The store needs a body before issuing credit...

From an earlier time:

After Biscuit’s death, he was our hamster, we were sad but determined to continue on. The girls and I went off to the mall to get another Teddy Bear Hamster. We found a small, pretty little guy, bought some new food and a new, smaller wheel, and brought him home. We discussed names for an hour or two and settled on Pumpkin.

Pumpkin had been living for his store life in an aquarium. He found his new home to be a wonderland. He climbed all about his three-story cage and loved it. He ate fresh food and seemed happy. However, trouble was brewing.

The second day he slept way too much, and seemed to be in some distress. We assumed it was a moving problem, new surroundings etc. But, things then began to go downhill.

By the time we figured out that it was most likely “wet tail”, a fatal hamster disease, it was too late to do much but make him comfortable. We did use some medication but to no avail. Pumpkin died at 3:00 p.m. The disease takes seven days to incubate, so we brought home a sick animal unfortunately.

Due to his illness, we could not use his cage etc. for a few weeks. We waited before we purchased another. We will not go to a mall pet store to do this.

He is missed. We felt good that he had one day of pleasure.

He was returned to the store (even though we wanted to bury him), but the store needs a body before issuing a credit.

Mr. Mac

In the mid 60’s, my friend, Bernie McNulty, guidance counselor and all around good guy, had a summer job working for the “Y” as a sort of mobile recreation specialist. His job, as hard as it is for me to believe today, was to tow a very large trampoline on wheels around to local neighborhoods in Howard County, Maryland, and oversee kid’s jumping on the tramp.

This was before anyone worried about liability issues, and it was a pure fun job. Most of the older kids knew him from school, and wouldn’t give him too much of a hard time because he knew their parents. In those days, that was a deterent.

About the second summer of this job, he decided to have a summer time party for friends and their kids at his house and to provide this trampoline in the back yard for all of us to play on.

Let’s go over this list; a trampoline, a bunch of off work teachers and families, a keg of beer and hot sun. This was a day of fun and a recipe from potential disaster.

Being very young myself, I was totally into it. After way too much beer and lots of flying through the air, I was feeling no pain. As I was landing I noticed a stranger walking into the yard, escorting my son. He was my oldest boy, and maybe at that time my only child, so he must have been two years old. I quickly dismounted (or what one would call a less than gentle fall over the edge) and found my wife and we went to see what had happened.

This neighbor had found my two year old boy a block and a half away wandering down a busy street not having any idea where he was going. The neighbor was walking around with him looking for a house where people were so he could return the lost boy.

Yes, these were kinder gentler times and we had no worries about predators because we knew no better, but we did know about traffic and watching you children.

I soon gave up afternoon drinking and trampolines.

The silence of the bunnies.....

From 1963 to 1967 my wife and I and our son lived in a rental house in Pikesville, MD. It was a country house at the end of a dead end street with an apartment upstairs. The upstairs apartment was inhabited by a soon to be artist, who was at the time, a guy who worked with me in the department store. He suggested the place, and it was a great place to live.

My wife and I became friends with the people who lived upstairs in the house next door and remained friends for years to come. They rented from the guy on the first floor whose name I can’t remember, but who is, sort of, the subject of today’s unusual story.

This guy, sort of retired as I remember, was called Uncle something or other and he worked part time at the local Armory, during events, selling hot dogs. When the event was over, he’d bring home the hot dogs and give them (or most of them) to the people upstairs from him, and they would share them with us. He was the resource to the “used” hotdogs we often had for dinner.

This story is about his hobby. He raised rabbits in the back yard.

The kids, our son and the neighbors son loved to go and look at the rabbits. The problem, as I saw it, was that he ate the rabbits. Now I will admit to once or twice having tasted a rabbit dish, so I can’t complain, but he had to kill them in the back yard.

He chopped their heads off!

Rabbits scream!!!

The Speaker Saga

A few years ago I wrote:

My girls complained that my computer speakers have cut out on the right side. Since they were using my computer because they don’t really like theirs (poor little rich girl syndrome), they want it fixed. I didn’t realize this was happening so I went to investigate.

The right speaker was out, and the connection on the sub-woofer was loose, causing me to blame them for using the sub as a footstool and breaking the connectors.

I fooled with this for a while, moving it all out of the wire jungle and to the front where I could manipulate the connectors, to no avail.

I began to look at web sites for new ones.

My old speakers are Microsoft 80’s, which in 1999 cost me $279. The computer is long since dead, but the speakers have survived. I wanted good new ones, although I know technology has changed and good stuff can cost less. I don’t use the computer as a primary music player, so it doesn’t matter that much to me.

I called my computer guy and asked if he could fix the old ones, but he can’t, although he gave me the name of an electric repair place that could. He also said he had great ones for under $50. Since repairs would never be less than $50, I went to see them. Unfortunately, they were $50 speakers. I had listened to much better at Staples for about $150, although I liked the ones I had better.

I came home defeated, and went to the computer to unhook the speakers and put them in the car for the trip to the repair place. While on the computer, I opened up the control panel and went to sound devices. In the advanced part they had controls. It turns out that somehow, through electrical failure (blackout) or children failure, the balance had moved left. I moved the curser to the middle and everything is fine again.

I am happy, and I’m delighted to have saved the money. I am irritated at myself for not doing the simple thing first. In this world where everything breaks before it’s time and everything is replaced rather than fixed, I was willing to give up. I had thrown away a DVD player and a toaster oven both in the last two weeks, both of which were relatively new but made no sense to repair. This was just the third in a row. Thankfully I looked further.

Scooter Store, the legend

In about 1996, my mother needed a walker, and waited for me to come to Baltimore so I would take her out a medical supply store in Bel Air (or at least out Belair Road) where they had a complete supply of walkers, etc.

