceptor ship in the law, which required 6 months of practice under a qualified lawyer before the admission to the bar. I was excused from completing my last semester in order to undertake this teaching. My good friend and teacher Bill Walsh then the head of the Education Department at St. Joe’s arranged this all. I have mentioned Bill before in these pages since it was his deadly auto accident some 10 years later that brought me in personal contact with his brother (or stepbrother) in law, John Rogers Carroll. John was the founder of the Philadelphia Lawyers’ AA unit. Later the same Bill Walsh would give me an opportunity to teach in the St Joseph’s Night School. I think in 1959 or ’60.

The fondest memory I have of those high school teaching days actually occurred three years later when I was a third year law student at Penn. I was selling programs on Saturdays at Franklin Field for the football games. I was approached by one of the young men who had been in that class. He said hello and asked how I was doing. He then brought a group of his classmates over to renew our acquaintance under admittedly different circumstances. I must say I was happily impressed that among them were some of the “smart alecks”, I had made kneel until forgiven, and they seemed to have forgotten all about it. It was nice to know we could still be friends!

I was back on a University campus last Saturday (Oct. 9^th). I went to the Florida State Neighborhoods Conference on the grounds of the University of Southern Florida here in St. Petersburg. A number of workshops were held on how to organize, run, and use an association to better your neighborhood. I met one of the officers of the Shore Acres Civic Association there. We split up in the morning to different workshops, I went to learn how to increase your membership and she went to the one on grants. We were guests for a lunch and taken on a tour by the Roser Park Civic Association. Roser Park in South St. Petersburg is a Historic Park and was the first so designated in St. Petersburg both locally and nationally. It is now called Historic Roser Park and it is in effect an Outdoor Museum. It is made up of old homes along a winding creek, called Booker Creek, through large oak trees and hills. The hills are the remains of Indian burial grounds. It was like finding a pearl on the beach. It looks so unlike the Florida we know and more like parts of the Wissahickon Trail in Philadelphia that we ran through.

Charles Roser, for whom the park and area is named, came here in the early nineteen hundred teens. He sold his famous Fig Newton Cookies Company to National Biscuit Company so the neighborhood is often called the ‘Neighborhood a Cookie Built.’ It first became famous in the ’20’s through post cards. The area was highly photographed since at the time it was considered one of the most attractive residential developments in all of Florida. “Stately royal palms and regal old oaks are mixed in with a variety of lush tropical vegetation. August block streets and hex block sidewalks add to the historic feel of the district (August blocks are a darker clay brick than we see today). The ancient rusticated block retaining walls are another period feature of the district” It now has the added distinction of a famous Children’s Hospital on it edges and one of the largest McDonalds House’s in the country.

Prior to my visit to the conference and the tour of Roser Park June and I had spent four days and three nights at St. Pete’s Beach. We had been the beneficiaries of a great gift from June’s children, and certificate to stay at the “Don CeSar” beach resort. It is a four star rated resort and dominate the skyline of St. Pete’s beach with it pink Moroccan towers. The main hotel has a “Beach House” about four or five blocks away. It is cheaper at the Beach House so in order to get the most for our (?) money we chose to stay there. It was terrific! The so-called “room” is an apartment. The apartment has a porch, which has a table and four chairs and lounge and looks out to the Gulf. There was a full kitchen including a dishwasher, microwave, a full bath including washer and dryer, and the bedroom had a door, i.e., in effect, a separate “room”. We have changed our minds now about the Sirata, where we stayed in July and previously, and are sold on the DonCeSar Beach house. We had great weather and enjoyed once again a number of good walks on the beach and to and from our evening meal. The icing on the cake was having breakfast over looking the Gulf, which lay like a glistening lake beyond a snow-white beach, which could be seen through swaying palm trees. I can just hear some our grandchildren saying: “Wow…just like the movies!”

It is a first! October 8^th saw June come with me to a Golf Tournament. Well, I really can’t say, “She came with me”, since she came as part of the crew who were working the LCC’s fund raising golf tourney. She got to ride in a golf cart and got soaking wet in the rain. She saved the church hundreds of dollars by pointing out it was a church. The church is a charity exempt from taxes they were imposing on our payment. She was a busy bee the whole day and was relieved to return to the nest with a confirmed conviction to never do it again! But my feeling is she still has such talent that she will be called upon again, and probably fail to say no. Until next time keep well, and remember: Growing old is mandatory; Growing up is optional!

