Paul McSorley's Jottings

‘It was a dull, gray, cloud-filled Monday morning as I sat on a balcony overlooking the Gulf of Mexico. There was rain and lightening in the clouds over the water’. These words sound like an opening sentences for a Stephen King novel, but they’re not. But it was a Monday, and it was overcast, so to take the place of a beach jaunt I opened a catalogue of books entitled, “A Common Reader: Books for Readers with

Imagination”. It is issued monthly and there’s sometimes an occasional seasonal issue. This one was ‘Summer 1999’. An author’s name, ‘Wilfred Sheed’, struck my memory. I remembered a Sheed and Ward as an English publishing house. My father had, I recalled, books published by them. They issued books by G.K. Chesterton and C.S. Lewis. So I proceeded to read a review of a book written by Wilfred Sheed, entitled “In Love with Daylight: A Memoir of Recovery”. As I was reading the review, I realized that this was in part a confession by the reviewer. It struck a chord. The words could have been mine. It went as follows:

“‘For a long time I used to go to bed soused.’ In the memoir I never got around to writing I was going to borrow the famous opening line from Remembrances of Things Past, substituting for the “early” with which Proust concluded the sentence, one of the picturesque terms for intoxication which abound in English – looped, smashed, blotto, wrecked, or maybe even just plain drunk. I suppose I felt it necessary to drag teetotal Proust into my remembrances because I assumed that the problem with which I’d been dealing for virtually all of my adult life wasn’t in itself spectacular enough to warrant being written about – I’d have to fancy it up, in a sense; a literarily unvarnished account would never cut it because mine, I figured, was so, well, well-behaved a little problem that it wasn’t, by comparison with real, i.e., out of control, drinking problems, a problem at all.”

The going to bed soused didn’t fit my memories of the past but what really shouted at me were the words, “a well-behaved little problem”. The explanation was mine from the moment it was suggested I even had a problem. The reviewer then describes the joy of giving it up. His analogies are great! “Imagine a man in a heavy wool suit and voluminous overcoat and a hat and scarf and gloves and boots trudging a beach at high summer; jump-cut, and he’s barefoot in the sand in colorful trunks and a white v-neck shirt with a dab of zinc-oxide on his nose and, what the hell, on his face a great big goofy smile he’d no doubt like to but cannot restrain. That’s what the change has been like.” He continues, “If I was going to mourn any of my old life, I’d mourn those unlived early mornings. But mourning turns out to be the very last thing this recovery of mine seems to be about, the first thing seems instead to be rejoicing.” The reviewer’s reflections are my own only better stated. His observations were prompted by his reading in the memoir of Wilfred Sheed’s of his recovery from polio as a boy, sedations and addictions to booze and pills, and depression in middle age; and, then “blind sided” by cancer in his later years. He could have easily become, as the author notes, “a Spokesperson for the justified Self-pity Foundation”. His memoir covers the bad nights and the recovery in a “vibrant, good-humored and irrepressible high-hearted” manner. The review sold me on putting the book on my reading list.

I should point out there were several differences with my problem from the reviewer’s. I was what is described as a “healthy alcoholic”. If ever there was an oxymoron, that is certainly one, a healthy disease! Yet, that was what it was. The explanation was that my exercising, running long distances, marathons, etc. had forestalled the growth, but then when I ceased the running, and was less busy with the practice, etc. it blossomed. It is not a very good term to describe something that is really deterioration, but that’s what occurred. My denial was like the reviewer’s and my daily rejoicing is the same. My denial had a firm logical basis. As do most denials, I could point to my training for long runs and Lenten withdrawals from the use of alcohol; so, ergo it was just a matter of discipline. Ah! Yes so simple yet so complicated. For some reason, just didn’t get it under control. But all that is over and as he says, “mourning” is the last thing I do. I rejoice and with the title of the book reviewed, I’m “In Love with the Daylight”. I daily say “Deo Gratias!”

July 1999 brings the 223^rd celebration of the Declaration of Independence. I wonder if Thomas Jefferson now is a bit more optimistic that a ‘Republic’ can survive. He considered those prior ones of the Greek City-States, and the Roman Empire as examples of the ultimate collapse of a ‘republic’ form of governing. “This was a dominant theme of the early republic–the idea of America as an experiment, undertaken in defiance of history, fraught with risk, problematic in outcome” (The Cycles of American History by A.M.Schlesinger Jr.).

He is most revered for his writing of the declaration but like many things in history it might not have happened that he became the author. The accident was that Richard Lee’s wife became ill. Richard Lee was the chairperson of the Virginia delegation and on the day that Tom arrived in Philadelphia (June 8^th) he, Lee, introduced a motion that Congress prepares a declaration of their independence from the British Government. It was not warmly received. North Carolina went along since it was Virginia’s idea, but the Mid-Atlantic States and New Englander’s sentiments ranged from “opposed” to “maybe later”. The motion was tabled for reconsideration on July 1^st. When that time came around Mr. Lee had left and T j. was made Chair of a committee to consider the motion since it was from his state. On that committee were john Adams, of Mass., Benjamin Franklin, of Pa., Roger Sherman of Conn. (Yale’s Treasurer), and Robert Livingston, of NY. The drafting of the declaration fell to Thomas Jefferson mainly due to his having written for the Virginia Legislature “A Summary View of the Rights of British America” in the year 1 774. It had considerable circulation in the next two years and marked the young lawyer (he was 33 in 1776) as a cogent wordsmith. He tried to get his newfound friend and mentor john Adams to write it, but he refused. The story goes that “when Adams refused, in his blunt way Jefferson asked why and drew from that cannonball of a man a swift succession of sentences delivered like shots on target. ‘Reason enough’ (said Adams) ‘What can be your reasons? (says TJ); ‘Reason first: You are a Virginian and a Virginian ought to appear at the head of this business. Reason second: I am obnoxious, suspected, and unpopular. You are very much otherwise. Reason third: You can write ten times better than I can.’ “They became great friends in those days in Philadelphia. They later both served as President; became political opponents in fact and philosophy; carried on a lifetime correspondence that is a national historic treasure; served overseas as ambassadors, Adams in England and Jefferson in France, and both died on the same day, July 4^th 1826, exactly 50 years to the day of their first joint (?) venture. The original motion of Lee’s was passed on July 2nd but was debated for two days before passing as amended. It was entitled, “The Unanimous Declaration of the 13 United States of America”. It was passed on July 4^th and signed by most on August 2^nd. Thus the “British Colonies of America” the expression used by Jefferson in his “Summary” of 1774, became the “United States of America”.