The whole family went; my mother, my wife and our two little girls. We packed everyone into the car and went out to this big medical equipment place, and focused on walkers.

None of us were paying attention to our youngest daughter, about 2 at the time. She was wandering, we thought with her sister. Suddenly, we hear a loud noise that makes us all turn around.

Our youngest had climbed onto a scooter, turned on the key (which we found out was not supposed to be in it) and started it up. She flew down the middle of the store, sending canes and signage everywhere. She was scared, we were stunned, and because it had a dead man switch, she let go and it stopped.

Needless to say, the management (and all of us) was apologetic, and we whisked the little one out of the store ASAP, and purchased the walker in peace.

My mother and the walker are long gone; the story will remain a family legend.

As requested.....

As requested, I sent this letter to the high school guidance office in early, 2008. This was in addition to signing the proper forms in the proper places.

February 28, 2008

To Whom It May Concern:

My daughter has my permission to drop her period two class, Chemistry (SCH3U1), and replace it with period two Guitar (AMG201).

As a talented young musician, who plays several instruments, she should have no difficulty catching up with the class even this late in the term.

Thank you for your help,


Arthur E. Greenblatt

In a day or two I received a phone call from the guidance office, explaining that my daughter was there as they were calling, and informing me that if she went along with this change, my daughter would never be able to be an engineer!

I waited for the punch line, but none was forthcoming.

“I never expected her to be an engineer”, I replied, “and it would seem to me that if she didn’t have her 11th grade Chemistry, there was probably some way in the world that some institution would let her enroll in engineering anyway”.

This fell on deaf ears.

I started with the “do you knows” and listed my daughter’s musical accomplishments. I explained that her brother was a lawyer and also was a lead guitarist in a large rock band. The guidance councilor was surprised and did explain that it was their duty to explain to parents the consequences of such a move.

I asked if someone dropped guitar and took chemistry, did they call the parents and tell them their child would never be able to be a musician?

My question was unanswered and my daughter was allowed to take guitar.

Looking for Alexander Graham Bell's desk....

upper photo- Alexander Graham Bell at his desk

lower photo- Ma and Pa Kettle

In the early 70’s, I received a call from a friend asking me if I’d be willing to appraise a house full of furniture for a friend of his. When questioned, it was explained that the people were buying half of an existing farm property; the other half had been purchased by a large corporation. His friends bought the half with the house, and the current owners were moving to a place that they could more easily take care of, as they were very old at the time. Their daughter was taking care of helping them to move.

They thought I would be able to do this because of my knowledge and experience with antiques and would give an honest appraisal of what I found. However, I was doing this as a favor, so I was the cheapest appraiser they could find. My friend assumed I’d do this because I’d be interested in the inventory.

I decided it would be fun, as I’d never done this before and was prepared to do it. Whatever I found that I didn’t know about, I’d honestly tell the truth and let them seek additional help.

We drove out to Virginia to meet with the friends, the owners and the daughter on a lovely summer day. The people were very old and looked a bit like “Ma and Pa Kettle”, the fictional characters played by Percy Kilbride and Marjorie Main in the old movie comedies. They had both been to college and had graduated a very long time ago. They were a very interesting bunch!

The daughter was not about to trust me, but I tried to ease her mind. I didn’t want to buy anything; I was just trying to price things so that the new owners could, if they chose, buy the furnishings. I took a small Post-It note pad with me and agreed to post a price on each thing I was able to appraise.

Going through the house, there was lots of golden oak furniture, circa 1895 to about 1915, mostly European rather than American. I was surprised by this, but it all was very nice, collectable, and something I knew about.

After the first two floors, they suggested we move upstairs to Papa’s room, a room locked on the upper floor, where the father of the husband had his things, although he had long since left this earth.

They opened the door and we went in, and I froze! There was a wealth of artifacts, things from the Pacific Islands, Inuit items and a vast collection of everything! I remember a bowl of small figures and heads, all quite beautiful, just sitting on a desk!

I was tired by that point and told them all that I could not help them here, and suggested they contact the Smithsonian and discuss their collection! The Papa had been an archeologist in the 1800’s, and I had no idea where to start.

We went outside and they tried to find Alexander Graham Bell’s desk in the barn but couldn’t come up with it. We did find some roosters running around. We then tried to find the autographed book by Abraham Lincoln, but couldn’t quite find that either! The barn was full of barn stuff!

I thanked them and they all thanked me and I never saw any of them again!

I never will volunteer for such a job again! I also wanted to protect these people from vultures, even though it was not my problem.

I hope they all got what they wanted!

Seventeen

In her blog (http://www.girlinthisroom.blogspot.com/) entitled “Guys Should Make Passes at Girls Who Wear Glasses”, Cait says:

When I was thirteen I was, like so many other angsty teen girls, a wannabe poet and a wannabe suicide risk. I also had a borderline unnatural obsession with being published in Seventeen magazine. Everybody knows that no self-respecting seventeen year old actually reads Seventeen--this periodical (if you can use such an esteemed word to describe it) is meant for the twelve to fifteen year old set. Before you learn to drive, before you start sneaking out to go to peach schnapps-fueled house parties, you read Seventeen and dream of one day having a boyfriend and maybe buying a Hypercolor t-shirt.

My feelings have always been that there were no girls anywhere, no matter where you looked, who ever looked anything like any of the girls in Seventeen Magazine. I was told this by a friend who made me go and look at the magazine in the drugstore, when no one was looking.

We were seventeen at the time, and were really bummed out by the reality of this statement. I’ve worried about this for years, but until Cait wrote this down, I never considered the actual age of the audience. Cait never figured that there were guys, hiding in drug store corners, looking at the magazine as well. We were the hidden audience, pining away for those unobtainable girls!

The Secretary

No one in this photo is the secretary!

