GUESS WHO CAME TO DINNER

I never realized that I personally knew a member of the storied 1% until my recent 50 year high school reunion where we were able to round up about 10 guys from our private school graduating class which consisted of 56 altogether. Taking into consideration the ravages of age and things like illness and death, that really wasn't a half bad turnout. It was wonderful seeing people I haven't even thought about for a half century of life with all of it's tribulations. Some have done better than others but, at the end of the day, these were guys I spent 3 very important years of my life surrounded by in class rooms, dorm rooms, dining rooms and study halls and they really hadn't changed a bit. All except one. He had become a member of the 1% and was careful to make sure everyone knew it. The school, itself, was a haven for the children of the rich and, occasionally, famous. It was a prep school in Connecticut where those who could afford it would send their kids to get discipline, to get an Ivy League equivalent high school education or to get rid of them so they could do whatever it was they did to make more money and travel. These were the sons of privilege and power. The first born of the Chief of Police to the King of Thailand, the nephew of the guy who assassinated President Trujillo of the Dominican Republic, the offspring of the owner of the Biltmore Hotel in NYC (they lived in the penthouse) – I was out of my element and in over my head. We weren't part of this crowd. I grew up in a working class household with parents who toiled and sacrificed for me and my brother. I couldn't relate to the guy who came from one of the most expensive address in Paris or the ship builder's son from Brazil. We struggled for what little we did have and did without many things I saw my friends with. My school friends had lots of “stuff”.......I had a work ethic and a tight budget. I was only in the school by virtue of the fact that my grandmother was a personal friend of the wife of the school's owner and headmaster. They had worked on a number of projects together, not the least of which was finding a way to get me into that school. Most of my friends, however, did not come out of that environment particularly entitled. They all went on to make it - or not - on their own merits. Some did fairly well, some not so much but they did it themselves. With the notable exception of one guy who showed up for the reunion. Now, here it was, 50 years later and 10 of us had arranged a dinner in South Florida. The retired college professor was there as was the filmmaker, a couple of guys who had owned their own businesses and done relatively well while maintaining their “down to earth,” good guy qualities, a guy or two who just,plain worked hard for their families and were hoping to be able to afford to retire and me, a retired scam artist who had managed to fool enough people for enough years to have a career entertaining the masses, to successfully and, eventually, to retire. All pretty normal stuff. We each had our own separate health issues as well but, at our age, that's part of the territory. You get up each day, find the “new normal” and move on. Then there was Artie (his name has been changed to protect me after he informed me how easy it would be to kill me because he had a gun) who let us know, in no uncertain terms, that he was to be called Arthur now. He had taken over a successful business from his dad and kept making lots of money for, as he told us (almost ad nauseum) doing nothing. He was wealthy and powerful and was enjoying every minute he gloated about it. In South Florida, even 5 star restaurants expect customers to wear shorts. They are all very informal, understanding that folks are here escaping the winter doldrums and are spending money. It's a tourist haven and everyone dresses comfortably. Not Artie. He showed up wearing what was, obviously, a very expensive, custom tailored suit, a pricey watch, a spray on tan and dyed hair. He looked rich and wasn't about to let us forget it. He spoke about his 4 houses (2 in New England, one in Florida and one in the islands). He told us that his new wife was flying in and, when asked if he was going to pick her up at the airport, he responded,”Hell no.....I sent my driver.” Artie (I won't call him Arthur) regaled us with stories of his power and kept saying, “I'm the job creator. I'm the guy who signs the FRONT of the check.” When my friend's wife said, “Well what about all of us who sign the BACK of the check and are just trying to make it in the world,” he responded, “I don't care about them. I sign the FRONT of the check.” The conversation then started to “go south.” Artie had had a couple of drinks by this time and began to character assassinate ALL Muslims. He felt that the world would be better off if they were all eliminated. He couldn't accept the idea of a radical faction that has hijacked the faith and was making things look worse than they actually were on a global scale. The camel back breaking straw for me came when he laughed while telling us the story of standing on a street in Boston when a woman in a hijab and two small children walked by and he put his hand in the shape of a gun and pointed at her to simulate shooting her and the kids. He then commenced to tell me how little I knew about anything. He kept drinking. Thank goodness for my wife who, always “having my back,” changed the subject by asking about his kid. All in all, the reunion was a smashing success. We are all in our late 60's and that's what people walking by us saw. A bunch of old guys acting like teenagers which is what we were when we all lived together in the dormitories and shared every aspect of our lives. We felt like we are 16 and 17 again and were acting accordingly. Except Artie who gave off a vibe of self importance and seemed to feel as if he was doing us all a favor by showing up for the dinner. I can't wait for the next time we can all spend some time laughing and reminiscing and celebrating life long friendships. It's safe to say that Artie won't be there. He'll be too busy “hobnobbing” with his 1% colleagues to be bothered by the peons he went to high school with. Besides, he already graced us with his presence once. I'm sure he feels that was more than enough for this lifetime.

