If we still remembered History, we would know the poignancy of the word infamy.

Those of us who are boomers cannot hear or read the words without thinking of FDR’s speech following the sneak attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

Nearly thirty-four years later, I was sitting in the endzone of Shea Stadium for a game between the Jets and the Patriots. Joe Namath would throw three touchdowns en route to a 36-7 rout of the Patriots, but this is not what I remember of that day.

During halftime, all those in attendance were asked to honor the Emperor of Japan, Hirohito, and give a rousing Jet welcome. I’m not sure if we were asked to give a rousing Jet welcome or not, but we did clap and cheer somewhat.

Hirohito was Emperor of Japan during World War II and, of course, on December 7, 1941.

At the time, I was in the middle of my graduate degree in American History, and I could not help but think that there were probably a few people in the stands who had fought in World War II or lost loved ones during the war, perhaps even in the Pacific Theater of Operations.

Nevertheless, we cheered out of respect for an ally.

How far we had come in our forgiveness and understanding of a man who had once been our enemy.

It was a fascinating lesson in global politics and something I have always remembered. It is something we should never lose sight of when we determine any nation is our enemy.

Indeed, it is a lesson that we should all ponder in our age of polarization and division. People who disagree with us are not our enemy. People who disagree with us may hold opinions for which we have no tolerance but that doesn’t mean we should be intolerant to the people who hold such ideas.

Hate the idea, perhaps, but not the person. Leave a little doubt in the absolute righteousness of your opinions and try to understand the opinion you despise.

I was still working at St. Vito’s as a seventh and eighth-grade teacher. Eileen had just recently moved to New Rochelle.

We had made a tradition of going to see the tree lighting ceremony at Rockefeller Center and had done so for several years. Back then, it was a simple ceremony that lasted less than a half-hour.

While carols were sung, it had not yet been the big production that you will see tonight. Nevertheless, a big crowd had always shown up for the lighting.

It was December 3, 1979, and Eileen and I were accompanied by our friend Bob with whom I worked at St.Vito’s.

We took the train to the city from Larchmont and got down to Rockefeller Center in plenty of time. The crowd seemed much bigger than in past years, and we had to struggle to stay close together.

As the time for the lighting approached, it got a little hairy being in such tight quarters with so many people. We were only a matter of feet apart from each other, but I felt a bit out of control. There was a mother with a child in a stroller right next to us, and the people around made sure not to get too close to her, but it was scary.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived, and the countdown began. The tree was lit, and it was a joyous moment we would always remember. (Bob and I would still laugh and wonder if we actually had seen it go from dark to lit or had we blinked at an inopportune time?)

So, with the tree lit, we started to make our way home…but it wasn’t easy to that.

As I mentioned, the three of us were no more than a foot apart from each other. Nevertheless, it took us a full hour to find each other afterward. We were stuck in a whirlpool of people and were taken hither and yon in many different directions.

It was frightening.

This was a time before cell phones, so being out of contact for so long during a frightening experience took the joy of the moment right out of us. Finally, we caught up with each other and made our way to Grand Central Station to ride back to Larchmont.

When we got home, we got ready for the next workday and then settled down to watch the 11 O’clock news.

The first story was about a rock concert by The Who in Cincinnati.

Evidently, general admission tickets were sold, and no one was assigned a seat. So, people just ran to get the best seats available.

A stampede resulted, and 11 people were killed.

Having just experienced an out of control situation where we were tossed around and unable to determine which way we would walk, this was a frightening thing to see. A time of joy turned into a time of tremendous tragedy.

I vowed I would never put myself or Eileen through something like that again.

In fact, a year later, in September 1980, we were on the train heading to the city to see Elton John in Central Park. No doubt, a large crowd would be in attendance.

As we approached the city, Eileen mentioned that she might be pregnant. After I got over my excitement and joy, I thought about where we were going and immediately decided against going to the concert.

