At 105 MPH, take the next right!

OK, it’s a bit foggy in the mind, but pretty close. The year was probably 1957 or 1958. It was “in the day”. I was out with Alan Forman and clearly some others, but who was there and where we were is still a bit foggy.

We were somewhere and we were drinking. I know this because it was the root of the problem.

We were racing with another car, I was with Alan in what I think was a 1957 Plymouth, which must have belonged to his father because I didn’t have one of those. It was a slow, six cylinder vehicle.

The other car coming from some party or another was full of guys; I remember Arthur Hoffman (of the Black Aggie incident fame) and Alvin Shevitz, for some reason. They disappear in my version of the story.

We were coming down (this is Baltimore County, MD) Reisterstown Road, from far out in the “boonies”, when we started racing with the other car. Just speeding under the influence, and we were winning! We pulled ahead and as we reached Pikesville we went over the 100 mph mark!

It was then I heard the siren! I thought quickly and yelled, “Turn right! “: (which we did somehow).

I figured the police car can only stop one of us, and why would he come after us when it was easier to stay on Reisterstown Road and chase them. Not too smart.! He went after the one fleeing the scene.

I decided that I’d get rid of the beer, so if they stopped us he wouldn’t know we were drinking. Not a good move either, because as I was tossing those cans out of the window I noticed the headlights on my hand! It seems he was following us closely and watching me throw it all out!

We were caught! There would be no way around it. I wasn’t driving (good point) but I was throwing, (littering, if nothing else). We know that “in the day” drunk driving was not the crime it has become, and was considered by us as more of a “contact sport”, but really just as dangerous as it is now. We were just stupid!

We pulled over and the policeman asked us to get into his car. We explained that a group of guys (many of them) we didn’t know were chasing us and we were scared. We were trying to get away from them. This was a pretty good excuse because we knew too much time had elapsed for him to catch up with them, and discover they were our friends.

He was not happy about the beer, but I explained we weren’t drinking it, but didn’t want to be caught with it on us. It was far fetched, but he started driving, telling us he would find the other car. However he wasn’t driving very fast so he could never get there.

He did tell Alan to look at me in the backseat, and look at my eyes; he used a flashlight to make his point. He told Alan that my eyes “looked like two piss holes in the snow”! This killed us both and we broke into gales of laughter which eased the mood considerably.

He eventually got us back to the car and let us go with a warning.

God Bless that cop. He saved our asses. We didn’t get into trouble again like that for at least another year!

Art theft, break-ins and other weekend thoughts

Several years ago, on a cold Saturday night, about 9:30 p.m., (although I’d already fallen asleep watching Goldmember, but that’s another story) the phone rang. It was my old friend, ADT, letting me know we had a break in at school.

This usually happens every 15 months or so, but this was earlier in the evening than usual, thankfully. I arrived in about 10 or 15 minutes and met the police. They had gotten therein a very short time and posted policemen at three sides of the building, and could view all exits. We all waited for the canine unit.

They showed, two guys and a dog. I let them in, stood back, and waited. It took a lot of time as we were freezing outside, but eventually they came out. The perp was gone.

I went through the building and nothing was taken, as usual. There is little to take, and the motion detectors work real well and the potential thieves never take anything. My real fear is vandalism, as there is little to steal.

The computers are mostly old, and we do have back up. The only cash is in a 19th century safe, which would need dynamite to open if you could find it. You would be dissapointed with the little bit of cash we keep.

The perp broke two or three student sculptures crawling through a lower level window. He pried off the screen and molding and the window, much to my surprise, was open. They are all secured today.

Two hours later, after trying to raise fingerprints, I went home and watched Saturday Night Live, as I couldn’t sleep for a while.

In the 1980’s, in Detroit, when I had a break-in in my office, there were $60,000 worth of prints in a folio in my office. The thieves took an umbrella I had gotten for free from Aramis perfume!

(I just checked and I have told this umbrella theft from the office story three times in these 123 posts! My friends must be right, I am an old coot and have no idea what I'm saying or how many times I've said it!)

Art is not something to sell from the trunk of your car, down on the corner.

Just roll the dice.....

This is an interesting exchange of letters. I enjoyed the experience and was delighted with the outcome. There is a missing letter in between just saying we’ll take and send it. While it’s not a great story, I like that it all happens in these letters. The game itself was quite amazing and I have no actual photos of the game so you’d have to arrange with the museum to see it:

To: Elliott Avedon, Games Museum, University of Waterloo

From: Arthur Greenblatt

December 3, 2002

From 1989 until 1993 I was the President of the Montserrat College of Art, on Dunham Road, in Beverly, Massachusetts. We were located next to the Parker Brothers headquarters. As their efforts to sell their huge glass building in the woods were not coming to fruition, they tried to downsize by moving to half the building in an effort to lease the other half, or to sell the building and the would lease the other half. During this period of time, they were nice enough to give us office and even some classroom space for a few years. They even supported us financially after being sold to Hasbro.