BEYOND THE BLUE HORIZON

The two men dance, energetically aggressive yet warily cautious..... moving in a circle, staring into each others eyes with a steely determination while striking a delicate balance between throwing a punch – a jab, an uppercut, a hook - and blocking a punch – a jab, an uppercut, a hook. Each hoping beyond hope that he can spot some weakness and drop the “big one.”- BOOM!! It's brutal and dangerous yet, to me, breathtaking and thrilling as well. I've been a boxing fan since I watched the Gillette Friday Night Fights with my dad back in the 50's. He loved “da fights”so I loved “da fights.” I kept loving “da fights” through all of the changes that life has provided me the options to make over the ensuing 60 or so years. That love for “da fights” is still the one constant, no matter what else is going on. I was fortunate, throughout my career, to have lived in a couple of great cities for boxing.....Philadelphia and Chicago. I was also privy to the “right people” so that, in both cities, I was able to go to any fight card I wanted and sit ringside. Amazing seats right on the ring apron. Each time they swing their heads, the combination of blood, sweat and tears sprays onto the table in front of you and the sounds of the punches vary depending on the velocity and the ferocity of each one. You're almost close enough to feel the impact of every jab and every hook. It's very “Hemingway romantic.” Of all the venues I had the pleasure to frequent – frequently – my all time favorite was The Blue Horizon on N. Broad St. in Philadelphia. “The Ring”magazine voted it the number-one boxing venue in the world, and Sports Illustrated noted it as the last great boxing venue in the country. Bobby "Boogaloo" Watts, Willie 'the Worm' Monroe, my pal and, at the time, soon to become WBC Light Heavyweight Champion of the World, Mike “the Jewish Bomber” Rossman and a middleweight who couldn't get a title fight because, whoever the champion happened to be, knew they would lose to yet to be called “Marvelous” Marvin Hagler. One of the most dangerous guys in the ring. I saw Duran fight there when he was still a Lightweight. Over the years he became Welterweight, a Middleweight and a Super Middleweight. I saw him try to make a comeback during his heavier years and thought, “No Mas” should have been more than just a way to stop getting his ass kicked by Ray Leonard. His time had come and gone.....two or three times. The Blue Horizon was the perfect venue for the “sweet science.” 1,500 seats was just intimate enough that almost every seat felt like a ringside seat and ringside seats felt like you were in the squared circle with the combatants, bobbing and weaving and ducking every punch they threw. Better than watching on TV. I read that in June of 2010, The Blue Horizon closed because of tax problems. In 2011, a plan was announced to build an $18 million dollar hotel and restaurant complex in the area. Plans called for The Blue Horizon to be demolished to make way for – wait for it..................a parking garage. I would love to be introduced to the guy who made that decision so I could shake his hand and say, “Nice to meet you. Now........Lllllleeeeeet's get ready to rumble...........”