 

Would you believe we appear in education to be proceeding backwards? We are returning to seventy-five years ago to the “Scopes” trial mentality? Believe is probably not a proper word to use in this context, since what we are referring to is “beliefs”. The Kansas State School Board on August 11, 1999 ordered deleted from the curriculum the teaching of evolution in their schools. While it does not prevent teaching evolution, it will not be included in the assessment tests that evaluate student’s performance. So local Boards will undoubtedly, says a news release, either force teachers to raise questions about its validity or to introduce creationist ideas. If the latter were taught, wouldn’t that be teaching religion? I suppose not, if as in AA, the Supreme Power remains unnamed and can be one of your own choosing. In one way, we are not going back to 1925 and the “Monkey Trial”, since that involved a law prohibiting the teaching of evolution in the schools. The historic trial had as its two main players, Clarence Darrow for the Defense, and William Jennings Bryan for the Prosecution. Bryan was a two time presidential nominee, an outstanding orator and was one of my Dad’s political heroes. Dad never got to vote for him but still spoke of him in glowing terms. Bryan died a few days after that trial in which Darrow subjected him to a vigorous and scathing cross-examination. He allowed himself to be a witness for the Prosecution as an expert on the Bible. The trial was the first ever brought live to the nation by radio (remember “radio”?). John Scopes was convicted but the State Supreme Court reversed it on a technicality. The issue of a law prohibiting teaching of evolution never reached the U.S. Supreme Court until 1968. In that case the court overturned a similar law from Arkansas.

To me the purpose of education is to explore all ideas. Sure we must limit the curriculum and keep it with certain time limits but excluding, in effect, a major portion of biology is an extreme action and anti-education. I struggle to find a reason for the action, other than plain old fanaticism. The only one that made some sense was presented was by a Mark Looy of “Answers in Genesis” a creationist group. He said, “Students in public school are being taught that evolution is a fact, that they’re just products of survival of the fittest. There’s no meaning in life if we are just animals in a struggle for survival.” Well, if the statement is correct than this teaching error should be removed. But the action suggested is like throwing the baby out with the wash water, or in today’s jargon, “overkill”. It is using a nuclear bomb where a shotgun would destroy the evil. I always felt that knowledge of evolution enhanced our wonders of creation and the Creator. It made even more inspiring His power. A flower from a bud to a bloom and a child from babe to an adult may not fit the purist definition of “evolution” but fits the theory. The proposal prohibits the teaching of what is clearly a theory and demands that the Bible be accepted in toto literally as a fact. This is not educating, nor leading from darkness; it is dictating. Hopefully ‘Reason’ will soon overcome the lopsided action of the Board, and the State of Kansas will open its windows and let in the fresh air of true education.

Sister Rosemary is the subject of some news clippings. One was announcing her as a recipient of a Diocesan award as a caring person. “Selected in the category of service…Sister Rosemary McSorley, of the Sisters of the Holy Child Jesus, a pastoral assistant at Our Lady of Good Counsel parish, in Pompton Plains, and an attorney working in private practice on behalf of the working poor…(Her) long involvement in outreach to the poor as a teacher in Harlem and on the streets of Chile, and (she) has consistently encouraged religious education teachers and students to become more involved with the poor and those in need.” How proud must Mom and Dad be looking down on their youngest being so rightly honored! In another article she is interviewed. It is entitled “Bar Nun”. It speaks of her practice with another sister, Peggy Welch, a sister of Charity. The title gave me a chance to have a play on words, its saying, “she’s the best bar none (nun)!” It was always one of my beliefs so it is pleasant to see it confirmed in print by an unbiased observer.

We seem to be into newsprint in our September ramblings and there is one more I enjoyed. It read, “MET LIFE REACHES EARLY DEAL IN LAW SUIT”. And further, “The Company would pay at least $1.7 Billion to settle allegations of deceptive sales practices.” “Good Grief!” is this what all those billboards with Charlie Brown meant when he says, ‘Get Met It Pays’? Has Charlie been practicing deceptive sales tactics? Seems there’s nothing sacred where the buck is concerned even the honest simple and childlike Charlie Brown is corrupted in the name of “reasonable profit”? I am sure Charlie was without fault and was just another victim of the deceivers!

A major (?) calamity (of sorts) occurred in Manhattan. The Yale Club has decided to have ‘casual dress Friday’. It seems that they wish to attract some of the younger graduates. Now there is evolution in practice, but to some it is retrogression. A Harvard Club member had this to say about the idea, “Even in the late 1990’s there should be a few havens for proper attire and decorum. I wouldn’t expect the rowdies from New Haven to understand”. Boys! Boys! Let us have no public display of bickering, think of your image! Did you ever notice how way a man is dressed helps his decorum after a few drinks? Oh, well if Charlie Brown can suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous capitalistic fortune, why not the stuffy indecorous Yale Club members?