As they were moving, this box was left behind, and I asked the person in charge of the move if I could have the box, seeing as it was a graphic delight and no one seemed to want it. It contained the game you see, a large playing board (29” x 43” open) in a large graphic box (22” x 30”). It is all in Japanese, and was sent to Parker Bros. from Kenner, to a Larry Bernstein.

The imagery on the playing board is crudely done anime, with such images as spanking, bathing, squatting over a Japanese toilet and some other nude images. Inside, as you can see, are directions, a game board, 2 small metal clips, three box cardboard cutouts, a sheet of game pieces and a blue board of some sort. It all seems to be there.

I have been carrying this around since I left and have had no use for it. I ran across an article on your game museum and thought I’d contact you to see if you have any interest in having this one. I would be happy to donate it.

Let me know if you have an interest.


University of
Waterloo

January 15, 2003

Dear Mr. Greenblatt;

Thank you for the generous donation of Japanese "Game of Life," if we may be
able to call it that. While we have not yet been able to determine the actual name, oriental
students in our department have indicated it has many religious (Buddhist) overtones. It
appears somewhat like a "snakes and ladders" game where one can either end up in Hell
or Nirvana throughout play of the game, with the goal being to reach the divine. It looks
like one is able to begin either in a form of Hell (the 3'd degree), or as a regular person in
the material, common world, and then, I suppose with the roll of a die, can determine
which direction they proceed. We will enlist the services of someone who can read
Japanese to provide us with the full details for our records.
As you may be aware, most of the collection at the E. A. Museum and Archive of
Games has been acquired by donation, and yours is very much appreciated, as such a
game is currently not part of the collection. It is great to obtain the original box too, as
one can see how such games were marketed in Japan.
The game will be formally accessioned into the Museum's collection, so please
find the enclosed Donation forms, add your signature as required, keep one for your files,
and return the other to us in the envelope provided.
Once again, many thanks for the donation. If you ever find yourself in the
Waterloo area. please drop by the Museum.

Yours sincerely,

Museum and
Archive of Games

Faculty of
Applied Health Sciences

University of Waterloo

"Deathbed Promise"

I try not to break death bed promises and usually succeed. However, I don’t make too many of them, in fact I can only think of two.

The first, from my mother, was not exactly a death bed, but she knew the end was near (probably six months to a year away) and she sat with me and made me promise to distribute her goods in a manner she directed. I did that when she died and never forgot a bit of it. It was a solemn oath.

The next one, however, probably doesn’t count as the guy didn’t know he was dying, he just happened to after getting me to promise some stuff I wouldn’t have promised if I’d have known he was going to die.

Many years ago we’d hired a highly recommended consultant. He was an expert in developing planning initiatives for not-for-profit organizations. We needed some consultative advice, and he looked like the guy to fill the bill.

He was with us for most of a week. He spent time interviewing students, faculty, staff and trustees. He was developing a suggested plan, as well as an overview of the institution as it stood.

Late on Thursday he came to see me and asked if we could go to a more private location then my office, as what we were going to talk about was highly confidential.

We went down to the basement, and sat in an empty classroom to discuss his concerns.

While he had a few things about me he wished to discuss, they were considered insignificant within his concerns and will not be brought forth by me now. His real concern was that it was believed that my boss was sleeping with several women on the staff, and was drinking entirely too much. He assured me that most people, regardless of their positions, knew these revelations. While I argued that the information was, in fact, not true, the perception was the active reality. There was enough truth floating around to make it possible, and it would be a no win situation regardless.

Once again I bring up the notion of the value of a non-fraternization policy. Having such would have given the institution more of a leg to stand on and would have eliminated much of the angst left on my shoulders.

He would not include any of these revelations (allegations) within the text of his report, but was entrusting me with the information in hopes that I could help to alleviate the responsibility he had been given. In other words, I should fix it, he was too uncomfortable. It was my duty to discuss this with my boss in order to change his behaviour (like that was happening!).

Our consultant also owned a business; it was a hotel in Virginia, in a beautiful, wooded location with a fine restaurant attached. He wanted to go back to Washington, his home, because he planned to visit his hotel soon. So on Friday afternoon, we all said goodbye to him, told him we’d await his report. We winked at each other, I said I’d take care of everything, and he left.