We had a secretary in Massachusetts, who will remain unnamed for reasons I hope will be obvious, who had anger management issues!

She was a good employee most of the time, but sometimes she was “over the top”. My “fondest” memory of her was when I heard a loud bang, a slamming door, and I went out of my office to find her gone, and a letter opener, the knife kind, was still quivering back and forth having been “stabbed” into a pile of papers on her desk. I believe that was the last time I ever saw her.

However, like a bad penny, she has a way of coming back at least once or twice a year.

She was an actress in her fantasy life, and she had a very small part in the movie “Mermaids”. This was shot in eight different locations, many of them were nearby the school.

She had an easy access to the set.

So once or twice a year, she appears on my TV set.

I like the movie, and it is a family favorite, so we watch and scream when she appears in our living room once again!

APPRAISAL DAY

upper photo- Stephen Fletcher (left) with the Keno's

lower photo- Colleen Fesko (right) on the Road Show

In 1992, in Massachusetts, I planned an Appraisal Day, a sort of Antiques Road Show, in cooperation with Skinner, Boston. We had the then unknown Appraisers, Colleen Fesko and Stephen Fletcher. Both of them are now often seen on the Antiques Road Show.

This was a new event for us, and it really was a bit of a shakedown cruise. I have since coordinated several Appraisal Days here in Dundas, along with Ritchie’s, Toronto, and they were better arranged. However, this was a first come, first served event with a bring anything attitude.

People were lining up early, and we were prepared with coffee and doughnuts. That much of the planning I did get right! The careful pre-selling of arranged times and spaces was not thought of at that time.

We had everything I’d ever thought of, including a wooden, early vacuum cleaner. Art work, furniture, china and glass galore came in. It was all quite fun with my being the first appraiser. I really only made snap judgments about things I knew something about, but made them to myself and my colleagues, as opposed to the clients. When the people left I tried to see what they had learned, as it was our own Roadshow and we needed feedback. It was great fun!

One of my Board members was in line, and had several objects. Paintings and art work went to Colleen, while everything else went to Stephen. This was fine, but it sometimes left one appraiser unused while one was busy. After a long wait for her first appraisal, and no time to wait for another, our Board member had to leave. She gave another Board member a metal vase she was holding, and asked him to wait in line and get her appraisal, because she had to go home and do something with her family.

She told us the vase came from her husband’s grandmother, she knew it was Asian and that was it.

We waited, and as our second Board member grew tired of waiting, we played football with the metal vase. Just a catch really, no tackle in the hall.

His turn came and he went to the Appraisers table. After a bit, he stood there with a look of disbelief!

The football, our metal object d’art, had an appraised value of $50,000!

We considered all the alternatives, but couldn’t go through with them. We called her and told the truth!

Jamestown

We were away over the weekend at a 50th Anniversary party in Jamestown, New York. It was a really great family event, and both my wife (who will not be named) and I had a good time.

It was my fourth time last week to go in and out of Buffalo, having picked up my sister-in-law and her family Saturday (the Chautauqua Writers Workshop story), returned my brother-in-law to the airport on Tuesday, took my sister-in-law to the Albright-Know Gallery on Friday and took them all to the airport on Saturday on our way to Jamestown.

Out of all of that I thought I’d get a story but alas, it was pretty uneventful.

However, the weekend approached and off we went and we stayed, as arranged by the family, in the Best Western Downtown Jamestown Hotel, a very nice place, with our getting a group rate.

The day was quiet, we had a lovely evening, and I went to bed. At 5:30 a.m. I awoke (not unusual for me) and went to the bathroom. I noticed they had put the folded bill under the door so I took it into the bathroom to look at it, being mildly interested. The room was $100 plus tax, plus my wife had made two phone calls and I was interested in the cost. We had discussed the merits of calling long distance either by hotel or cell phone and we went with hotel phone, given cross border cell phone rates.

I opened the bill and went to look for my reading glasses, because surely something didn’t look right!

The bill was for $797! Those must have been some phone calls!

My wife woke up as I was making some noise and she asked what was wrong. I asked how long her calls were, and how long distance they were. It was not possible.

I looked carefully at the bill and realized that I had been charged for all seven rooms booked for the party, not just mine.

I put on some clothes and went to the lobby in search of anyone in charge. I left my bill with an understanding clerk and went back, not quite ready to sleep again.

Later, at the lobby breakfast, I spoke with a cashier and I had been charged for the whole party as if we were a bus trip which I had booked. They changed the bill and I was happy. Everyone involved seemed disappointed that I hadn’t been that generous , but accepted the reality.

In the end, when we checked out, they handed us a new bill.

They had forgotten to charge us for the phone calls!

I was smiling!

In March, 2003, we went to the theater.....

Because of an offer from my daughter’s school, we were had free tickets to a musical, “Frankenstein, Do You Dream”. We knew nothing about it but for free, we’d go. It seemed to be a musical production looking for backers, and doing two shows to see if people would go for it, or so I observed. It tried to be a rock opera (not), an opera (maybe) and a musical (I doubt it) and a multi-media presentation (which it missed big time).

There was a full orchestra on stage, five podiums and microphones and three large TV screens which gave us the settings (in the castle, etc.). Mostly, the screens just focused on whom ever was singing, a sort of a rock concert feeling maybe.

The cast was in full costume, but doing little acting, mostly singing from songbooks on the podiums. It was sort of an oratorio, with very little dialog, mostly singing, done by great, incredible performers. The music was the problem. It was mostly atonal, and bad. There were no catchy tunes, just angst and horror and death and destruction and no fun with the story.

I wanted to leave at intermission, and I went to the washroom in order to have something to do. My wife and the kids said stay to the end, which I did. Their teachers, a few of them in the audience, had already left the auditorium.

It was worse than seeing the current Foreigner, which was the worst musical experience we had had in our collective lifetimes up ‘till then.