NEVER AGAIN

In reading the latest news from France and Denmark, it would seem that the sleeping devil anti semitism has awakened and is, once again, rearing it's ugly head, when, in reality, it has never been asleep at all. Not to Jews who live and maneuver under it's canopy on a day to day basis. It's a part of life that I certainly just take for granted. It's going to be there. It's something that has been part of my being since birth. It is an inherent condition that dictates that we always keep an eye on our backs. Sometimes, it may make us seem a bit paranoid but, honestly, look at history. Who wouldn't be. I can speak for only myself and no other Jew on earth but, I know what I've been through during my relatively short (given our incredibly long history as a people) amount of time on this “mortal coil.” From the neighbors throwing rocks at a frightened 8 year old kid, yelling “We don't want kikes in the neighborhood,” (I had to ask my mom what a kike was. I had never heard it before) to being barred by all the “Greeks” in college to being asked, believe it or not, seriously, where my horns and tail were, I have experienced the ignorance of anti-semitism on a personal level but it's the societal strain of this horrible disease that has cause my people to run for their lives from wherever they thought they were safe for, pretty much, as long as there have been Jews. We've been persecuted, blamed, sent packing and killed just because of who we refuse not to be. Our team mascot is the scapegoat. Anti-semitism has begun blossoming again in a number of romantic European locales – Paris, Copenhagen........... “Come for the Eiffel Tower – stay for the Jew baiting......a fun getaway for the whole family.” This time, however, the Prime Minister of Israel, Binyamin Netanyahu, has issued a clarion for European Jews to return, en masse, to the land of Israel, home of the Jews. To me, this smacks of politics. If he can get the European Jews to “turn tail” and, once again, run from their homes and go to Israel, it's an excuse to build more settlements. It's just an opinion but knowing Bibi's “tea party” perspective, it seems to make sense. Anti-semitic activity has never been far from our minds here in the good ole' US of A either. I've been aware of it my entire life. Most American Jews are. It's becoming less and less rare, however, for some “good white, Christian” to get a “hate hair” stuck up his ass and feel the need to spray paint swastikas all over a neighborhoods garage doors and Jewish businesses or for an intafada fueled Muslim extremist to walk into a synagogue and open fire. It's always been there and, apparently, always will be. But, I'm not leaving my home and running away to Israel. I'm not uprooting and giving these clown the satisfaction of thinking they won. Israel is not my home. America is. To be more specific, South Florida, America and I'm a fan of Cuban coffee. My dad fought in WWII, my uncle served in Korea and I'm a Vietnam Vet. We have run away as a group or died as a group since the beginning of time but - NEVER AGAIN. My only real fear, as I watch the bullshit grow around me, is that I will, very probably, have to start re-thinking my attitude about guns.

BLUE CAR NEWS (NEW CAR BLUES)

I recently bought a new car. When people ask what kind of car I got, I tell them, "A blue one." I had a yellowish one, but it didn't get the gas mileage I needed to get from whatever point A happens to be to it's corresponding point B and back. It was pretty cool, though. It was a convertible and it was turbo and it was great fun to drive, but I got the blue one because it gives me a lower payment each month and gets better mileage. The yellowish car got about 26 miles to the gallon. The blue one gets 35 and we are all looking at ways to save a buck these days. About 2 weeks after I bought the new, blue car, my wife, while visiting our daughter who lives nearby, inadvertently ran over a curb and the car wouldn't start. It seems the car, in its infinite wisdom, assumed it had been in an accident and the anti-theft feature kicked in and it wouldn't start. I had to have it towed to the dealer who found about $1500 damage to the wheel and surrounding area. That meant I had to rent a car for the 4 days it was in the shop and pay the deductible. I began seeing my gas savings dwindling away. I was thrilled to get the car back, good as new, so I could drive it to work and save money on gas and tolls (I have a toll tag). As I turned right, about a mile from my house, on my way to point A, a 24 year old kid in his moms car seemingly appeared out of thin air doing 40 miles per hour and hit my car. My first thought was, "You have GOT to be kidding me. I haven't even made a second payment on this thing." Then I ran over to the kids now flipped Toyota to see if he was OK. He was. This time it was an accident, and the car, in its infinite wisdom, assumed everything was just fine. It started right up. After the tow truck flipped the kids moms car back right-side up, we traded information and my wife took the car home. The car was a mess. The entire drivers side quarter panel had to be replaced as did the door. The rear view mirror was gone so, the car, while driveable, was illegal. Instead of the dealer, I decided to go with a body shop this time. I have a friend who does body work and I knew I'd get quality work at a good price. This too was about $1500 and, of course, I had to pay the deductible. Now the situation was getting downright ridiculous. This car that was supposed to get great gas mileage and save me all this money……wasn't. You can't get great gas mileage when you can't drive the car. I've been back in the car for about a week now. So far…so good. I'm being ultra careful because I'm about to make the second payment and I'd like to keep the car in one piece for a while. My insurance agent just called. He wanted to make sure I was OK since he hadn't heard from me in a whole week.