A bit of trivia about Thomas Jefferson: he was the first American to live on the “Left Bank” of Paris. It happened when he was ambassador to France the home he used was located on that side of the Seine. He hardly fits in some ways as the vision of a left bank occupant but then he was a versatile character, so there is no pigeonholing of him. It is put a bit more succinctly in the sentence; “Anyone who tries to fit him to the procrustean bed of the quintessential ‘man of reason’ will either quit in frustration or distort the reality of the man beyond recognition” (“T .J., Passionate Pilgrim by A. Mapp).

We celebrated the Fourth with Mary Lou and grandson Paulie at St. Petersburg Beach. The beach was a blaze with fireworks that night. In Florida apparently, unless we are having a dry spell, individuals can purchase fireworks and shoot them off. So the beach was full of celebrators doing just that. In fact, Mary Lou brought Paulie back up to the room because of the reckless manner in which many were handling them. We had good weather and were there a total of nearly five days. The pleasure of having only 20-minute drive to be in a cooler and sandy place is exhilarating.

I hopefully will add a note to each.

 

 

“I have forgotten much and recover it with more difficulty than when in the vigor of mind I originally acquired it. It is wonderful to me that old men should not be sensible that their minds keep pace with their bodies in the progress of decay.” So wrote Thomas Jefferson at the age of 68. He goes on to talk about one of those old men, Clinton, who keeps on telling stories of his younger days to prove his memory, “as if memory and reason were the same faculty. Nothing betrays imbecility so much as being insensible to it.” How easy it is to agree with him when I sit down to recall the times past. However, I don’t want to be thought of as a Clinton, that I keep telling stories just to prove my memory. I tell them because I like to relive some of those things I have experienced. It is done with hope that they entertain and/or amuse those who take the time to read these tales. Incidentally, the Clinton referred to by Jefferson was George of New York, not Bill of Arkansas. He was a hero and Vice President to Jefferson in his second term and to James Madison who followed. He is not to be confused with that distant relative now often in the news.

One advantage Jefferson had, aside from his faculties for reasoning and memory, were copies of a nearly all his correspondence. He copied over a lifetime some 28,000 of letters, which he had sent. It was quite a task, when you consider he had no Xerox machine much less a memory available on a personal computer. I have something that helps in that I have copies of these ramblings since 1992, plus some other papers I saved from various activities. They tell me that in June 1998 we were returning from a jaunt of driving some 3500 miles. It began in the last days of April. It ended in June and between we visited all the grandchildren from as far as Oswego, N.Y. to Harrisburg, Pa. We ended the jaunt with a lunch and visit with my sister Win. It would be the last time we would see her since the Lord called her home in November 15, 1998. The same general time in 1997 found us back in St. Pete’s until early May with a return to Philly area in time to see Alex and Aidan baptized. We returned to St. Pete’s in the middle of August to tend to work being done on our present home.

“Growing old is mandatory, growing up is optional.”

June ’99 saw grandson Tommy McSorley celebrate his 15^th birthday with a trip to Chicago to compete in a national Declamation contest. “Declamation” is the recitation of an address written by some one else, like reciting a part in a play, and if not properly done, becomes a “tirade” or “harangue”. He was the winner in the category in Philadelphia and after two days of elimination contests he ended in 4^th place of the final 6 contestants. One more chevron to add to his stripes of success. At the rate he is going adding chevrons he soon will leave the noncommissioned category and -be heading for “general”. He advises that he even got in a day of sight seeing so it wasn’t all hard work. His school, Holy Ghost Prep, as I understand, was the overall winners.

Beside Tommy McSorley having a birthday in June, we also have Grandson Joseph Golden Ill, Andy, Eleanore McSorley and my good wife, June. Andy will reach jack Benny’s age, Joseph ten years, while June and Eleanore McSorley are reaching a few years beyond. We will remember Win who had a birthday this month.

In 1997 I received a clipping, probably from Bill King, about “teaching a little Latin to help little ones,” describing a program in its 15^th year at Villanova University introducing Latin to children as young as 3 years of age. The class at that time had 55 students ranging from ages 4 through 14. Effie N. Coughanower, who sees Latin as solution to a perceived decline in literacy, founded it. She wrote a book published in 1990 advocating a mandatory year of Latin for all first graders. Some literacy experts scoff at the idea. I thought the program a bit unusual and innovative. But while reading about my favorite early American, Thomas Jefferson, I found he had proposed a similar program. In reforming the laws of Virginia and writing their Constitution he proposed what we would call “public education”. It even included women, girls if you will, at least in the early years for reading, writing and arithmetic. His proposal included the teaching of Latin and Greek not quite as early as three and four year olds but what would be equivalent to 3rd graders or 7 and 8 year olds. The author of the Jefferson’s Biography notes however that this was not as innovative as it might seem in that the Kingswood School, Bristol, England in 1768 had “…included in the first year not only the study of Latin and Greek grammar but also the reading of Caesar, Virgil, and the Greek Testament”.

There were critics who scoffed at the idea then and now on the basis of “its usefulness” One critic of the Villanova program, said, “…it would be hard for a four year old to understand why they are learning something they couldn’t use”. My recollection of four-year-olds in learning anything never had them including analyzing whether it would be useful or not! The greatest thing about the child at that age is his/her receptors, brains, or what have you, act like sponges, which absorb the matter, placed before it and never ask themselves why. In fact, I never remember in my own educational scheme asking if a subject would be useful until I began selecting courses in third year of high school. “Useful” is a weasel word. It usually depends on who is asking and not much more. Is Latin “useful” because it gives one a greater foundation to the understanding of English, or is that not “useful”? The ultimate “useful” for most people is to equate it to dollars. Will it help me get and/or keep a job? These askers are making a job equal to a life. Life is more than a job, a profession or a career. For those other times, we spend enjoying that life we need the usefulness of “understanding” things around us. They come from literature and art of all kinds.

I encouraged my grandsons to take Latin when they were given an opportunity. I understand one more Matthew McSorley has chosen it too. Those who have finished one year, Tommy, Sean, and David have all found it interesting (useful?). The authors of Latina Pro Populo (Latin for the People) explain the influence of Latin on our language as twofold:

“First, Latin has provided and continues to provide an incredible proportion of our minimum daily requirement of vocabulary. Even though English, like German, Danish, and Swedish, is descended from the Germanic branch of the Indo-European family, its vocabulary is predominately Latinate. And second, by providing us with words, Latin has also provided us with the concepts, which those words express. What else, after all, are words for if not to mean something? As a result, the Latin language has continued to play a substantial role in shaping the way we look at the world, since we can’t help but filter the world through our language. To know something about Latin, then is to know something about how and why we perceive the cosmos as we do.”

Enough said.

We were lucky at Golf tournament in the beginning of May. The Church sponsored it. Our luck was not in the playing but in winning a raffle. The prize was a night and two days at a Beach Resort in St. Petersburg Beach. We intend to use it a few days the week after Father’s Day.