September marks our second full year in the home at 1644. As with most noted events it seems on one hand as if we have been here a good part of our lives and on the other hand, like ‘only yesterday’. September also brings us the favorite Florida bugaboo, the hurricane season. As I type, there is one called “Dennis” moving over the Bahamas and supposedly heading for the Carolinas. There are two more out there trying to decide where they might go. We have only to wait and watch for them to decide. We continue to hope and pray we will be once more be spared of a direct hit and yet, if it appears we may be, it is off to Gainesville, Rita and Jeff’s haven for hurricane displaced persons. It is also their home.

Looking back over the two years I find I am very happy with our decision. It is still, even with all the things we do, a peaceful fret free life. I must agree with my good friend Bill’s appraisal, I am serene. However, I found my father looking over my shoulder the other day, asking for his usual progress report. “Well, you’re not wasting your time, I hope?” No, we aren’t and it caused me to write down a random list of things done or being done. I wrote, “piano, church, paintings, lawncare, housecare, computer, civic association, Jefferson, Latin, weight, reading, writing, etc.” I won’t bore you with any of the details behind this list but I did convince my father (Da!) that I am not wasting my time. (At least he’s convinced for the time being!)

June and I celebrated our anniversary with a cruise. It was a dinner cruise leaving St. Petersburg Beach and travelling most of the intercostals waterways to the Gulf. We left about 6:30 and were out until 11. We had our friends Jerry and Connie with us and we even got to jitterbug to the music. The meal was excellent, the music great, and the views from the deck stimulating. It was bit of a surprise in that we, or I should say ‘I’ went as a bit of a skeptic and left as a fan. The meal particularly since I expected a limited menu, like something thrown together to qualify as “dinner”. It was much more than that with appetizers, good bread, tasty salad and variety of entrees. We even got a good picture of us boarding with our friends taken incidentally by the Captain! He also held court on the bridge in the steering cabin with any of those who wished to come in and chat. The best of all these complements was that the entire event for an evening out with music, a meal, dancing, and fresh air (though the air conditioning was a welcome relief) came to us within our budget. We recommended to all those who have the opportunity to visit our blessed shores.

The “hazy, lazy days of summer” says the song. It is here and it is that. The heat is in the air and in the news. It is news when over a period of days and into weeks; Florida is one of the cooler spots in the country. The heat has brought moans from some friends in Philly about their grass turning brown. The Governor of Pennsylvania on July 20^th ordered restrictions on water use due to the drought emergency. Here, on the other hand the lawn, instead of turning brown, I have to hustle to keep up with it. I’m mowing twice a week and it is up to three inches in height, the highest my mower will go. We are without rain though not as badly as drought areas, but with sprinkler system and “reclaimed” water the grass stays green. This is a case where the grass is not greener on the other side of the street or in that some other “distant” place. “Reclaimed” water is a new thing for us. It is apparently fairly new even here in St. Petersburg too, and is not universally found in the surrounding areas. It is sewer water treated sufficiently for use in watering plants and lawns, etc., but not clean enough to drink. It is highly nutritious for the lawn and plants I am told. It is sold at a fix price not according to the usage and is not subject to the restrictions droughts put on sanitized water. But it does result in keeping one busy and up early, since the only time to do such work is at that time. As Noel Coward sang, or said, “Only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun!” Our “noonday” sun comes in about 8:30AM and sticks around until that time PM. It may be lessened by an occasional shower but usually not by much.

Some time ago my good friend, Bill King, sent me a clipping. It is the shortest book review I think I’ve ever seen. It is, “Presumed Ignorant”: by Leland H. Gregory, III. (Dell, 216 pages, $9.95). “Mr. Gregory maintains that every item in this collection of ludicrous laws and daft decisions is genuine. Individually, the absurdities are amusing. In the aggregate, they indicate that it will not be enough to kill all of the lawyers. Legislators and Judges must also go to the lam post.” “Great short review!” says Mr. King. I agree.

There was republished in 1999 a lawyer book that sold over a million copies in 1943. It is entitled “Yankee Lawyer, The Autobiography of Ephraim Tutt”. But it really is fiction since the lawyer-writer Arthur Train created the lawyer. I remembered Tutt, since his stories that had appeared in the Saturday Evening Post recounting his exploits, were sometimes discussed by Dad at 631 Land Title Building in the sixties. In the forward, to this 1999 edition, the son of the author writes that believe it or not a lawyer sued the publisher for marketing the book as an “autobiography” when it was fiction. He claimed he only read non-fiction books and that he was misled, defrauded and his implied warranty of the book being non-fiction, was violated! As you may have guessed the lawyer doing the suing was a “Philadelphia” lawyer. It must have been the beginning of the use of that term as one equal to a shyster or worse. The publisher won the case hands down. There is no implied warranty in literature. It’s something akin to the old adage, “You can’t tell a book by its cover!”