Frankenstein... do you dream
Theatre Review by Matthew Murray
When did Big Apple insomniacs last have it this good? As if Dracula, the Musical weren't enough, the New York Musical Theatre Festival production of Frankenstein... do you dream is now on hand through October 2 to provide yet another maximum-strength theatrical sleep aid for the weary New York masses.
Not that the cast members don't do everything they can vocally to keep you awake: Craig Schulman (as Victor Frankenstein), Philip Hernández (as his monster), and Douglas Jabara (as Frankenstein's friend, Henry) have dynamic, powerful voices that almost seem too big for the tiny Belt Theater. They use them at every conceivable opportunity, belting to the rafters (and beyond) this pop-heavy, gothic bomb of a score. (The music director is Glenn Morley, who also receives credit for arranging and orchestrating the score, likely shorthand for "programming the synthesizer," which is used to haltingly electronic effect.)
That score, as well as the book, was written by Robert George Asselstine, who is apparently trying to tell a more faithful version of Mary Shelley's original story than most adaptations. Fidelity does exist here - the show has scenes set at the North Pole, dealing with the lynching of a young woman for the crimes of the monster, and so on - but Asselstine does Shelley very few favors. Gone is any sense of tension or intrigue, and any examination of hatred and revenge is likewise secondary to the wailing of anguished pop tunes that Frank Wildhorn might have rejected as too over-the-top for his own shows.
The show isn't completely sung-through, but it might as well be; the book scenes are barely fragments, providing tiny bits of connecting story at best while the actors are revving up for their next belting session. But more dialogue and less singing might help clarify the story, which never once proves engaging emotionally or intellectually. Why exactly does Frankenstein do what he do? What does his monster really want - world domination, or love and acceptance?
Asselstine makes almost no specific choices, and so renders Frankenstein ineffectual and boring and the monster loud and violent but never threatening. Climaxing each act with a confrontation between Frankenstein and his creation doesn't help matters, and the writing produces far too much ado about practically nothing. Trying to follow or absorb the ridiculously overblown sung dialogue becomes a chore of almost Herculean proportions after a while; Asselstine, obviously aware of this, includes a detailed plot synopsis in the back of the program. (For future reference, writing a clearer show is the course of action most theatregoers prefer.)
Director Eric Till does what he can with limited resources - the Belt stage is tiny, making interesting stage pictures difficult to create. Still, scenic designer Dana Kenn's faux-foreboding "scary forest" backdrop is a half-hearted attempt, and Till never picks up on the feeling it's supposed to impart to the proceedings. Lighting designer Traci Klainer does perhaps a bit better, generally ensconcing the monster in shadows, but there's no real staging concept to be found here. At least Till reaches his nadir early, having Frankenstein finish his first Big Solo facing upstage.
That's about the only reason Schulman should feel any personal resentment: The show is, in just about every other way, a spectacular vocal showcase for him, and he does as much as can be expected with the generally limited acting opportunities he's offered. Hernández has a voice just as thrilling, but the monster is so underwritten, he often seems to be stalking about the staging snapping people's necks at random; Jabara's role is slight, but he gets the opportunity to throw out a few rich money notes. Amy Russ, as Frankenstein's betrothed, lacks the other cast members' vocal resources, but brings a charming simplicity and sense of reality to the otherwise frustratingly overwrought production.
One can't help but hope that, if Frankenstein... do you dream moves on from NYMF, Asselstine will continue the process of re-evaluating the production and maybe even add more humanity to it. Power-belting is fine as far as it goes, but emotions are traditionally where it's at in musical theatre. If Asselstine is unwilling or unable to bring feeling to his show, perhaps it's best if it - like this production's audience - just rests in peace.

Isamu Noguchi

In the early 80’s, the Archives of American Art began to add video to their collected memories, and went from audio tapes of talks with artists to videos. Dennis Barrie, then head of the Detroit office, was involved with doing several of them, one being Louise Nevelson and the other, Isamu Noguchi. We had the equipment and the facility to do these, so we worked along with Dennis, to make these things happen.

Isamu Noguchi was to be in town to receive a medal from the City of Detroit for his fountain at Hart Plaza. The video interview was to be shot at school, in the morning, in advance of the official ceremony.

We were set up and Mr. Noguchi arrived, and the interview went off very smoothly. I put a blackboard and chalk behind him in case he wanted to make any drawings to explain anything. I was prepared to whisk it away and frame it, but alas, no such luck.

When the interview was over, it was explained to him that he could get to go on a tour of the art school in advance of the ceremony.

The interview went on longer than expected, and his handlers were pushing for a quick get away. They said, “Mr. Noguchi, the Mayor is waiting!”, and he said, “He’ll have to wait, I’m going on a walk with the Dean!”’

My day (oh hell, my year) was made! Off we went around the school. Students who recognized the visitor were so respectful, one of them even bowed! Everyone was thrilled about out visiting friend.

When it was over he thanked me for the tour, wished us good luck, and was whisked out of the door to a waiting Mayor and a ceremony.

I never got my framed blackboard, but many of us have wonderful memories.

I could have been mistaken for Godzilla!

Joan Mondale came to visit Detroit during the 1984 election campaign. She was known as Joan of Art and we had arranged for her to do a tour of the school and to go over to the Scarab Club for a luncheon and a “beam signing”, something saved for special visitors.

We arranged a al fresco breakfast in the morning, followed by the tour and the lunch. I was the host and tour director.

A day or two before the visit I was visited by the Secret Service so we could walk the route. I was not prepared for such an event, as I did tours all the time and they seemed to just go along as I felt best. Suddenly, people with guns and badges were there wanting an exact route.

I understood their concern and planned it out as we went along. When we came to the walk to the Scarab Club, it stopped. They would not let Mrs. Mondale make that one block walk through midtown Detroit.