My sister Marge sent me a treasure. It a letter my mother wrote to my brother Dick on October 30, 1947! In it she speaks of a visit to me then attending the Oblate Junior College in Newburgh, N.Y. She writes, “…and Paul was a real joy. He seems completely acclimated and content. His letters home each week are a riot. He writes at length and seems interested in everything”. Upon reading it, June said, “Haven’t changed much, have you?” Well, maybe, but they are no longer a “riot”!

Ron & Mary,

I presume the visit to the Rochester area and the Yake’s clan, only further enhanced the charms of those “guys”. I forgot to mentioned that one of the pictures that came, I think with my birthday card, had their greetings written in circles extending from their mouths, it sits in front of what a call “my work bench” in the garage. I thank them each time I appear before them for the gracious comments. Hope you and they are well and growing in wisdom and grace. Did you get to run the “Nun’s Run” this year? Love to learn what the shirts were like, they always were gems.

Happy to hear from you anytime.

Love to you and the “guys”, Dad

We ended the month of April with R&R. After having a boarder for eight weeks and intermittent guests for various periods, we needed to get away. We can now take our R&R ’till we are “R2R” or “Ready to Return”. In this case we had planned to stay until Saturday but the weather on Friday morning changed our minds. We left St. Pete’s on the 24^th and drove to a small town on the Panhandle called “Madison”. June had found at one of our rest stops a discount traveler’s book. In it was a coupon for a reduced stay in the Madison Holiday Inn. On many prior occasions we found such discounts but never had any luck in using them. This time we did and it became one of many “firsts” we were to have on the trip. We managed to get a room for less than our usual AARP or Senior discount rate. We also found a family restaurant just down the street that made eating a cheap but delicious endeavor. The other firsts were 1) I visited states where I had never been before, Alabama and Mississippi. June had previously been to Birmingham, but she too was making her first appearance in Ole’ Miss; (2) we changed our clocks while enroute. Three-quarters the way over the panhandle you leave EDT and enter COT. We gained an hour only of course to lose it on returning. I had never driven where that occurred before. We both had experienced it in air flights but never in a car. The last “first” was upon arrival at Biloxi, Miss. to stay at the Grand Casino Hotel we were informed that there were “two” Grand Casino Hotels in Biloxi. One was “lslandview” the other was “Bayview”. After some shuffling we crossed the highway and settled in Bayview. A partial ‘first’ was that all the casinos were on water. You would be hard to notice it except you must step up a bit as you enter the casino area. Under the rugs there is a large metal hinge between dock (hotel) and the boat (a barge affixed to the hotel and the ground). I say a “partial” first since we have been aboard ships with casinos aboard.

We arrived on Sunday afternoon. We saw a great musical revue and show in the evening. The next day we toured the area. It has maybe seven or eight casino hotels. It is spread out over an area of four or five miles so it is not as gaudy as Vegas or Atlantic City. The sand is white, as it is in Jersey and unlike some of it you find along the West Coast of Florida. Around four P.M. we heard from Betty Hopkins that they had arrived. We met them for dinner and caught up on the news. Betty had three sisters also on the trip from Philadelphia by bus. It was a happy reunion. We then learned that they were booked for tours for the rest of their stay. We did see them at 11 A.M. on Tuesday for a bit and then said good-bye to them that evening just before they went into see the show. They were leaving early in the morning to tour New Orleans. It is just a two-hour ride to it. We too left on Wednesday to begin the drive back with a plan to see the panhandle. We left the main highway after Pensacola and traveled through one resort after another to Panama City Beach.

June spent her allotted gambling budget but it took the three days. I got to do some reading like a Parker’s detective story, featuring Spencer, and an Agatha Christie crime story with H. Poroit. l walked to the” Seafood and Maritime Museum”. It was just a few blocks from our hotel. I entered and found no one there. There was a counter to the right of the entrance door and behind it computer running. So I figured someone was there but after walking in a bit and calling out no one appeared so I began my tour. I learned that Biloxi was 300 years old! A Frenchman named Seur d’Iberville discovered it in 1699. It received its name from the Indian tribe that occupied the area. The discovery came after La Salle had come down the Mississippi in 1673 and declared the entire watershed area to be “Louisiana” for Louis XIV. However LaSalle efforts to establish a colony failed and the first one established was that by d’Iberville in Biloxi in 1699. A little side story about LaSalle is that when he came back several years later he missed the shores of Louisiana due to an error in the reading of longitude. He ended up in what is now Texas. His colony and himself were either killed by Indians or died of disease. It was another tragedy at sea due to the longitude problem being unsolved. Walking around the room I followed Biloxi’s history. lt became the Shrimp capital of U.S. and a booming seafood canning industry was established. I then heard some one enter and I coughed up my admission price ($1.50 for the “chronologically gifted”). The history ended around 1984 with pictures of Regan eating shrimp with a crowd in Biloxi. One Mary Maloney cooked and served it. Her family has had a restaurant in Biloxi going back some fifty years and there is one even today.

Twenty years ago this month I celebrated a birthday in New York’s Warwick Hotel with my gang. At the same time we were celebrating daughter Suzie’s graduation from Columbia Law School and her husband Tom’s graduating from Columbia Business School with an MBA. Five years ago we celebrated Tom’s ordination as a Deacon in the Roman Catholic Church. I also celebrated a complete recovery from by-pass surgery that month having had the operation in January. Today, five years later I am back to my fighting weight and my cholesterol is lower than I can ever recall.

Our stay in Panama City as I noted above was cut short by the weather, nevertheless we did have a good time. June got a day in the sun and we took a long walk on the beach. It was tough walking since the sand was so soft even along the water’s edge. We found some great eating spots and I even got four holes of golf in before being told to get off the course due to an oncoming thunderstorm. I did get my money back so I played for free. On the walk we noticed what looked like blue balloons with tails. They were scattered along the water’s edge in various sizes and groups. June noted that they were jellyfish. Lo! The headlines next day of the local paper, “Portuguese ‘Man-of-War’ Invade the Beaches”. Another sight we were surprised to see were ‘breakers”. The Gulf looked and sounded like the Atlantic at Myrtle Beach and Avalon with ‘real’ waves. We thought that maybe it was due to the recent storms in acting unlike it does here on the West Coast of Florida. However an inquiry of our waiter assured us it is that way all the time. It was like being back in Avalon as we went to sleep the first night in our room on the beach. The roar of the ocean filled the air.

May is the month of Mothers. It is birthday month for Marge and I. On Mother’s Day we went to the beach and ate hoagies for lunch. The mother in this house has great taste in food but limits some of those “treats” to days like “Mother’s Day”. For dinner on Mother’s day we had a “pizza”. A real one brought at Poppa-Johns with its special garlic butter sauce for the crust. June’s requests were fulfilled and you can be sure I enjoyed it. The beach was delightful so much so that we stayed till after five P.M. I even had a swim in the Gulf since the water is about 77 degrees. A little walk on the beach put a nice touch to our Mother’s day.

