Paul McSorley's Jottings

Salve Famaliaque Amicii!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October 13, 1998

Ron and Mary,

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

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

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

Love, Dad

 

DREAM

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

Dad was nowhere around.

She was dressed, so was Cass,

Like they’d been to town.

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

That big Zenith with a dial like spokes.

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

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

After Dad laid into me, and made me beware.

Mom grabs me and gives me a Huge Hug,

As usual, like I’m a big pesky bug.

She welcomes me home from school or play,

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

Then I awoke thought about the smoke.

Did my Mom indulge in a forbidden habit?

Later I came to learn she did a bit.

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

On occasion, did enjoy coming down to earth.

(Oct. 1998)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September 18,1998

Dear Ron and Mary:

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

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

Love, Dad

 

 

Familia et Amici, Salve!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron and Mary,

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

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

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

Love, Dad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July 15, 1998

Dear Ron and Mary,

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

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

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

Love, Dad

 

HELLO, FAMILY & FRIENDS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In between, we saw:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ron & Mary,

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

Love, Dad

 

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

April 11, 1998

Mary and Ron,

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

Love, Dad

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

March 28, 1998

Ron and Mary,

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

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

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

Love, Dad

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

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

To which I add a hearty “Amen Maureen!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February 26, 1998

Dear Ron & Mary:

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

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

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

Love, Dad

The year begins. Time moves us on inexorably to the next moment and makes telling the adage: “Today is the first day of the rest of your life!” But as I write these words it is still 1997. We have our first houseguests. Well, we had our first houseguests; they now are examining the wonders of Universal Studios in Orlando. They arrived on Saturday Evening. Sunday morning the twins, Sean and David, joined us in church. We had the pleasure of having the Pastor greet them and us. Later his wife came over to our pew and gave us more words of praise. She reminded us of how lucky we were to have two such handsome guys as grandchildren! They took it well and I beamed with approval. It was a fitting way to begin their visit here in this strange new land of their grandparents. After the service, we returned to their two younger brothers, Eric and Paulie, and their parents to prepare for the coming of the Christ child. He’s expected on Thursday, but with Eric, Paulie, Sean, and David in the house we feel He’s already here.

I want to report I survived my first appearance as the ” pianist” in the Shore Acres Christmas Party. We even managed on a few songs to stay with the singers. It was easier on the carols, then on songs like “Rudolph” and “Santa’s coming to Town”. So now I have completed my first “gig”, as my son Andy, the musician, calls them. I wondered where the word “gig” comes from. Does it stand for: “Getting Into the Groove”? The dictionary is little help. It states it is slang: “A job, esp., a booking for musicians (Orig. unknown).” After a week of anxiety over my making a fool of myself, I actually had fun. The guests and residents alike were kind enough to applaud my efforts. Now with a little more practice…next, Carnegie Hall! Well, maybe not, but it reminds me, I had the opportunity to play there one time. Well, it wasn’t actually to play but to strike some of the keys while sitting at the piano there on the stage. I was the guest of Tom Baker and my daughter Sue. We were touring the Hall. Tom was at that time an employee. As I approached the piano, sat down and was about to strike the keys, a voice pleaded: “Please Daddy, don’t, please… etc. etc.” So I acceded. Thus today I cannot say, “I played the piano at Carnegie Hall!” I still love her. And I still can say that I have not played the piano at a great number of places.

I opened one my Christmas gifts. It came in the mail from Dan and Marge. It is a pocket book. It is “Winnie Ille Pu”. What is a 68 year old man doing reading “Winnie the Pooh”? Well, if you notice it is “Winnie Ille Pu” this book was “…the only book in

Latin to ever grace the New York Times best seller list.” It is not just ‘Winnie the Pooh” but “Ille Pu”, or “that very important Pooh”, so says Christopher Robin. It is slow work translating since the colloquial and vernacular and is not what I have been translating. It is however, a strenua inertia (energetic idleness).

Christmas day came and went under clouds. Christmas ’97 is history. For the weather watcher, it was another wet ending of the year. We had a record year in “96 in Philly, and now a record in ’97 in St. Pete’s. We are beginning to wonder, “Is it us?” No, we believe it is our visitors! They must have brought this weather down with them, after all, this is the “Sunshine State”, and so it couldn’t be us, right? All further suggestions and such conclusions will be denied. The decision having been rendered, it is final!

Most of our guests left us this morning (12/28) at 5:20AM heading down the coast and across the state to camp in the Keys. I say, “most” since Mary Lou who arrived by air, stayed with us until Monday December 29^th. After taking her to the airport in Tampa June and I spent the day at Busch Garden.