On Tuesday morning I received a call that our consultant had been killed in a single car accident early Sunday morning, having driven into the night. He came home Friday night, worked on Saturday and instead of leaving on Sunday morning for Virginia he decided to go when he finished his paperwork on Saturday night.

An hour later, I received his report in the mail.

Did I do what I promised this guy on his unknowing deathbed? Well...not exactly.
The pressure was off me because I was the only person who knew what everyone knew.

I sort of brought it up but not with the promised vigour, and it all made not a bit of difference in the end.

The truth itself was mostly fiction. But, perception was everything.

"Deathbed Promise" a painting by Edvard Munch

My last visit to the Diner...

The fictional account of the diner, Barry Levinson’s movie, “Diner” was a work of art. I truly loved it. It was, however, fiction. It was based on a reality, and on real characters, but none the less, fiction.

The late Chip Silverman wrote the book, “Diner Guys” and while I didn’t appear in the book, Chip himself called me a real Diner Guy, a real Mendel’s Guy. For my Baltimore readers this will make sense. So while I lived it, I also saw the flaws.

The last time I went to the Diner was probably 1962. A group of us went in after attending some event or other, and we sat down. No one came over to us, and we waited for what seemed like a long time.

Eventually a policeman came over and told us the owners wanted us to leave peacefully. We were stunned! What had we done? Then the realization came over us that we were sitting with a black guy! Our friend, Marvin Matthews was with us, and we hadn’t considered the consequences!

We were having a sit in! We had no idea what we were doing! We inadvertently had created an event and didn't know it.

I was mainly embarrassed for our friend.

We left peacefully (well, sort of, there was some bit of an incident) and went to Howard Johnsons which by its national foot print allowed everyone to come in.

It was my last visit to the diner.

Funny thing about grave sites is that when I go to see a famous person’s grave, it rains!

OK, I don’t go rushing there often, in fact I’ve only done it twice, but both times the sky opened and it poured. These were not necessarily projected storms; just surprise ones that caught me a bit off guard.

The first one was at Graceland, the last place I’d expected to be. I was at a conference in Memphis and I asked the organizers if there was a planned bus tour to Graceland. They laughed at me and said a bunch of art educators would not be interested in stuff like that. They agreed to list it and if they could find another person or two they’d get us together to share a cab.

That lasted about ten minutes after posting and of course, they had to get a bus.

The tour was great, Graceland was smaller than expected but wonderful, and when we reached Elvis’s grave the skies opened. I was standing there with Don Irving, the then president of the School of Art Institute of Chicago, and we both started to laugh. I said how the last place I’d expected to be was standing in the rain at Elvis’s grave and he was the last person I’d expect to be there with. Oh well, we’ll always have Memphis!

The second one was Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris. The photo is mine (as opposed to the Elvis one I found on the net) and the rain is not evident. We were in a deluge, but by the time we worked our way through the cemetery, a huge village of graves and mausoleums, the rain had subsided. The place had been cleared of most of the Morrison related graffiti. It was a plain, somber, but wet experience.

I have no idea where I’ve been going with these adventures, but needless to say I have some concern over this. When I visit a celebrity grave next, I will pack an umbrella. I have no plans as yet, but I do have an interest in visiting the grave of Gregory Hines, the dancer and actor who I enjoyed very much in life. He is buried less than an hour from here but I’ll check the weather report before I venture forth.

Giving birth after dinner!

I don’t usually tell as story until way past its happening, but tonight is different. It was an interesting evening and I witnessed the miracle of birth after dinner, but before dessert!

We had dinner tonight at the home of Carl Loewith and Sandy Katz and some of their friends. Carl owns a good sized dairy farm here in Ancaster, and after dinner, we all went for a walk around the farm, as one might do after a nice dinner.

I was quite hot, as we were eating outside in the sun, and even with an umbrella it was a bit hot! After dinner we decided to take the walk and as we passed by the barns, one of the cows was starting to give birth. The calf’s head and front legs were sticking out of the cow!

OK, a bunch of city people do not know what to do except stare and point and say stuff like, “that cow’s having a baby!”

Carl, long time Jewish farmer (not your average profession for Jewish boys) has several hundred head of dairy cattle, and has about a calf a day. This is the norm for him but for us it was the wonder of life!

Carl went and got a glove (very long!), some lubricant (not KY) and a sort of block and tackle kind of thing for removing calves from their mothers. Using all that stuff, he climbed in the pen and helped the cow give birth. A farm hand came by and helped get the calf to the ground (the baby weighs about 100 pounds).

We went back and had dessert.

No, we did not have any meat for dinner, we had salmon.

The calf will not be named Arthur, which would have probably have been a good idea.

But I have never experienced such a thing between courses!