Instead, we went down to the Village and walked around and had a burger at Mr. William Shakespeare’s, a lovely pub in the Village. On the way home, we stopped at a pharmacy, and Eileen got a pregnancy test.

Sean Patrick was born in May.

So, tonight we will be watching the tree lighting ceremony from the comfort of our home.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

His Address It Will Be Changin

Come play another round, Donald; that’s all you can do
For Rudy has proven he’s not savin you.
And start packin now because the UHaul is due.
If you have anything worth you’ll be taken.
Then you better start packin Melania’s already leavin.
For His Address It Will be Changin.

Come, lawyers and poll watchers, you let your man down.
You promised that he would still wear his crown.
But the judges you faced shot all your claims down.
And you know who they should be blamin
It’s that orange skin man who made you look like a clown.
For His Address It Will Be Changin

Come all you republicans who cackle like hens.
And defend troubled Donny, who’ll be off to the pen.
Your oath and your office never once did defend.
In the face of this Putin defender.
You cowered to the Commander Tweet-Master.
For His Address It Will Be Changin

Come, Hannity and Ingram, watch your ratings dip.
As Trumpers look for a new place to flip
And don’t be surprised if you choose to jump ship.
‘Cause Trump Network will soon be airin
And when Trump is in charge, sycophants go right in.
For His Address It Will Be Changin

The election is over; Joe Biden has won.
The recounts and recounts and recounts are done.
And there’s no more votes for Trump that are comin
He’s a loser; you’re suckers.
And America comes back in twenty twenty-one.
For His Address It Will Be Changin

2020 will not be a year we soon forget despite every effort we may make to do just that.

Nevertheless, as we approach Thanksgiving and the holiday season, there is so much for which I am thankful.

I will create a list, maybe a top ten ala David Letterman but first a few acknowledgments.

COVID is still with us and has accounted for the death of nearly 260,000 Americans.

We can all blame our politicians and call them incompetent cowards, and we can all fight among ourselves, challenging how you supported a traitor or a socialist or a racist, etc., etc., etc. This ability to disagree so vociferously is something for which we can all be thankful. But, at least for Thanksgiving, let’s promise to be genuinely grateful for living in a beautiful country that struggles at times but not enough for us to want to be anywhere else.

Ok, now to my:

TOP TEN THINGS FOR WHICH I AM THANKFUL

10. The Jet’s season is almost over.

 9. It’s finally in the 70s in Florida.

 8. I never got jet lag because my trip to England and Ireland was canceled.

 7. I got my Starbucks Holiday Blend.

 6. I have enough Christmas Ale to get me through St. Patrick’s Day.

 5. Eileen and I will be wintering in The Bronx…not sure of the dates as yet.

 4. Love has conquered sheltering in place and COVID fatigue and paranoia.

 3. All my friends and family have remained healthy.

 2. We will be celebrating the holidays with our kids in March. A little delay is all.

 1. Eileen and I will be grandparents in a couple of weeks, so in the end, 2020 will be remembered as a great year. 

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!  

Trump finally has completed his long-promised wall. Unfortunately, the wall is around the White House and not at our southern border. Only white republicans who are fighting the fake election are admitted.

In another development, the New York Daily News just published a pitcher illustrating that the only thing fake about the 2020 election is Rudy Giuliani’s hair color as America’s Mayor was sweating so profusely while railing against our new President that his hair dye was running down his face.

Not a face you want to show.

It is sad to see Rudy, who was so inspirational in the aftermath of 911, especially to New Yorkers. But let’s not forget. He really didn’t do much back then either.

Yeah, he was reassuring. He was calm at a time when the nation was on the brink of a meltdown.

But here are a few things he didn’t do:

He didn’t ground the nation’s airlines.

He didn’t order jet plane surveillance of the eastern seaboard. ( I remember waking up in East Quogue to the sound of those jets.)

He didn’t form the Department of Homeland Security.

There were a countless number of actions Rudy didn’t take and you know why?