My birthday gift from June is a dinner at the Olive Garden with 15 friends. We are having Andy and Paul as visitors from Thursday night until Sunday. We will try two new golf courses. It sounds like a fine celebration and I look forward to it.

I have gone back to one of my favorite studies, the life of Thomas Jefferson. I have obtained a lecture course on audiotapes of his life. A former Columbia professor gives it. He is now teaching a CCNY. The course includes the reading of a written biography along with listening to the lectures. Happily I have that biography which the professor chose for required reading. I had no idea until the course arrived that it, the biography by Willard Sterne Randall would be part of the course. My nephew-lawyer Frank Allen gave me that book as a birthday gift some 4 years ago. It was the book that began my interest in the author of the Declaration of Independence. What is pleasing is that in rereading I find it just as interesting as the first time.

We bid you a farewell until next time with a hope to add a note.

 

“Spring is sprung, and grass is riz, so this is where the classes is!” So spake, I believe, an ancient philosopher named Ogden Nash. Maybe that explains why I am into sunrises. It is Saturday, 6 A.M. I am sitting on a stool on the Lido Deck of the Carnival Cruise ship ”Tropicale” watching the sunrise. The big red ball comes up slowly giving the Gulf of Mexico and me a new day. We are steaming south (20 knots at most) to 20 degrees north latitude to the coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, specifically to the island of Cozumel. I’m into this Longitude and Latitude stuff after reading the book “Longitude-The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time”. We are, and have, experienced great weather, and too much food. Yesterday (March 19^th) was spent on the island of Key West. We rode around the entire town on a small motor driven train with 60 some other tourist. The narrator never stopped narrating the entire hour and half. We saw many mansions of the early rich, Americans, Spaniards, and Cubans. We passed the cafe made famous by Earnest Hemingway, many exotic palm trees, bushes, and flowers. (The narrator was really in to the flora stuff) We learned about the “Conch (as in the shell) Republic” and its short uprising against U.S. After being subdued it, like most ex-enemies of U.S., received foreign aid. It is still celebrated with flags and feasts Cuban style. We passed the prison that once housed Dr. Samuel A. Mudd. He was the physician who attended to John Wilkes Booth’s leg after he had assassinated President Lincoln. He, I was told by someone other than the narrator, did not waste away in the prison, but discovered something that cured (?) malaria. He is, according to the narrator, remembered most today for having brought the word ‘Mud’ into our language as a term of derision, as in “Your name will be ‘Mud’, if you…or you’ll be knee deep in ‘Mud’ if…”

The visit to Isla de Cozumel was short. We had Eric and Paulie in tow. The rest were off snorkeling. We took a ride on a boat that had underwater viewing. It was beautiful to behold the forests of coral. Its variety was incredible. Some looking like fans of lace swaying in the breeze, other like the rocks we usually think of them as, and still others of shapes and sizes hard to imagine as “coral”. It is a growing plant on the bottom of the warm seas. Eric had fought and cried about coming at all. He then proceeded to fall asleep on my lap and became like a sack of potatoes. We sat on benches with no back support. June became my support and then she helped me carry him back up to deck at the end of the ride.

One of the highlights of the cruise happened on the last night. We attended a show. It was a Magician. He was very good. One of his acts was to use large horse collar apparatus and blow a balloon up inside it. He managed to blow two balloons up and they both bursts while he was attempting to fit them into the collar. This was not what he meant to do (allegedly). He was to run a thin rapier through the collar and the balloon to the other side, obviously not breaking the balloon. Having no more balloons he decided to seek a young person from the audience. Then from the darkness of the theater onto the light of the stage came a young man. What a surprise! It was Paulie Berger, our grandson. He had two missing front teeth. So he tried desperately not to smile. But between the antics of the Magician and the laughter of the audience he finally burst into one, pleasing everyone, but particularly his grandparents. He grimaced twice when Magician tried to push the rapier into the back of his neck. Then Houdini turned him sideways and proceeds to push the rapier through coming out on the other side and under Paulie’s nose. His expression in watching it come out was a classic “I can’t believe it’s happening!” It was a beautiful way to end the cruise. After the Magician left the stage the Cruise Director came on and rewarded Paulie. He was given a “24 carat gold plastic trophy”! We arrived home on Monday around 8 a.m. and were driving off with our baggage by 10. The trip was good one and a success in the seasickness department, though June did take some medicine on each day to help her equilibrium.

As I turned out of the parking lot onto the highway it was about 6:30a.m. Palm Sunday morning. I then turned onto the road that would take me home. It heads dead East. I heard the radio announce that we would now hear an organ recital by Handel. It began with a roar and at the same instant I looked up the road and gasped “Oh My God”. The blaze of the sun with a million shades of rose and red filled the sky through the palm trees. The music rose seemingly as a tribute to the majestic sight in front of me. So I then with reverence said “Oh, My God!” It was a dramatic way to commence a morning in this paradise known as St. Petersburg, and even more so a Palm Sunday morn. Easter week saw Bill, Sharon, Matthew and Karen with us. We got to see two baseball games, one of the Phillies, who won, and the other of the home team Devil Rays, who also won. For two days they were visiting Sea World and the Animal Kingdom in Orlando. They left Easter morning. We learned by email that they took nearly nine hours to get back to Harrisburg due to flight delays, missed connections, etc.

My curiosity about word-meanings got me thinking about “Easter”. Is it someone or something from the “East (-er)”. The ever-faithful OED provided the answer. “EASTER: Origin, Old English, EASTRE, of Germanic origin and related to German OSTERN & EAST. According to Bede the word is derived from EASTRE, the name of a goddess associated with spring.” The term “Good” Friday seems to be a contradiction in that it commemorates the death of Jesus on the cross. But I learned that I had forgotten that “good” might also mean, among other meanings, “holy, or observed as a holy day”

I am happy to report that this morning the scale informed me I had reached my weight goal. Now it is just a question of maintaining it. I think it will be so thanks to the great help I receive from June in seeing that I eat well, even though eating less. Hope all of you had a glorious Easter weekend and I will try to add a note to each.