It was all right for me to risk my life, but not Mrs. Mondale. Up to that point I had never considered this life risk.

In the morning, when I arrived, I was informed that the Governors wife, Paula Blanchard, had decided to join us. She was a very nice, diminutive woman who couldn’t eat too much so we were still set on breakfast! I could not arrange for her to sign the beam as she didn’t qualify as a big arts supporter at that time, but she understood. She would have somewhat of a backseat to the Vice-Presidential candidate’s wife.

At the breakfast, I suddenly realized what celebrity was. We were surrounded by cameras, reporters, TV cameras etc., all this while we ate breakfast and talked, pretending all this wasn’t going on. I was an innocent bystander thrust into the limelight.

The tour went as scheduled, the lunch and the beam signing went with flawless accuracy and it was a lovely day.

The next morning, my son Brian called from Ann Arbor. “Dad”, he said, “I saw you on television this morning with Mrs. Blanchard; you’re the biggest guy in the world!”

I suddenly felt like Godzilla!

Cadillac Eats a Toyota

This photo is not the original sculpture, but it is a 1948 Cadillac Hearse.

There was an automotive show at the Detroit Institute of Art, an exhibition devoted to car related art. A piece by Scott Prescott was too big to include in the show. In reality, the piece called “Ghetto Blaster” was too controversial to include in the show, and the size was an excuse not to include the piece. After some negotiations, I agreed to work with Scott, right after school was over, to provide space and student workers. I believe that there were several donors who helped with the costs and we worked with Scott to build a new piece for the exhibit.

This piece would sit in front of the school during the run of the show.

Scott bought a late 40's Cadillac hearse and a Toyota from a junk yard, and decided to build the "Cadillac Eating A Toyota” and it ended up about 12 feet high,18 feet long, and weighed tons. It also spit fire from its mouth using giant propane tanks.

It was a memorable piece.

It was built in the sculpture department and was pushed around the block, from the back of the school to the front, by volunteers. (It was , after all, on wheels.) I was a pusher with at least another 10 adults, along with some neighborhood kids pushing, sure that it was an amusement park ride.

We had big color picture in the paper, lots of visitors and lots of fun for this special event. For the show opening, we had the full fire breathing apparatus working..

When it was over, we also owned the vehicle. We tried every way we could think of to get rid of it.

It did have one last mission before it was put away. We were asked to be the site for the 1986 Cadillac debut. The Cadillac people asked us to get rid of the sculpture before the debut. We moved it back behind the building, so no one would know it was there. We heard in no uncertain terms that this must be gone, the focus was the 1986 model, not this old sculpture. Lots of money and press go into a car model introduction, and 1986 was not a big year for Cadillac and they needed all the help they could get.

At the end of the event, as they were leaving, some of the press walked through the back parking lot where the Cadillac was stored. A UPI photographer found it, and the “Cadillac that ate a Toyota” was in most of the newspapers in the US the next day.

The last time I saw it, we had it towed to a warehouse, where it probably sits today.

That's my first nude model.........

That’s my first nude model there painted on the wall,Looking as if she were alive. I call that piece a wonder, now…
Based on Robert Browning’s “My Last Duchess”

In 1959, when I was seventeen, I entered art school. One of the “perks” I knew was that at some point, I would encounter my first nude model. This was a momentous event for me having never seen a real woman nude. OK, I had seen parts, and I was not a complete prude or nerd, I just had never had the excitement of being able to see at a naked girl without her running out of the room, or my dying of embarrassment.

Our first semester, we did not have life drawing, so this was not to be a problem, I would wait a while and concentrate on death drawing (still life) and clothed portrait models. What I had not taken into account was the fact that at that time there were no actual doors between studios on the upper floors of our building, so no matter what was happening in any classroom, one still could peek into another one.

The most popular model of the day was Rose, a smallish, slightly buxom young woman, who I had seen walking around clothed. She was a girlfriend of an older student named John, and I would see them from time to time together.

I was in an art class one day in the first few weeks of school, passing by another classroom, and out of the corner of my eye while moving forward I spied the nude body of Rose sitting in a chair, posing. I kept moving because of inertia, but my heart had stopped! I made no outward sign of amazement, and I worked my way back to my easel. I started to work on my project while I tried to regain my breath.

My next problem was to work my way undetected back to that space so I could really see what was happening. A waited a few minutes, and then went in that direction to get a drink of water, and when I reached the right spot, I stopped to tie my shoe.

I was dumbfounded! It was real! We really did draw nude women (and men too I soon found out). I hadn’t been this startled since in the ninth grade I discovered we really had high school swimming class in the nude! I will have to write about that bit of perversion later on.

After the session and during the breaks she and John would make out in the class! She was nude under a big terrycloth robe! I was undone!

I finally caught my breath and moved on but still remember that feeling. I’ve seen it since, usually on the face of some businessman I’m touring around some art school and we walk into a class with a nude model. I am not paying attention, and my guest has usually frozen in space! I never had said, “Yes, I know that feeling”.

This story goes on because sometime in the next semester, when we really had nude models, I was standing in the hall with friends talking to one of the models who was dressed, when our friend and teacher, Dick Ireland, called out her name to come and pose. She continued to talk to me and slowly got undressed, one piece of clothing at a time, handing each one to me and asking me to bring them into the room. I was dumbfounded again! No woman had ever before, or probably ever since, handed me their clothing as they undressed!

I still have not recovered!

Chautauqua Writers Workshop

This year is the 25th Writers Workshop at Chautauqua.

As one who has gone to the Chautauqua Institution for years, I should have known that, but it’s not something I’ve ever attended as it’s not really my field. Whatever my blog writing is about, it does not need a conference.

I happened to be in the Buffalo Airport on Saturday picking up some of my family as the Writers Workshop participants were gathering to be taken to Chautauqua.