IT WASN’T HIS JOB!

IT WAS THE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES ALONG WITH THE OTHER BRANCHES OF THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT TO PROTECT OUR NATION FROM ANOTHER ATTACK.

Say what you want about George W. Bush, but he never proclaimed himself to be a wartime president and proceeded to the golf course.

Trump left it to the Governors to fend for themselves and then criticized the Democrats.

We are a mere nine months into this pandemic, and the death totals 251,756. This number is probably a little lower than reality as it is felt that there were quite of few who died at home or were misdiagnosed as to the cause of death in the early days of the outbreak.

Nevertheless, 251,756 is a staggering number that is growing every day.

To put this into perspective, the US lost 405,399 in the four years of World War II.

We are likely to reach this total unless something happens.

During the Great Depression (Herbert Hoover’s, not Trump’s), the 20th Amendment was proposed and ratified in January 1933. The amendment changed the inauguration date for the President and Vice President. This was done so that the time between the election and the assumption of power would be reduced.

The inauguration date used to be March 4th.

It has been called the Lame Duch Amendment.

I would welcome a lame duck as opposed to a recalcitrant loser who puts his own ambition and, perhaps freedom, ahead of the nation he has sworn to preserve and protect.

The Grand Old Party died in November 2016 when it sold its soul to a con artist and a bankrupt.

For so long many wondered what would happen if Trump had to deal with a real crisis.

Sadly, we have found out.

I hope it was worth whatever you saved in taxes and that it will get you through the next few months when our economy will take another hit. I will take a snapshot of my 401K because that’s not going to last too long either.

I was working at a college when Y2K was the biggest fear we had.

It’s funny to think about that now, given what the last twenty years have been like.

In 1999 I was part of a team of administrators working on implementing a new comprehensive and integrated computer system. It was a disaster in the making.

I soon realized (when we couldn’t run any reports or get any information out of the system) that this was going to be known as the Age of Dis-Information.

How prophetic those words would become.

We are all on multiple grids and platforms from which we get our data and information and draw conclusions and make decisions. Nevermind that hackers are out there right now, even reading this blog, working vigorously at gaining an edge the truth.

Maybe they want access to the sites to which we have access?

Maybe they want our personal data or yours? Thinking they can get that when you read this.

I get a summary of where my blog is read. As you might guess, most readers come from the US. However, I do have a few UK and Ireland readers, family, and friends.

Invariably, I have a number from China though my Ukraine readership has declined.

Now it’s entirely possible that readers in these countries have a keen interest in what I have to write. Maybe they gain great insight into American life or culture?

Or, maybe, they are trying to rig me?

I am beginning to think that I did better in college and on the SATs than my academic records indicate. I definitely what an audit and a re-calibration of my GPA. Also, I must have certainly gone to Harvard, so I want the record to indicate that as well.

My next target to have audited is the scale at my doctor’s office.

Talk about scams!

The point is, we are all vulnerable to information manipulation. Between Deep Fake videos and pundits who refuse to consider fairness in reporting and just our inner desire to believe what we want to believe, it will be crucial for us all to separate fact from fiction.

Lying has never been easier when you can make up your name and post on any number of sites whatever you want to stir the pot.

Oh well, no more time to preach; I have to get onto Twitter and Reddit!

Bless me, Father, it has been an extremely long time since my last confession. In fact, the Catholic Church was still calling the sacrament Confession. Now, I hear, it is called the Rite of Reconciliation.

It seems that America needs a Right Of Reconciliation if American Exceptionalism is to be restored.

For a country that has served as a beacon of hope and opportunity for so many years and countless numbers of refugees drawn to our shores, there’s just too much hate and division keeping us from being the country so many have given their lives to preserve.

Clearly, 2020 has been a year when so many of us are at odds with one another. The Viet Nam War divided us but never like what we have witnessed these last ten years or so. Race relations have always challenged our ability to be a united country but never have we faced such challenges as we do today.