“CLINTON SURVIVES… ” “AND THE WINNER IS” So appeared the headlines in the middle of February. It would have been more appropriate if they had said “THE PEOPLE SURVIVED…” and “THE CONSITUTION IS THE WINNER…” The first is easily understood, but the Constitution was a winner? Why, because of the strong constitutional brakes found therein. One commentator says, “Clinton saved by his 18^th-Century defense team”. They, James Madison, Alexander Hamilton, and George Mason saw the dangers of runaway partisan fervor. The key brake was the word “high” in “high crimes and misdemeanors”. Another was to divide the impeachment duties. It made sure the Accusers were not also the judges. Between them both, the Senate could not find the case for impeachment proven. I had promised my self not to ruminate about the national scandal, but my legal curiosity got the best of me. I discovered that the present Chief justice and Presiding officer at the impeachment hearing had written a book entitled, ” Grand Inquest: The Historic Impeachments of justice Samuel Chase and President Andrew Johnson.” It was first published in 1993 and then reissued in 1999. (Not surprisingly!) After having read it, I look forward to seeing what the Chief justice has to say about these most recent proceedings. It is a well-written bit of history. I particularly liked his review of the events that lead up to both Impeachments. Some of the things I learned were: (1) the process of impeaching was borrowed from the English law but that they, some four or five years after the Founding Fathers adopted it, let their law lapse. They had used it in order to remove appointments by the King and apparently they now had the power to do so without impeachment, (2) the two-thirds vote required was to avoid a political majority removing a President because of politics only. It included the condition of “high crimes and misdemeanors or Treason” for the same reason, (3) the impeachment move against justice Chase was allegedly initiated by a suggestion from President Thomas Jefferson to a friend in the House. The midnight judges appointed by lame-duck Adams angered him. It was an example of Thomas J., the politician.

“The impeachment (Clinton’s) has been less about danger to the nation than about disgust with the President’s attitude. Failure to convict and remove him will reaffirm the limited role the Constitution gave the impeachment mechanism: to shield the nation against rogue Presidents, not punish Presidents who are rogues” (L.H. Tribe, Const. Law Prof. Harvard, written the day before the decision). So now we shall wait and see if the Chief justices pens a sequel covering the latest “Grand Inquest”.

It is now assured that Clinton will go down in History. It is something all Presidents aspire to see happen. I am sure he would like to be remembered for a million things other than as the first elected president to be impeached, but it will probably not be so.

The Lieutenant called us to the center of the dormitory that had been our home for the last twelve weeks. ‘We’ were the officer candidates in Quantico Training Center in the year 1954. He wanted to give a farewell message. The long awaited day had arrived. We would leave this building, march to the auditorium, and receive our gold bars as Second Lieutenants in the U.S.M.C. or now just the “Corps”. It had been a tough twelve weeks. The mental harassment was equal to the physical beating our bodies took. Having just prior thereto spent three years in Law School where exercise consisted of walking to and from classrooms; the physical trial alone made this a great day. But the brain washing that had me fearful of not making it topped that. My fear was always that if you failed you headed for Parris Island and boot camp as a private. All in that room had shared my fear. We may have thought the OC training was tough but we were positive the boot camp was tougher. So as we gathered before the Lieutenant, all these things were in our heads. He said he had a farewell message in the form of a story. It went like this. A Marine Colonel ran his home with three sons the same way he ran his Battalion. His boys were 12, 10, and 8 years of age. One night upon coming home his wife informed him that the kitchen window had been broken. He advised the boys that immediately after dinner he would hold

Mast. Mast is a military hearing or the first step in the Navy and Marine Corps towards a court-martial. After dinner each boy in turn enters the room where their father, the “Colonel”, sat facing them from behind a desk, they saluted and said: “Reporting as order, SIR!” They were then asked, “What do you know about the Kitchen window?” The first two (ages 12 and 10) answered the question, “Nothing SIR!” The youngest after having been asked the question said, ” I broke it SIR!” The Colonel then said, ” Do you have anything to say before I pass sentence?” The boy answered, “Yes, SIR!” “And what is that?” To which the boy replied, “How do I get out of this chicken-shit outfit?” The room burst into a roar of laughter. It was just as many of us felt on that morning. It was a good farewell message, so good it still brings a laugh when I think about it now more than forty years later.

March is the month of St. Patrick’s Day. “Patrick’s gift to the Irish was his Christianity-the first de-Romanized Christianity in human history, a Christianity without the sociopolitical baggage of the Greco-Roman world, Christianity that completely enculturated itself into the Irish scene. Through the Edict of Milan, which had legalized the new religion in 313 and made it the new emperor’s pet, Christianity had been received into Rome, not Rome into Christianity! Roman culture was little altered by the exchange, and it is arguable that Christianity lost much of its distinctiveness. But in the Patrician exchange, Ireland, lacking the power and implacable traditions of Rome, had been received into Christianity, which transformed Ireland into Something New, something never seen before-a Christian culture, where slavery and human sacrifice became unthinkable, and warfare, though impossible for humans to eradicate, diminished markedly…As these transformed warrior children of Patrick’s heart lay down the swords of battle, flung away the knives of sacrifice, and cast aside the chains of slavery, they very much remained Irishmen and Irishwomen. Indeed the survival of an Irish psychological identity is one of the marvels of the Irish story. Unlike the continental church fathers, the Irish never troubled themselves overmuch about eradicating pagan influences, which they tended to wink at and enjoy. The festivals continued to be celebrated, which is why we today can still celebrate the

Irish feasts of May Day and Hallowe’en.” (T. Cahill “How the Irish Saved Civilization”) This paragraph in Cahill’s book sticks with me and it puts to bed the old concept of a St. Patrick just driving all the snakes out Ireland. He certainly did a great deal more.

I am happy to report June has recovered from her mouth surgery. We want to thank all of you have sent notes of inquiry and offers of prayers. It worked this time she had a lot less an ordeal than the first time. She’s just happy that hopefully there will be no “next” time.

I attended a luncheon on the last Saturday in February at a restaurant in Clearwater Beach. The alumni of West Catholic Girls sponsored it and they invited the alumni of West Catholic Boys. The present president (we called him principal) of West Catholic Boys was present since he happened to be in the area, visiting friends. There were thirty-six, about a dozen of who were men, attended it. It was a quite a surprise to find my high school having regional alumni here on the West Coast of Florida. As Imogene Coca would say “Isn’t it a small world!”

We’ll bid adieu and hope to add a note to each.

 

 

One of the dividends of having written these jottings for nearly seven years, is you can go back and read what you wrote. It’s a good refresher. Sometimes it is not too enlightening and you wonder what ever made you discuss “that” subject. But it is fun and sure helps the memory. I have sometimes even retained clippings or letters of that time. They too bring happy memories most of the time.

Looking back two years I am reminded of our visit to St. Michael’s and Baltimore Harbor at that time just prior to and including Valentine’s day. We made a great tour of the Naval Academy, tried the various restaurants in the quaint village named for its church, St. Michael’s. We learned it was the birthplace of Stephen Douglas, the slave who became a diplomat. We promised some day we would go back. In that month of

1997 the world received the twins, Aidan and Alex Yake. We lost a friend, and brother-in-law of Dan Walsh, Stanley Karminski. Just a year ago we told of our visit to Busch Gardens and the visit of John and Mary MacDonald. It was also the beginning of the Paula Jones and Lewinsky dirges. We lamented, with Maureen Dowd, a columnist, the age of tawdriness and it’s being continually considered news by the media.