I have no idea what a writer looks like, and over in the direction of those gathered were two men in suits and ties (and shades) who I assumed were some famous writers. There were others gathered about them, I assumed they were “hangers on”, the posse.

I had met Elmore Leonard and John Updike before, and they were impressive but not too dressed up. I was on an elevator in 1972 in Dallas with Irving Stone and he was very dressed up and sparkled, as he got off to the oo’s and ahh’s of an adoring crowd of well dressed ladies.

Therefore, with my limited experience with writers (you may have read an earlier post of a dinner with Margaret Atwood, but I explained she was in jeans), my original assumption rested on the well dressed part.

Had I known it was a conference for children’s book writers I may have thought differently about the situation and had it been hotter I may have thought about it being summer, and writers at a summer conference etc.

In the end, I returned to walk by the group one more time as I made my way to the waiting area, and I realized the dressed up men were the limo drivers.

The “posse” were the writers.

The Election

In a dimly lit 1958, I believe, my high school fraternity had elections. To those of you who question what is a high school fraternity, I can only say that in Baltimore (as in many other US cities) there existed for many years a complicated system of fraternities and sororities in some of the more affluent high schools. These were not sanctioned by any known officialdom, but they were real, highly organized, and based on the current University "Greek" systems.

They were all divided up into religions and colors, so there were Jewish ones, for want of a better term, non-Jewish ones and African American ones. It seemed to be more highly organized (with national conventions etc.) in the Jewish community, but what did I know about any other? It was a WASP appeal reach for a bunch of middle class kids who wanted to perpetuate a class system big time, and it was good from the inside, of course. I liked it!

The election that year, as I vaguely remember, was for President (I think although it could have been pledge master) and it was between me and I believe, Lenny Grossman. Len (as he is now called) was a born to be lawyer. He was entrepreneurial, well disciplined and intelligent and the best candidate for the job, I was a good time guy (and still am) and not too organized but a lot of laughs.

We each had someone speak for us, a campaign manager kind of guy who gave it his all to the assembled membership, right before the vote.

I have no idea who Len’s speaker was, but before I could choose, Edgar came up to me and asked to represent me. He said he’d do a great job!

Regular readers may remember Edgar was the guy we liberated from the hospital in the March 26, ” New Years Eve, 1959” story, followed the June 20, “New Years Eve 1959 – Corrected” update to include Ken Waissman.

Edgar Kaufman was a funny guy. Since he has passed away recently, I don’t want to lay blame on those unable to defend themselves, but one never quite knew what he would do in any given situation.

He did want to be my spokesman! He promised to do a good job!

Len and I were waiting outside of the meeting. At that time we didn’t have a regular meeting place, which we had most of the time, but we were meeting in someone’s club basement. Len and I had to wait out on the steps out back. We couldn’t hear the meeting but we did hear, after a while, screaming and shouting! Something was going wrong! Eventually the back door came flying open and Edgar was ejected! It seems his positive speech about my good qualities was more aimed at Len’s bad ones or something like that, and it was over!

Needless to say I didn’t win. The best man for the job won anyway, but I never had a chance.

Happy Halloween...I think

In 1992 I was looking for work. We were living in Gloucester, Massachusetts in a wonderful rental home, having quickly sold our own house.

It was Halloween, we were invited to a party at one of my daughter’s friends houses, and we all needed costumes, something I abhor. However, in order to maintain peace, and to make myself part of the family fun, I agreed to come up with a costume.

My wife decided to go as a witch, and my daughter, still a baby, was to be a Japanese Geisha sort of person, as she was wearing (under her coat) an outfit I had purchased for her in Niigata, Japan in 1991.

After much consideration, I decided to go as “A Man with a Job”. This would be a simple costume (as you can see), just a suit and tie kind of thing and it was self deprecating humor, as I was a man looking for a job with great gusto!

We arrived at the house, and while I had met the mother, the father, who was described to be as maybe a bit “sketchy”, was an unknown entity.

I appeared with my briefcase in hand, and we were sort of stopped at the door. The father looked at me wearily, and asked if he could help me. I said I was the father of this group (I introduced myself) and he relaxed a bit.

He told me he though perhaps I was a process server or maybe the police. I assured him I was just another parent in a costume. We were allowed in and the photo you see was then taken.

I don’t know, but I can’t remember any time in my life assuming a stranger at the door was the law!

WWRD - What Would Rena Do?

OK, this is a play on WWJD, another religious insanity, but at least in WWJD (What would Jesus do?) there are some guidelines, a.k.a. the New Testament.

In WWRD, my late mother is instilled with a new voice, usually reserved for my wife (who has no name I can use here). My wife tells me what my mother would have said in any given situation, all based on her version of my mother’s words.

What is it with people who all want to give voice to dead relatives? This whole channeling nonsense is beyond me.

Since our cousin Mary Jane passed away, I have been told of all the things Mary Jane would have said in a variety of situations. All of these inventions, while all possible, are also just as impossible, given the particulars.

“Nice guess honey”, I stammer, “Maybe she would have said something completely the opposite!” I know I’m just being an agitator on this, but it bugs me!

I think we should let the dead lie in peace, and wait until they really have something to say. When that happens, I’ll be a believer! My wife may be correct, but on the other hand she may be just as wrong.

Do I think about what my mother would have wanted me to do in any situation, sure!

Do I hear her, no!

Do I see her, not usually; however, there was a time…

But that’s another story…..

The Grand River Cruise, or, Ship of Fools

We decided to go on the Grand River Dinner Cruise. Their ads say:

Grand River Dinner Cruises has been serving its famous roast beef meals onboard their three dinner cruises boats since 1978. Our Sunset Dinner Cruise is for people interested in a relaxing evening on the Grand River.
We are people interested in a relaxing evening so off we went.