Ah, the energy of youth and the dividends it provides! We hardly seemed to have had them with us and they are gone. They came in Saturday evening, around nine: Sunday went off to the football game; Monday packed up a left for Orlando and

Universal Studios: returned on Tuesday Christmas Eve, and were off to the Mall then we all celebrated by attending a candlelight service at LCC. Christmas Day, the young Santa believers were surprisingly not up until 7:30 AM. It was a day of unwrapping with “Ooos and Aahs”, as each new item brightened the Living room floor. The rain dampened their anticipated Friday visit to Busch Gardens in Tampa. Saturday they made a run to Fort Myers to try the sun, the beach and visit an old friend. Another day, I think, Christmas Day, Dad took the two youngest guys to Fort DeSota Beach.

I am weary just recording their undertakings. They exemplified the energy and enthusiasm of the young. I also agree that they didn’t “waste” any of their time. Such activity belles the sarcastic quip of GBS: “Youth is such a wonderful thing it’s a shame it’s wasted on the young.”

We had some good game playing together. Grandpop had just received the games “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy”. They are played on the computer. Grandmom even jumped right in and showed the “young ‘uns” she’s no slouch when it comes to words and trivia. I had the opportunity to show Sean my Latin lessons since he expressed an interest in the language. He is thinking of taking it next year. He will be in the 10^th or 9^th grade depending where he attends. He and David are being considered for scholarships to Germantown Academy. They are among the finalist. But if they go to Germantown they must repeat the ninth grade. If they stay at Abington they will be in the 10^th. Tommy McSorley is also in the scholarship run. I believe he has accepted a full one to Holy Ghost Academy.

The “twins” were 14 years of age on December 30th. We should correct ourselves in that now there are two sets of “twins” in the clan. Thus it is no longer just “the twins”. We received some pictures of the newest pair, Alex and Aidan, now coming up to 10 months. They looked almost two years old in the pictures. Looking at their plump smiling faces reminded us of Sean and David at that age. They were and are both budding Buddhas.

The twin, Sean, left among the pile of clothes temporarily left in my room and Penguin Pocket Classic: ‘The Plays of Euripides” I don’t think I was reading Euripides in the ninth grade at West Catholic High. I decided to read it. I would like to say, “reread” it but my memory doesn’t agree. All I could think of as I read it was so this is where the expression “Greek chorus” originated. In Junior College, I had an English Teacher who kept expressing it. He would say: “What does the Greek chorus think or say re this or that? “He’d toss the question at us after he had offered an idea or proposition. He was the same professor who remarked after we read Thomas Merion’s “Seven Storey Mountain”: “He left the best parts out!” “Seven Storey Mountain” was Merion’s biography up till his entry into the Cistercian monastery. It recorded his spiritual struggle to find himself and God. So the professor was inferring that we should have had more on his sinning than on his “saving”. But we were never exposed to “Medea” in the ninth grade I suppose because of the sex, adultery, murder, and general acceptance of violence that was rampant in the play. Today it would be considered mild next to just an everyday soap opera!

Medea and it contents reminds me of a cartoon It appeared in the NY Times Book Review Magazine. It was set in ancient Rome. A toga dressed man was pleading to another who was seated behind a raised desk. He, the pleader, was extolling the qualities of a book that was then a best seller in Judea. He noted, for his listener, that it was replete with sex, murder and general mayhem in places. The man on the bench we can now see is a Publisher, since behind him in bins are numerous rolled parchments, he agrees that those parts of the book are good, BUT…he has to worry about his investors, critics, etc. etc. and doesn’t think it would sell. He then suggest to the pleader: “Try the Greeks, they’re into that sort of thing!” Thus according to the cartoonist, the Bible was first published in Greek, not Latin.

The ninth grade is where I am comfortable in my Latin translating. I was advised o this by the authors of the Cambridge Latin course which I have on my computer. I must agree the authors know how to reach ninth graders since even though it comprises stories of the citizens of Pompeii, it get updated by throwing in a word like “space shifter”. A space shifter, for some of you non-Trekkies, is a character in “Deep Space Nine” There is a story about a centurion, called a tabula mirabilis, a strange story. The narrator sees a centurion who roars at him and then removes is clothes and disappears! When he approaches where the soldier stood he sees only a “stone”. He concludes: “…Ule centurio erat versipellis”; that centurion was a space shifter! A good “ninth” grade word.

The visit of the gang, brought to mind other days and nights of full houses.

They were in Avalon. It seemed appropriate though, since we are still on vacation here. The floors covered with suitcases, clothes, sleeping bags, etc. The plumbing seeming to be running constantly. The kitchen counters cluttered with extra cereal boxes, coffee cake boxes, etc. In my early morning ventures, as I work my way to the kitchen, I quietly and carefully step over bodies. These are “vacation” experiences. But how can it be?? It’s Christmas time! We continue to feel we are just at the shore, and sometime soon we will be heading back to Philly!