It is beginning to feel more and more that this is home. Our activities in and with the church community, the familiarity with places in the area like restaurants, etc., or maybe it is our guests who now can say, “Do you remember ‘last year’ when we…?”

Mary and John MacDonald have been here since last Thursday. John and I had a round of golf together on Friday. He went with me on Saturday to a Men’s Breakfast. Sunday we all walked the Bayview Drive by the Pier with an ending at the St. Pete’s Hilton Hotel for a brunch. It is one of the perks of having guests, you get to eat and walk in favorite places. It seems that “favorite places” only makes that status any more when we do have guest. Our other activities have kept us from partaking of them at other times. It may be one more sign that we are really at “home”.

We ventured over to Orlando once again with Mary. This time we visited a new spot, Cypress Gardens. It had an ice show and it is the place where the first water skiing shows began. We ended the day by meeting John at a hotel in the city of Orlando. The next day we visited and enjoyed once again Sea World with its magic dolphins and killer whales that perform on cue. We headed home with a stop at our favorite roadhouse “The Cracker BarreI”. I learned recently, it is also John Gotti, Jr., of Mafia fame, favorite restaurant. His patronage still hasn’t changed the quality of the food and service.

They now have a machine that rates essays. It is called “e-rater”. It was developed to rate the essays written by some 200,000 business school applicants who take the Graduate Management Admissions Test. “E-rater likes subordinate and complementary clauses and words like ‘however’ and ‘therefore’ that some people think suggest a tidy mind. There was a time when essays were thought to be more than the sum of their therefores. They were distinguished by their originality, (Ed. note: not quotes from others sources!) insight, and personal voice, by their graceful style, lack of affectation and willingness to meander. Instead of stomping toward a conclusion, many never arrived.” It has made me wonder how my ramblings would be rated? The purpose of the e-rater is to have less need for human raters. It, the computer, looks for “syntactic variety”, such as different kinds of clauses. It also looks for words associated with organization of ideas, such as “first”, “second”, and “third”. It seems to be the kind of writing I had to experience as an attorney. It would certainly fall into the “boring-orderly mind class. But unfortunately as I read, and reread, some of my spoutings I continually find that the “habit” is hard lose. I get right in there with the “one, two, three” and “therefore” crowd. But I will continue to try.

The computer programmed to evaluate writing is not surprising. The computer gets to do more and more word tasks. What was, and is surprising, is to read of a transplant of a human hand! It is a first here in United States but two others have been done elsewhere. The medical miracles continue. It, the transplant, has only modest success but the thought of attempting it boggles the mind. We seem to be getting closer and closer to the “Six Million Dollar Man”. It maybe however be that with inflation the Six might be replace with Ten or Twenty.

June and I had a walk in the moonlight. It was at 6AM on the last day of January. It is the only time we get to do that anymore. It was the second moon of the month. It is phenomenon that only happens every so often, or “once in a blue moon”. The last time was 18 years ago. The blue moon has only been around a couple times and it is the result of something being added to the atmosphere such a smoke. In fact, moon-lovers (lunatics?) never refer to this incident as being “once in a blue” one. Looking up at as we walked, I recalled that it was 1999 and just 30 years since a man walked on it. My Dad was doubtful of it really being done. He even inquired if I believed it. He didn’t live long enough to see the other marvels in space, such as, the launching a rocket to bring back “stardust” seven years from now! I am sure that having an essay rated by a computer would also have tested his beliefs.

Today is the day of June’s operation. I am sitting in the Public Library passing time. It is located across the street from the Doctor’s office. Now one can just sign up and have a word processor at his fingertips. It is another of those wonders of the Age. I am praying for her quick recovery as I reminisce. I learned some good news this morning. I gave blood on Sunday. Three days later you can call and obtain your Cholesterol count. I did so this morning and found it was below 200. It is the first time I can recall it being so since I stopped running. I can only attribute it to the reduction in the amount of food eaten for the week, since all other things that might affect it have remained the same. One week before the test I began to change my eating habits. I had entered a program sponsored by the Church called “Weigh Down”. It is not a diet. It is a spiritually oriented program using scriptures and common sense to change your focus. A diet requires you focus on food. The focus here is on eating only when you’re hungry and stopping when you are full. The secret is in knowing when each occurs. The first natural step is to see how long you can go without being hungry and then cutting the quantity in half. Everyone agrees, since it is a law of physics and nature, if you eat less you’ll lose weight. So there is no great help there. What does seem to help is the idea of not thinking about food. The focus is on the spirit. The idea is as old as asceticism. It is taught by a beautiful Georgia Girl nutritionist who sings with a southern drawl of the focus on Christ as what is needed to replace the focus on food. I have been to two classes, both consisting of hour-long videos of her lecturing. In between classes (which are once a week) we have audiotapes to listen to at home. It may sound a bit idealistic in my exposition of it here, but the success so far has made me a believer. I have lost a pouch that was forming and the pounds are down, now we head for “weigh down”. I have just as much energy and am sleeping as well as ever so I plan to continue. One of the claims made by the program is that it can even reduce your Cholesterol count without concentrating on “fat content”. It has at least so far appeared to do so. But we still have 10 weeks to go, so we shall see.

The first Sunday of February during the service June was installed as a member of the Church Council. She handled it admirably, though her face displayed a bit of apprehension, especially when she was required to turn and face the congregation as they orally accepted her. I know she will do a good job even though she keeps feeling she “bit off more than she can chew”. Here present problem is of getting over the surgery and it will keep her busy for at least the rest of the week.

We’ll end here with the hope to add a note.

“It only gets worse, as we get older – the feeling that we hardly have a moment to spare. Time, our lifetime, increasingly comes to seem like a rocket sled into which we are helplessly buckled, speeding through years in seconds while the world blurs past. What we wouldn’t give to have some genie grant us, well, all the time in the world would do for a start that slower time, to the leisurely ticking of which we could take life in on foot, as it were, meet it unhurriedly, and still more unhurriedly watch it unfolding all around us…”

I couldn’t have said better my self. It’s a thought that occurs every year at this time as we are given to looking forward and backward. It is January, named for that two headed god, Janus, who looks forward and backward at the same time. It is a feat I only saw performed by the good Sisters in grade school, who though writing on the blackboard with their backs to the class could reprimand any student by name who began fooling around. I only report this as an observer, not as one subject to that amazing talent (Of course!).