One of the stories, I recall was that of Tutt being involuntarily made the attorney for a client by a judge right from the Bench. He was appointed with the trial of the matter about to commence. He exams the record and discusses the matter with the client. He, the client, is a “hotheaded but warmhearted Italian workman (who) attacks a man who (had) systematically dishonored his wife.” Tutt is unable to conjure up any defense but he holds the Jury with a multilayered speech that runs down the clock to adjournment. He ruminates by walking to think of a defense, and “after walking all night” ends up resting in a pew in St. Patrick’s (Tutt practiced in New York City). He returns to court, sums-up the best he can, and the jury goes out. It returns with an acquittal! Inquiring later of a lady member of the jury as to how they arrived at the verdict, she says, ‘When Oi stepped into the cathedral on my way down to court this morning and spied you prayin’ there for guidance I knew you wouldn’t be defendin’ him unless he was innocent, and so we decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.” This version is the one written in the introduction to this new edition. However, the one I recall hearing, had a much more elaborate buildup and even had Tutt attending “Holy Mass this moning”. ln any case it is a good illustration the nature of the stories found in the book.

The “Philadelphia Lawyer” popped up in another place. The Philadelphia lawyer was Andrew Hamilton, no relation to Alexander. I remember that because the Philadelphia Bar Association had an annual dinner dance to commemorate him, as the “Philadelphia Lawyer”. I had always believed that it had come about because Andrew Hamilton went to Boston to defend the British Captain and his men charged with homicide in the Boston Massacre of 1771. However, while reading about Thomas Jefferson, I saw a statement that said John Adams and his cousin Samuel had successfully defended the Captain. A little research led to find that Andrew Hamilton lived and died before the revolutionary times. He earned for the world the title the “Philadelphia Lawyer” by defending Peter Zenger in New York in 1 73 S. He created the legal doctrine of “truth” as a defense to alleged seditionist or libelous material. The Court did not accept his defense but the jury believed him and Zenger was acquitted. The notorious governor of New York, by the way, whose conduct was the subject of the alleged libel, was William Cosby. I wonder if “Bill Cosby” ever knew he had such a notorious namesake.

Another lawyer, who made an historic ride of 80 miles, can now be found in most American’s pockets. Well, maybe with the ladies it’s in her pocket book. He is Caesar Rodney. He was commemorated with an engraving of him upon his horse on the Quarter, It was issued on December 7,1998. I first heard of him in 1971 when I ventured to Wilmington to run a half of marathon entitled “The Caesar Rodney Half Marathon”. I returned in 1972 and was probably in my best running shape of my life. I wanted to use the run as preparation for Boston one month or so later. It is a very hilly and thus a very tough course. On finishing an old friend and official at the run, Joe Mcilhenny, told me he thought I had won the Master’s award. The master’s award was for the first finisher over 40 years of age. My time was 1 hour and 23 minutes or so. Considering the course it was the best I had ever run and would remain so. However we, Joe and I, later learned that a younger 40 year old, Doc O’Connell from Central jersey Track club, was faster. I was 43 years old at that time, an old 40 year old.

But not until now years later did I learn any more about the honoree of the race, Caesar Rodney. I did know he rode through the night to be in Philadelphia just in time to have Delaware vote in favor of the motion to declare independence. It was on July 2, 1776. He had ridden the entire night and most of that day to make it in time to vote. It broke what would have been a tie in the Delaware delegation and not a vote for independence. The information disseminated when his image was chosen for the first of the Centennial Quarters notes that he did a great deal more. “Caesar Rodney rides through history as not only Delaware’s Hero but a Hero of America and its war of Independence. He held more public offices than any other Delawarean before or since. He was a soldier, judge, delegate to the American Continental Congress, President (Governor) of Delaware, a justice of the state’s Supreme Court, and held many other local offices.”

His ride was not as celebrated as Paul Revere’s. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow made sure of that. Another ride that goes uncelebrated was one by a militiaman Jack Jouett. He rode forty miles through the Virginia wilderness all night June 2, 1781 to arrive at Monticello in time to warn Jefferson that British troops were heading his way to capture him. His uncelebrated ride at least accomplished its mission while Revere partially failed since he was captured by a British patrol. He, Revere, was sent by a Sons of Liberty officer to go and warn Samuel Adams and others, which is not the way Longfellow portrayed the episode. But then Longfellow had Poetic license.

August is a month of celebration in this clan.

*Birthdays of Mary McSorley Yake (5), Mary MacDonald (6), Dan McSorley (?), Denise Bugey (7), Bryan MacDonald (11), Paul Leo Jr.(16), Sr. Mary McSorley (19) and Paul Berger (31) and our 18th Anniversary (l5) to just name a few. We wish you all Happy Birthdays and will add a note hopefully to each.