There were six of us, my wife (who can not be named, as most of you know), myself , Bryan and Joanne and Les and Barbie. This is a motley crew of friends who do some things together, usually around dinner. Our association is through art, as both Bryan and Les were with me for six years on the City of Hamilton Arts Commission.

Bryan and Joanne are both retired, Les is a working sculptor and Barbie is a dental assistant and my wife and I continue to figure out what we’re doing, but it seems to be done in the arts.

However, off we go. Bryan and Joanne arrive at 5:00 p.m., an hour early, maybe for the free coffee, but perhaps because they are a bit obsessive. My wife and I arrive at about 5:30 p.m., the appointed time, and Les and Barbie make it just before the boat sails away. This is because Les decides to “rest” at 5:00!

I thought “rest” was a euphemism, as they were home alone all day and maybe the excitement of the day and a cruise got to them, but I was assured it was a nap!

This cruise, which is great fun and a pleasant experience, is not the Love Boat. There are good seats for dinner and an outside deck. There is no Cruise Director, no Lido Deck, no Purser or Isaac the Bartender; it’s a smallish boat that goes up and down a river, and the captain points out points of interest like trailer parks and chicken farms.

We orderd two bottles of wine, and another one eventually. We are having a great time, laughing and carrying on as any six friends may do, and once in a while we are interrupted by the Captain with another announcement of another local monument or fishing hole. We quiet down for these nice stories and then continue.

What I fail to realize is that Barbie is concerned about the older couple behind us and is worried we are too loud. Being an American, I didn’t even notice we were loud. Being a Canadian, Barbie just wants to apologize to anybody, it’s just her way!

As we get up to go out on the deck and feel the breeze and look for icebergs, Barbie turns around to these people and apologizes to them about the noise and explains that the eight of us have been just too loud and she is sorry.

The woman behind us informs Barbie, who may have drunk most of the wine herself, that there are only six of us!

Barbie apologizes for her counting error!

The Coke Machine, Part Two- The Gift that kept on giving!

In 1965, the price of Coke was going up and the Principal, Joe Mirenzi, asked me what we should do, should we put in a seven cent machine (it was currently a nickel) or a ten cent machine and keep the change. Now I don’t know why I was the advisor to the boss, but I must have been in the right place at the right time, it just made sense to me to go to ten cents and keep the change. No one wanted to deal with all those pennies, and a dime was a reasonable price. McDonalds was charging about a quarter at that time for a Coke.

The school secretary and I figured that she could keep the books on this and someday we’d do something with the money.

I turned in my resignation in 1970. We had gone through several principals by that time, and the only people who remembered about the Coke machine were the school secretary and me, even though we hadn’t mentioned it since 1965.

It was a hot May that year, and the end of school was always a warm and highly charged time, just because everyone, students and teachers alike, wanted summer to come and school to end. Teachers were complaining to each other about how hot it was, and for those of us sitting in the teacher's room, there were limited windows and the door had to, for sanity sake, be closed. Why couldn’t we have the teacher’s room air conditioned?

I asked the assembled group, what was stopping us? Well, first of all, in those days we needed a 220 electric line to air condition such a large space and we’d need an air conditioner? I said I’d work on that and everyone laughed and said, “Sure, you’re leaving anyway, what can you do?”

I went to the school secretary and asked if we had the funds. Yes, we did. I’d need the Principals permission although he didn’t even know about the money. I’d have to speak to an electrician and see about the 220 line and I’d have to get an air conditioner.

In order, that’s what I did, and the deed was done.

In the beginning of June, we had an air conditioned teacher’s room!

The secretary reminded me then that the Principal, Mr. Gibson, was on an eleven month contract, while we were on ten months, as was the secretary. He was alone in the school for the month of July.

Was there a way to help him?

There was no Coke money left, what resources did I have?

I went to the school’s PTA Board and explained the story you’ve just read, and detailed the hardship faced by our wonderful Principal, and asked for help. Mr. Nathanial Gibson, the Principal, was a great guy that we all admired, and we wanted to help him. His office was small, and we didn’t need additional electricity, we just needed a window unit. They all agreed with me and the deed was done!

When I left, my legacy was an air conditioned teacher’s room and principals office!

Many years later, as I drove down Maryland Route 175, I wanted to show my girls where I used to teach. No matter where I drove it just seemed to not be the right place. Sadly, the new road had come through and the County had torn down the school.

My legacy had a time limit!

The Coke Machine

In 1965, in the teacher’s room at the Middle School, we had a Coke machine. This was an old fashioned one, and the office staff filled it and took care of it.

While I was sitting in the teacher’s room one morning, I remembered that I had a beer, in a bottle, in my car. I started thinking about this, and went to my car, got the bottle, and convinced the secretary to lend me the key to the Coke machine. Obviously the next step was inevitable, I had to do it!

I opened the machine, put in the beer (which fit!), and sat back and waited. I figured it would be a huge joke (remember this was 1965 and that would have been outrageous).

As only luck would have it, our Principal walked it, took out his nickel (yep, 5 cents!) and put it in the machine. In those days we had no choice, you only had Coke.

Out came his beer! He looked surprised, and then he laughed!

I was so relieved, he was such a great guy.

An earlier story (The Citizens Arrest) also featured the same principal, the late Joe Mirenzi, a fantastic guy who allowed me to continue teaching even though I put beer in the Coke machine.

I did have to promise that there was only one!

Happy Birthday Aunt Hilda!

My Aunt Hilda will be 91 on July 5, 2009! She is going for the record!

My Aunt is my mother’s younger sister, and my sometimes mother when I was a child. No, I was not abandoned, but in times when my mother could not attend a school type function, my Aunt would often replace her.