Going back to the file of my January jottings of ’98 I found my sister Winnie’s 1997 Christmas letter. It was a summary of her life. It listed all her children, their children, and their children’s children. It reported on what they were doing. It listed her sisters and brothers and some of their activities. It ended with these words:

“This is not meant as a letter of statistics. It’s just tell all of you the wonders of my life and all of the gifts of my Lord and God whose birth we celebrate with songs of love, wonder and thanks to Him who left Heaven to be born a Babe to live on this Earth and then to die to give us life. Happy Christmas and blessed and healthy New Year. My love to all of you, Winnie (Allen).”

I see that last year at this time we had houseguests. I had to step around bodies as I quietly crept to the kitchen in the early hours. This year we were alone. We attended the candlelight service on Christmas Eve and treated ourselves to a super brunch at the Hilton Hotel in downtown St. Pete’s on Christmas Day. I had talked there about my first “gig” at the Shore Acre’s Christmas party. It was even better this year. I had no one trying to sing along while I played, since Santa, who actually showed up this year, was distributing gifts.

In my looking forward last year, I noted Winnie was going to be a visitor in February. She was and how happy we now are to have the memory of her here in a new home.

I spent time in a dentist chair the other day. It was for three hours. It was generally pain free and consisted mostly of preparing crowns for my front teeth. Sitting there gazing out the window at a monster tree under a gray clouds, I began thinking, among other things, about the word “day”. How did it become what we call the times of light? I had remembered that Genesis tell us. God said “Lux erat”, (Let there be light!), and there was. God then separated the light from darkness. “God called the light ‘day’ and the darkness He called ‘night’.” The Latin reads: “Appelavitque lucem Diem, et tenebras Noctem…” I only include it to show that it is does not seem to be the origin our word “day”.

The Revised Oxford English Dictionary (on the net) traces the word back to the (OE) Saxon word “doeg” (like “dag” in German). The word meant, “to burn”. The etymologist Funk states: “The central idea of the word ‘day’ is ‘burning heat’, for day was christened in those tropical countries where the heat was burning during the 12 hour period when the sun was shining”. Problem solved. I know none of you lose any sleep over this sort of thing.

My fascination for word origins did tempt me at one time to invest in OED, Oxford English Dictionary. It is a steal now on CD for only $395. The 20-volume set cost $995. But for now I think I’ll just stick to the Revised Version on the net. I have had enough comments about ‘men are just boys with more expensive toys’ than to encourage another one.

We are looking forward to seeing John and Mary here in January, Bill with a quick stop in February, and a longer visit hopefully in March. Also in March we are going cruising with the Berger’s from Tampa to Mexico via Key West. January also sees June named to serve on the Church council. She turned down their request to act as Financial Secretary. It had too many public confrontations to please her. She demonstrated her continuing ability to cook up a storm by have a dinner for eight for New Year’s Day It was a custom we had established a Dorcas street, and so we begin it again. We are however restricted, even more than at Dorcas Street, as to numbers. Three couples is the max. One of the couples was our pastor and his wife, Jerry and Connie Straszheim. Both have become good friends to us, these new comers to St. Petersburg.

As June and I walked in the early Monday morning darkness, it occurred to me that the Church has become a large part of our week. June counts receipts on Monday morning; I attend a men’s breakfast on Tuesday mornings; on Wednesday evening we attend a community dinner there; on Friday mornings (and at other times when called) June goes to the church office and helps stuff literature for mailing and distribution, and on Sunday morning we attend a communion service.

I just finished Tom Wolfe’s new novel “A Man in Full”. It was good reading and an interesting weaving of the characters with the plot. I did find some of his “stream of consciousness” depictions and his descriptions of surroundings, a bit over done. Some weeks ago there was a report of Norman Mailer and John Updike commenting on the book as “entertaining” but not “Literature”. The reporter expressed the opinion that their “criticism” sounded more like sour grapes. While reading the novel I came across what Tom Wolfe had a character say about “Literature”. His character is a retired literature teacher. One of the main characters in the book, Conrad, is now in the ex-professor’s home as nursing assistant to help him. They discuss Literature. The dialogue goes like this:

(Ex-Prof.) “…How old are your?” “Twenty-Three”, said Conrad… “Twenty Three”, said the old man, still not looking at him. “That’s a good age to be interested in literature. You have so much time…you have so much; it must seem to be spilling out of your pockets. You don’t need to worry about what an incalculable luxury literature is. Entire civilizations are founded without any literature at all and without anybody missing it. It’s only later on when there’s a big enough class of indolent drones to write the stuff and read the stuff that you have literature. When I saw those eager hands sticking up as I taught, I always wanted to tell them what I’ve just told you, but what right did I have to try to play the iconoclast after making a living my whole life taking it seriously, or at least with a straight face?”…(And further on) “Literature is a sort of dessert”…”Life’s about things you know even less about. Life’s about cruelty and intimidation.”

So Tom, at least somewhat, through the eyes and voice of his character, the Ex-Literature Professor is responding to those who say he is not writing Literature! Mailer and Updike referred to him as a “journalist”, I suppose to distinguish him from a “Novelist”. I’d tale a journalist any day, like Mark Twain (Sam Clemens). He is a man where the action is. The Novelist, you picture is the loner gone off to some remote spot to commune with his muse. Incidentally, Mailer and Updike’s criticism hasn’t affected the book’s sales; it is in the number one spot for the seventh straight week in the N.Y. Times Book Review.

We wish you all once again a Happy and Healthy New Year.

 

Merry Christmas!

We begin these ramblings with a note of sadness mixed with joy. We are sad at the loss of our “other mother”, Win, but happy that she is now enjoying well earned eternal rest. She was a sister but to me another mother. I mentioned this to some one at the funeral and his or her immediate response was “She was to everyone!”

I arrived home after giving blood on Sunday, November 15^th to be greeted by June. Her face could tell it all. She gave me the sad news that Win had died that morning. November 15^th is the same day my mother died some 46 years ago. It was the day Win took on the job as my other mother and continued to do so even up to Saturday, November 7^th, when she called to catch up on the news. We had been planning to leave St. Petersburg on the 18^th but now we started packing and left on Monday morning. The funeral was on Friday. The church was full and the service a celebration. The eulogies by her sons, Frank and Jim, were outstanding in their warmth and humor. The tribute Frank paid to his sisters Beth and Winnie, who had cared for and lived with both Paul and Win, was most deserving. They practiced the love they learned so well from Win and Paul in their lifetime. She will be sorely missed by all that knew her. Reliving and recalling the joyous memories she gave to all of us in her lifetime is the only way to assuage our grief.