Now as I write it is 1998 I It is a cold day for these parts. I think somewhere around 39 degrees. It is warm though when I look at the pictures of the snow piles in Syracuse. I wonder if Andy in Oswego and Dan outside of Rochester, in Hilton, are digging out. It is hard to believe but I played golf yesterday and had to remove my jacket to cool down. But “hard to believe” is not an appropriate phrase since the climate only delivering as “advertised”. It is that I can’t resist tossing in comments as to “how warm it is, etc.” to confirm the wisdom of our move!

We look forward to ’98 and the adventure of a new place, new home, and new fuses. We look forward to the visitors coming to join us in our enjoyment. We expect Andy and Paul the weekend of Jan 8^th through to the 13^th, John and Mary (June’s sister) MacDonald near the end of January; Winnie and her gang in mid February; Dan and Marge at the end of it; Bill in there sometime after spring training opens, and possibly Jerry and Betty Hopkins (the other grandparents of Sean and David) sometime around Easter! Being in the warm has the great dividend of having visitors. The door is open. You are all invited; just give us a bit of warning…so we’ll be sure to be here!

We wish you and yours a Happy New Year! One full of the best of joys, like we had when we were little girls and boys!

 

 

A look back indicates that the December 1996 Jottings, talked about the weather. It recalled, as I started to type those Jottings, that we were coming off three days of steady rain. Rain records were being set to match the snow records of January of ’96. The January record of snow was 36″ in one day. The rainfall for the year 1996 was 55″. It is with great pleasure we end this year without having to report anything as dismal as that weather. Yet, you’ll be happy to note that the headline for the St. Pete’s Times today (12/6) reads: “Bay Area Bundles Up For Wintry Weekend”. Now “wintry” is a relative term. Here in Florida it means: “Highs will only reach into the 50’s today” The lows on Sunday (the coldest day of the Wintry Weekend) may reach freezing but the high will be in the 60’s, come Tuesday we should be back in the high 70’s. Now that’s not “wintry” in Philadelphia terms not as I remember it anyway!

P.S. We survived; it never got into the 30’s

We are certainly at home now. Proof: I can now park the car in the garage! Further evidence: We have decorated for Christmas! We await the arrival of our first houseguests: Mary Lou, Walt, Tracy, and the gang are coming 12/20. Please note that the “we” with regard to the decorating is really not correct. It should read “June”. My contributions are “awed appreciation” and occasionally painting items that are so used.

Looking back over 1997 the most momentous event certainly has to be the move, but a close second is: The birth of Alex and Aidan. We look forward on our return trip in the month of May to seeing them. They will be 15 months old by then. At the rate they were growing when we left, and from all reports since, they will probably be walking and helping Dad take out the trash!

In process of unpacking, I came across a certificate issued to me by the Department of Education of Pennsylvania in 1951 to teach “Latin” in secondary schools. It got me to thinking how that came about.

I had Education as a minor study at St. Joseph’s. I wanted to be able to teach so if I couldn’t make it entirely practicing law, I could teach as a means for supplemental income. As it turned out I did teach but not in Secondary School but in the College Night School. Being certified to teach Latin was the result of having the usual Jesuit education. I had insufficient credits, in my major, Political Science, to be considered qualified to teach any of those subjects. The Jesuits, for the uninformed, accented Philosophy, Theology, and Metaphysics, so the time for the “alleged” major subjects was less than in other institutions. But since I had had six years of Lingual Latina Bill Walsh suggested that I could obtain it in that subject. Bill was a friend and Head of the Education Dept. at St. Joseph’s. One of the other requirements before a certificate could be issued, was practice teaching I think for 90 Days. Bill had a place for me to do that. I was to take a Nun’s place at the Roman Catholic H.S. Annex at 2nd and Girard Ave. I went there in the last three months of my senior year, part of March, then April, and May. Having completed the time needed, the State issued me the certificate to teach (temporarily) in Secondary Schools. I kept the certificate over the years just in case the need ever arose. It is now beyond those needs but

I found it an interesting piece of the mosaic of my life. It maybe in part of why I still find the language fascinating.

I am keeping this short. I will send along another Memoir as filler (?), as if you need one! Hopefully I will get to add a personal note to each of you.

June and I wish all of you a MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Dec. 14, 1997

Ron & Mary:

You know we will miss looking on the faces of Aidan and Alex to make our Christmas complete. But be assured they and you will be in our minds on the eve of that day as we sing of the birth of a babe. I hear from all that your open house was a success and I hope the surprise for Tom goes as well. It should be next weekend, no? I know with you guys in charge it will be a rip-snorting affair! Give the guys a big hug from Gandpop and have one yourselves.

Love, Dad