Then there’s COVID.

Who would have thought Pole, Cancer, Typhoid, or Small Pox would have caused such a nation’s polarization as has COVID?

It’s a disease! Not a belief system.

Still, that is what I profess to believe.

We know that at least seventy million voters think otherwise.
The question is, why do so many people differ on matters of science?

Well, let’s look at the other side for a moment.

Back in the early 1970s, Archie Bunker was the symbol of the Old Order.
He was deemed a bigot. He was a World War II veteran who didn’t understand how young people could protest against their country and President.

His world was changing in so many ways, and he had no way of adapting to the new world order as his world was being replaced.

There is so much about the people who support Trump that I don’t understand. There is so much about me that Trump supporters don’t know about me. It’s time to try to understand each other even if we will never agree with each other.

The trouble is so much of what we believe is rife with inconsistencies.

Many Americans support a woman’s right to choose but refuse to consider…just consider, what other people believe.

Then you have the Pro-Life people who look the other way when babies are ripped out of their mothers’ arms.

Can we just think about the other point of view for a second?

I am so sick of the Constitution.

It’s ambiguous at best. It was written at a time when women didn’t vote, and blacks weren’t even considered citizens and had no rights. Nevertheless, let’s continue to look at the Original Intent of the Constitution for guidance!

We profess to be a people of faith, but that only seems to apply on the Sabbath.

We talk about the separation of Church and State, which may be a fine concept to apply to government, but it is an inconsistent policy to apply to one’s life. We should not separate our religious beliefs from our daily actions.

Jesus, for one, wouldn’t like that.

The sad thing is that this election has shown us all that nothing will change unless we change. We don’t need a President to change for us. We are reasonable people who know what needs to be done.

So before you cast that first stone at the other side, consider if you are without fault.

I have been a Yankee fan for as long as I can remember. My earliest recollection of being a fan was my birthday in 1956 when I was six years old. My Uncle Al worked for Railway Express and had Yankee Stadium on his route.
He frequently went into the locker room with a delivery, and as my birthday neared, he asked for an autographed hat for his nephew and God Child. Being 1956, he got Mickey to sign a hat.

Anyway, for over sixty years, I have been a die-hard Yankee fan. During those sixty-plus years, the Yankees have been a source of great joy, and I have cherished every moment, even the losing seasons.

But then, in 1965, when I was fifteen, I went to my first professional football game.

My brother had just gotten season tickets for the American Football League New York Jets, and he took me to a game. Now, you must know my brother and I were die-hard New York Giant fans and loved all of their stars. Tittle and Gifford and Huff were some of our favorites, but you could never get a ticket to a Giant game, and you only saw them on TV when they were playing an away game.
Thank God for Marty Glickman and Al DeRogatis, who expertly described the games on the radio.

So, in 1965 I attended my first football game and watched Joe Namath throw a football like no one I had ever seen.

It was love at first sight.

Eventually, my friend Mike and I got our own season tickets in 1968, and we won the AFL Championship Game, which we attended at Shea Stadium, and then the Jets won the Super Bowl.

The Jets did a lot to earn our love, and through the years, we have been loyal fans.
Lately, however, the Jets have not done much to sustain our love. They haven’t loved us back. They have taken our love for granted and have broken our hearts on a seasonal basis.

But, when you are trapped in a relationship, it is tough to walk away. You believe them when they hire a new coach who promises to be a winner. You believe them when they draft a new quarterback who will restore the team to greatness. You believe them that things will get better.

To be sure, there have been times when we had every reason to believe that the Jets were sincere about their love for us. We had some very satisfying years. I am not talking about winning a Super Bowl but a season where the Jets are still relevant at Thanksgiving.

Lately, the Jets haven’t been relevant on Columbus Day.