I remember picnics and outdoor events where my Aunt and Uncle would take me that my parents didn’t attend. My mother was very sensitive about their being older parents and I needed younger influences. In today’s terms, my parents would be of normal age, but in the day, they were old!

My Aunt and Uncle used to live with my Grandparents until they had a child and they moved away. Away is a relative term, because they were two and a half blocks away.

This distance caused my Aunt to call her mother once or twice a day. If this seems excessive, I can tell you I know this because we replaced them in the house with my Grandparents, so we were always there. As well, I learned all about behavior there, so I called my mother every day of her life at least once but usually more often. I lived in many places and was hundreds or even thousands of miles away. But I learned that behavior as a child, and was taught by my Aunt.

Do I call my Aunt everyday, no! I call usually every week or two but never out of guilt. I just need to know how it’s all going. These things are important to me.

I’ve often said it’s not dying that bothers me so much, it’s just that I’d like to be guaranteed to be awakened every ten years or so and filled in on what’s happened.

My Aunt, the one who cut my mother out of the seat belt (you may remember the story), went downtown two years ago on the subway. She returned back to the parking lot (oh yes she stills drives, or as she has told me, she has trouble walking but still can drive) and fell crossing the lot. A crowd gathered as this elderly lady was lying there, bleeding profusely from her leg. They wanted to call an ambulance, but she kept refusing. She just wanted help to get to her car.

When she got to the car, she went home. She got inside and opened her bag to get at the Kentucky Fried Chicken she had brought back with her, and the lunch they would never have let her eat in an ambulance!

This is my family and it explains so much to my wife and kids who always say, “You’re just like your Aunt!” This is seldom said as a good thing, even though, down deep, they love us both!

Happy Birthday Aunt Hilda! May you have many, many more. Always remember we share the same gene pool, live forever!

Oh Canada............

My oldest daughter decided to go out with some friends yesterday, on Canada Day, to go after the great bargain. While most stores were closed, restaurants were open and the Mandarin Restaurant, our upscale Chinese Buffet Restaurant, was running a great special. She wanted to take advantage of this opportunity.

I suggested she have some breakfast as she was leaving around 10:45 a.m. She informed me that she was going to lunch and had no need of a breakfast. She would wait.

She arrived at 11:00 a.m. and was seated at 5:00 p.m.

The following is the story from today’s Hamilton Spectator:

1,600 line up for Mandarin meal
Canada Day thank you swamps chain
July 02, 2009

How long would you wait for a free Mandarin meal?

The restaurant's first customers for its Canada Day buffet lined up at 10:30 p.m. Tuesday night, say staff who saw them then and let them in the next morning.
Yesterday afternoon, a line of several hundred people wound around the plaza on Upper James Street north of Rymal Road West.
Many of the 1,600 people who ate there yesterday waited for several hours.
Some lounged in camping chairs. Others read books. Kids played with toys. Mandarin staff came around with free appetizers and handed out free water bottles.
In celebration of Canada Day, Mandarin offered its regular buffet for free to anyone showing proof of Canadian citizenship at its 21 locations yesterday. taff at the Upper James restaurant stayed till 2 a.m. the night before preparing extra amounts of the more popular items such as chicken balls and egg rolls, said Allan Chow, director of site operations for head office.
The Hamilton Mandarin dished out 500 pounds of chicken balls, 300 pounds of chicken wings and 2,400 egg rolls yesterday -- almost double what it usually serves on a regular Saturday. It had 70 staff on hand, up from its regular Saturday complement of 50.
The chain spends about $500,000 on the free day. That's more than double what it spends on a typical busy holiday such as Mother's Day, Chow said.
"We are doing this for Canadian citizens, to celebrate Canada," said Lucia Kong, an owner and manager.
This is the third time the chain has had the free Canada Day event. This year's coincides with the chain's 30th anniversary.
A few customers said the highlight was meeting others in the line.
"Because of having to wait in line, you get to talk to all different kinds of cultures that have come to Canada and become Canadian citizens," said Sacha Skinner, who waited four hours to get in and was eating by 2 p.m.
Michelle Skutta said the crowd joined in a group rendition of O Canada at one point.
Kong said people were appreciative. One family gave the restaurant a thank you card.

Teachers room dilemma ......

From 1963 until 1970 I taught Middle School in Howard County, Maryland. This was a great, wondrous time in my life; a time when my boys were born and growing up, a time of great learning for me. It shaped the rest of my life and my chosen profession, which was not “revealed” to me when I started in 1963. I needed a job and one was available. The fact that I loved it and continued in that direction was a bonus. However, lots of wild and wonderful things happened to me during this time, some of them I’ve already discussed:

May 5, “On the way to Woodstock something happened”

April 13, “The old days”

April 12, “The one on the right is the teacher

April 11, “Citizen’s arrest”

There were so many incidents over those seven year that every now and then another comes to mind.

Our school secretary was a wonderful lady. She was a great looking, middle aged single woman. Her good guy friend was an administrator in the system. He moved about the county and would show up from time to time to see her or on school business or both.

I was in the teacher’s room during my planning period, having a cup of coffee and reading something when our secretary turned on the microphone. We had an early communication system where the office could call an individual classroom or the whole school with a message. She was looking for me (for some unknown or remembered reason) and did not find me in my room. She decided to make a whole school call to flush me out of hiding. She started to say “Mr. Greenblatt, please come to the office” when her friend snuck up behind her. He was a funny and clearly wild guy and I, to this day, have no idea what he did or where he stuck his hands, but what came out from her was,” Oh, Mr. Greeeeeenblatttt!!!!!!, please (with giggles following)”.

My life that afternoon was a blur of junior high school aged kids (it was the end of the day) laughing and pointing at me and asking me what I had to to the secretary, and staff just laughing their heads off. I had a great time blushing and trying to explain the whole mess.

However, that day, my stock went up in the school hierarchy!