We spent a little more than two weeks in the Philly area. The highlight was the Thanksgiving Day dinner for 22 cooked by June. Her cooking the meal was a prerequisite for our visit! We had a day with my gang. It gave us a chance to see those we often don’t get to see because of the distance. We played with the sprouting twins, Aida and Alex, who are now able to say “Pop-pop” very clearly. We rejoiced in seeing Hannah with braces on her little legs running about like they were not there. I had the opportunity of carrying Colleen (“she’s something else”) on my shoulders as we walked around Mary’s Yardley neighborhood. We were houseguests of John and Mary Macdonald, June’s sister and brother-in-law, in Mayfair most of the time. We stayed the few days around Thanksgiving at Tracy’s and I had the special privilege of being Eric’s guest at his pre-school Pilgrim Feast. He was the Indian and I was the Pilgrim. The Indians performed and the Pilgrims just watched and applauded. I was one of two Grandparents present so I felt quite proud of my status. We went to the opera. It was the “Tales of Hoffman”. It was a first for June, and could have been considered my first, since the last one was in 1 970 in Munich with Jim, Pat, and Jim’s friend from Munich. I remember it was “Don Juan”, was nearly four hours long, in German, and Pat and I fell asleep. I am happy to report that our visit to the Academy for the ‘Tales” was much more entertaining and I stayed awake. They had the English translation of the singer’s words flashed on a screen over the top of the stage, so it made it even better for us monolingual spectators. We dined with Marge, Dan and Anne after the music at Philadelphia’s famous “Bookbinders”. It would have been a great meal but my temporary front teeth kept falling out! The fall out gave me an opportunity to visit my old friend and Dentist Gene Lewis. In fact we were on a daily basis there for a while since each day another decided to leave me. We did give him a break and not bother him on Thanksgiving weekend. I had with Bill King and the Wick twins, Frank and AI. We discussed cabbages and kings and all the important things. I did the same with Dick O’Donnell and John Malone on different days but at the same old haunt, Austrian Village.

On Monday after the feast, we waited anxiously to see what would happen since Mary was to have a Kidney stone removed. If the laser or ultra sound method were not able to do so she would go on to surgery. We had decided if that were the case that we would extend our stay. However it happily decided to leave on its own. When the X-rays were reviewed that morning they revealed that the stone had vanished. Thus we took off and arriving back in St. Pete’s on December 3^rd.

While we were in Philadelphia I saw two names in the news that were part of my past, Tom Gola and Sam Dash. Tom was being honored by his Alma Mater, La Salle, by having the new Gymnasium named “The Tom Gola Gymnasium”. Sam is a lawyer-professor. I believe still attached to Georgetown Law School. He, the newspaper reported, resigned as Kenneth Starr’s “Ethic Adviser” due to Mr. Starr choosing to appear before the Judiciary Committee. He felt that an Independent Prosecutor should not appear as an advocate before a Committee that was considering the results of his investigation. Mr. Dash apparently served in the same capacity during the Nixon investigation in 1974.

Tom, as anyone reading these scratching(s) knows, was my opponent in the Legislative race in 1966. He won and went on to be City Controller. He did on one occasion pay me a public compliment. He was being interviewed on TV when he was running for mayor. He was asked a question like, “What’s a nice guy like you running for office?” He replied that he made some friends and met some good people doing so. He said two of those were Charles (Chuck) A. Peruto and Paul McSorley. I witnessed the interview while sitting in Rhulings Seafood Restaurant with the owner, who nodded skeptically before the interview when I said I had run for the Legislature against Tom. You can imagine his reaction when Tom mentioned my name. “You weren’t —-ing me, were you?” I have never had such a quick and unexpected confirmation of a statement in my entire life.

Sam, I met while I was a Lieutenant in the Marine Corps stationed at the Marine Barracks in the Philadelphia Navy Yard. I was the Legal Officer and in charge of a company managing the brig. It happened that three young jarheads (euphemism for Marine) went drinking on Locust Street in Philly. The bars closed and they still were seeking more beer. They were invited by two gentlemen to an apartment located in the area. After being given some beer, their host left to change into “something more comfortable”. They returned in bathrobes. One of the Marines suddenly realized they were being solicited and called them “Queers!” A fight ensued. It resulted in one of the gentlemen being struck severely on the head. He was down and out for a moment. The Marines exited. The host called the police and complained about an attempted robbery. They were driven around the neighborhood looking for the suspects. The police suggested to the guy hit on the head he visit a hospital. He refused. He died during the night. The next morning the surviving host called the police and told them the truth about picking up the three Marines. There was a lineup at the Barracks and the survivor picked out his three visitors. They were charged with homicide.

As the Legal Officer it was my job to get them local counsel. I had replaced a buddy and lawyer, Jean Green. In fact, thanks to my former employer, General Earnshaw, I got jean’s job and he had an early release. So I called Jean who went with the boys to the arraignment. Some time later it was learned that one of the boys came from a fairly well off Virginia family and they decided to hire more eminent counsel. So I got to meet Sam Dash. He was a former Asst. DA and was building a criminal practice with some success. Jean lost the other two also since one of the boy’s fathers was a friend of the city’s Republican Party Chairman. I remember too the admonishment Judge Vincent Carroll gave to the boys as he sentenced them on a manslaughter plea, “Never refer to a homosexual as a ‘queer’!” (I note parenthetically that now some 40 years, it is still good advice, but some later the gay communities have a magazine or a web page using that word in its title.) I learned from the article in the Inquirer on Sam Dash that he also served in same capacity as Ethic Adviser for some one during the Nixon investigation. He is, I believe, still on the faculty, maybe emeritus, of Georgetown Law School.

Once again I find I am running over my prescribed limit for these writings, so I’ll end here with a promise of a note to each of you.

 

December 21, 1998

Dear Ron and Mary,

Christmas will remind us of Alex and Aidan. Children at Christmas make it the day it is. Give them a hug from Pop-pop and you can have one each yourselves. We spent three days over at the theme Parks as a gift to ourselves with dinner reservations and tickets to shows. It went something like this:

We went around the world the other day,

Had Breakfast in St. Pete’s, lunch in Norway.

It’s easy to do when you know the right spot.

It’s the fantasyland known as “EPCOT”,

Between lunch and dinner (at Italy’s “Alfredo’s”)

We heard African drums and Celtic tremolos,

Some beats of Morocco filled up our ears,

A French mime “en-bubbled” did faces and leers!

We ended it all with carols by a choir

Composed of teens in altar attire,

Along with a symphonic orchestra,

All under the stars, in God’s great Basilica!

Love, Dad

MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

By PAUL LEO MCSORLEY, ESQ.

NOVEMBER, 1998

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul L. McSorley

(Rev. Nov.’98)

 

 

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

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

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

The Daily News reads:

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

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

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

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

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

THE TERMINATOR VII

By Arnold Greangraskopf

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

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

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

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

Ron and Mary,

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

Love, Dad