Love hurts when you are taken for granted, and when your feelings aren’t acknowledged by your beloved. But you disdain the concept of loving another. You refuse to move on. You still think there is hope for this relationship.
It’s hard to believe that you are still stuck in this quagmire, but you always wear your Green proudly even as people look at you in dismay.

So it’s still J E T S Jets! Jets! Jets!

Halloween is one of those holidays that started off as a quasi-religious holiday, All Hallows Eve, the night before All Saints Day.

It has morphed into a joyful, secular feast day for adults who binge on their children’s trick or treat booty.

It’s a wonderful day for kids of all ages.

Because the specter of COVID has tainted this year’s celebration, I thought I would share some of my happiest memories of Halloween as a sort of tribute to better times to which we all yearn to return.

I am not sure how old I was, but my first recollection of dressing up for Halloween was a clown. I even had a red nose provided by the lipstick in my mother’s purse or maybe my sister’s? In any event, I had that red nose the rest of my life, or so it has seemed.

In my early grammar school years, dressing up as a hobo (not sure the word hobo is politically correct any longer) for which you wore ragged clothes, which was not hard to do, and a relatively complete darkening of the countenance provided by burnt cork. I can still smell the burnt cork as it was delicious.

Now, please understand this was not blackface ala minstrel shows so offensive to African Americans. If anything, we were emulating Emmett Kelly, the clown, and Freddy The Freeloader. (Look these up if you are unfamiliar with them. That’s what Google is for.)

Also, during these years, it was not uncommon to fill an old sock with flour and then use it as a weapon of sorts meant to leave a white blast of flour on your friends’ pants or jackets. Alternatively, we often bought a couple of pastel chalk sticks and put them into the sock and smash it up as fine as possible. The beautiful marks these sock bombs would leave continue to fill me with Halloween joy and bliss.

But then I matured.

Halloween 1963 arrived, and our friend Jeannie had a party.
We had a great group of eighth and seventh graders, and hormones were arriving on every corner of our neighborhood. Suddenly, the girls in our group were absolutely gorgeous, so the prospect of a party with girls was reason enough to leave the old worn out Halloween cliches behind.

I got dressed as a beatnik.

Jimmy wanted to be cool, and for that one night only, October 31, 1963, I may have, in fact, pulled it off. (It’s kind of sad realizing that one’s ultimate moment of coolness occurred when you were 13, and it was all downhill after that.)

Nevertheless, there I was in a black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, a burnt cork provided goatee (some cliches are often cliches for a reason), a pair of sunglasses, and a beret.

Trying to talk like Maynard G Krebs ( look it up) was the icing on my bohemian cake.

Nothing much happened during the next twenty-five years in the Halloween category.

My next adventure occurred when I was teaching at St. Vito’s school in Mamaroneck.

Eileen and I lived in Flushing, and one of the teachers I worked with, Ann, was hosting a Halloween party with her husband, Marty.
Ann was enthusiastic about her guests dressing up for her parties, as you will learn in a subsequent account.

For this party in 1977, I was flummoxed as to what to wear. I had the idea of wrapping myself in bandages like a mummy. I spent quite a bit on those bandages, but it went really well. So well that when I paid the toll on the White Stone Bridge, I got quite a double-take from the toll collector. The good news it was an acceptable costume, but they may have gone easy on the new teacher that year.

The following year Eileen and I got dressed up as Harpo and Grouch Marx.
We were terrific and had prepared little bits.
Groucho advises Harpo, “Young man, don’t you realize you cannot burn a candle at both ends?”

To which Harpo responds by pulling out a candle burning at both ends from underneath his coat.

We had others, and we had a great time.

If you know anything about me, you know that I am a big Superman fan. No kid who grew up in the 50s wasn’t a fan of Superman, but I am 70 years old, and I watch the Superman DVDs every Saturday.

I had left St. Vito’s and eventually teaching and started a career in higher education thanks to my great friend Mike. I was working as a Director of Financial Aid, and Anne was having another Halloween Party.

Again, I was stumped as to what kind of costume to wear.

The party’s day arrived, and Karen, another teacher from St Vito’s, asked if we would give her a lift up to Ann and Marty’s.

Ann and Marty now lived in Brewster, NY, and it got cold early there. Marty invested in a wood-burning stove to offset the ridiculous cost of oil. On any given evening, the temperature in the house could be in the 80’s. This has a bearing on later events.

I was wearing a pinstripe suit more conducive to Wall Street than Yankee Stadium. My reply to the Million Dollar Question, “What are you supposed to be?” was simple. A Director of Financial Aid.

Karen seemed to buy it but barely.

She, on the other hand, got dressed up as a ballerina, only a tutu. Karen was cold.
I have a wool suit on, and I had to have the heat in the car blasting because she was in a tutu.

We get to Anne and Marty’s, and it was a full house. Between the crowd and the stove, it felt like it was ninety degrees. I was wilting.
To make matters worse, I had to put up with Anne’s disappointment.

Halfway through the party, Anne finally confronted me and asked me what I was supposed to be. I said a Director of Financial Aid.

She Mocked me, but then I continued.

I put on a pair of glasses and said, “Or perhaps a mild-mannered reporter?”
Her eyes widened, and her voice quivered, “Y y y you d d d didn’t!!

“Oh, didn’t I!”

I then took off my glasses and took off my suit and shirt and tie to reveal a stunning Superman outfit created out of blue thermal underwear and a red cape.

I got the bottle of Champagne for the best costume five seconds later.

I sweat a lot that Halloween, but I made someone’s night, I am sure.

I guess that is what really made Halloween so special. You got to spend it with your best friends, your life’s friends. Friends you still hold dear in your seventies.

The candy is just a bonus.

One of the things I have tried to do over the last ten months is to resist the urge to go negative. Sometimes I even strive to avoid serious or grave concerns. It’s not because I am devoid of opinions or afraid to write my mind, so to speak(?), but I concluded that dwelling on the negative or the serious isn’t really doing me any good at all.

Let’s face it. If it isn’t doing me any good at all, it can hardly benefit the four people who regularly read The Newell Post.

Actually, there are more than four of you out there. In fact, there are several Chinese reading from China. Perhaps being on lockdown, they welcome the diversions I offer? I used to have a following in Ukraine, and I notice the French are getting into my act this morning.

It would be nice to know that these foreign readers enjoy my writing rather than viewed as a viable hacking entry to America, but I guess I will never know.

So, it is October 27th, and it promises to reach ninety degrees in Bradenton, and I see that there will be areas just north of NYC that may get a flurry or two at the end of the week. When I was still in NY, I would be hooting and hollering about the warm sunny skies of Florida while Old Man Winter was rearing his frigid head on my doorstep. But now I envy my northern family and friends who will soon greet the first year’s snowfall.

The lesson learned is that you better be happy where and who you are because any radical change may not be what the doctor ordered.

COVID has been grave enough to keep us negative, but we have to persevere and get through the next few months with the hope that an end will come in the new year. It won’t come soon enough, of course, but when it does come, how will you react?

I won’t waste my time. I’ll tell you.

I won’t pay attention to haters of any kind. I will, in fact, hug all my family and friends often and without warning. There will be baseball games and visits to The Bronx, and Zoom will be an adjective on my speed to see you all.

There will be a little boy who will get to know is Nana and Pop, and my children’s dogs, Rudy and Scout, will have carte blanche to lick us and climb into bed with us as often as they deem sufficient.

At different times during those days, I will step out of myself and fully view what is going on and marvel at God’s glory. The family, the friends, the simple acts of enjoying our company. The beer will be cold. The hot dogs will be resplendent with mustard and sauerkraut, and the odd hot Italian sausage will be fully savored.

We will talk about 2021’s holidays. We will plan 2021’s vacations. We will over plan and overdo, but it will be spectacular.

It will, indeed, be spectacular.