The Newell Post

I was never impressed by people who are so confident in their own wisdom that they fail to recognize the wisdom of others.

My despondency related to the outcome of our last election has convinced me that I was wrong. That does not mean that I am willing to accept that those who voted differently than I were right.

I still feel that I voted correctly and would do so again. However, I must accept that the rest of the country was right when they chose the other candidate. Similarly, I accept that the Yankees lost the World Series and that the New York Jets, well, remain the New York Jets. It’s just the way it is. Sometimes you lose, and sometimes you lose again and again.

This experience has taught me a valuable lesson. No one would accept the lie that the Yankees won the World Series (or had it stolen from them) or that the New York Jets are too good a team to have lost, so, therefore, they won as well.

No one would accept those lies, which makes me wonder if sports trumps (sorry, I did want to leave names out of this piece) politics? I know my teams are more important to me and provide much more enjoyment and even a sense of pride than any politician I voted for or chose not to endorse.

That’s why it will be so much easier for me to abstain from watching cable news but will continue my ardent, if sometimes painful, viewing of everything Yankees and Jets.

I won’t miss watching the meltdown of democracy or the increase in the national debt and waiting for the other felony conviction to drop when we all know it is never going to happen.

There are just too many good books to read, making watching TV news a colossal waste of time, and I don’t have enough time to waste.

So, good night and good luck.

So here we are in Bradenton, waiting for the next meteorological shoe to drop.

Milton is coming, and it will get messy, but we should be okay with that. We are shuttered and in a no-flood zone, but it promises to get loud, and I’m hoping we don’t lose our electricity if only to keep up with the weather reports telling us just how bad it is.

Of course, it would be nice to watch a little baseball in between the gloom and doom reports.

People have been checking in with us, and I have been trying to keep them informed and allaying their fear and concern for our welfare. Bryan came up yesterday and has done much of the heavy lifting we have required to get ready, so that has been a blessing.

We have had a few of these rodeos to endure in the seven years since we moved to Florida. We also had a few to endure in our 33 years living in East Quogue. We had more blizzards than hurricanes while living on the Island, so that wasn’t too bad.

I will be powering down on Mac and pulling the plug so that a surge doesn’t fry its innards.

I promise to log on once power is restored (assuming we do lose power).

Thanks for thinking of us, and God Bless

OK, so summer is over for most of the country.

But down here in Bradenton, Florida, we still have two months to go before the chill of November arrives, and I can wear sweatshirts, jeans, and socks.

We still have hurricanes to worry about, but I am less concerned this year. Of course, I felt that way when we still lived in East Quogue, thinking that, as we approached Halloween, the hurricane season was over and we dodged another threat of wreak and havoc.

Two days later, Super Storm Sandy struck, and we had no electricity for nearly a week.

Still, we were merely inconvenienced and suffered no damage.

Fall also brings the baseball playoffs and the real start of the football season.

So far this year, the Yankees look capable of going deep into the playoffs, and even the Jets appear to be ready to compete for a slot, even if only as a wild card.

Of course, the change of seasons has not been lost on commercial entities, as many department stores have mixed Christmas items with their Halloween displays.

Apparently, we are supposed to be finished Christmas shopping by October, so those of us who put off shopping until a more traditional time may experience shorter lines and fewer gifts to purchase.

Well, fall is still a beautiful time of year, so enjoy the beautiful displays of colors in the trees and the crispness of the air.

It was always the saddest day of the year.

Despite what the seasonal calendar showed us, it was the last year of summer. Certainly, it was the last year of summer vacation. That sense of dread of the approaching new school year extended unto all Sundays as I got older and faced going back to work on Monday.

I know it seems ridiculous, but I even feel that way now despite having been retired for nearly eight years. I feel the dread of Labor Day just as I vicariously feel the elation of the last day of school; it’s a feeling that never leaves you even though you’re no longer a student.

When I was a teacher, one of my students remarked that I seemed happier that it was the last day of school than he did. He was right. It wasn’t that I no longer had to go to work; rather, the joy of being a student with no school to go to was a joy beyond being an employee with some time off.

There was a freedom enjoyed only by those who were truly free, and a student with the entire summer off was truly free, and, as a teacher, I was one of them.

As a kid, sleeping late was a treat unto itself. This was followed by an assortment of street games with my fellow freedom fighters. Stickball, football, curveball, softball, and waiting for the Good Humor Man made up our daily agenda, for which no notes needed to be taken.

When I was in college and working in New York City, reading books of my own choosing, and buying the latest albums from my favorite groups, as well as cavorting with my friends with no term papers hanging over our heads, I replaced the pre-teen euphoria of street games and ice cream.

Years later, living out in the Hamptons, I went to Ponquogue Beach and enjoyed the last of the Summer Ale with PJ and my family to witness the Ball Dropping on the Joys Of Summer.

The yearly ritual of going to the beach and staying until the lifeguards blew the final whistle of the summer resulted in a standing ovation for these brave young men and women. They risked body and skin battling waves and brutal sunshine to keep our children safe and the adults in check. And, despite acknowledging the end of summer, you just had to go to the beach this one last time to say thanks,

But, going home in the car, we knew we had a few more duties to perform that had absolutely nothing to do with summer.

I hope you felt the youthful elation of summers past and that its passing is not too painful.

Words Of Love

Summer Music Through My Years

1968

Bookends

Parsley Sage Rosemary and Thyme

Album 1700

Idea (Bee Gees)

1969

Rubber Soul

Yesterday And Today

Revolver

Crosby Stills And Nash

Blind Faith

Byrds Greatest Hits

Led Zeppelin First Album

1970

Let It Be

Woodstock

Byrds (Galore)

Deja Vu. CSNY

Candles In The Rain. Melanie

Get Yer Ya-Yas Out Stones

Their Satanic Majesties Request Stones

Easy Rider Soundtrack

1971

Aqualung Jethro Tull

Four Way Street CSNY

Carly Simon (First Album)

Every Picture Tells A Story

Cat Stevens Teaser And The Firecat

Summer Of 1968

It’s challenging to think about the summer of 1968 without first thinking about the spring of that year. Of course, in April, Martin Luther King was assassinated, and then, a short two months later, Bobby Kennedy was assassinated.

It was a tough year to graduate from high school, and there was no way I was adequately prepared for entering college. My head was spinning, and I really was adrift in my psyche with no foreseeable destination or a map to guide me there. I had not yet become a reader. That would not occur until 1970. So, music was my sanctuary during these dreadful days.

The summer before 1967, commonly referred to as the Summer of Love, virtually exploded on the radio. The Jefferson Airplane, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, Cream, and The Doors all created new and exciting music. But nothing compared to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band by the Beatles.

However, by the summer of 1968, I wasn’t looking for anything so compelling. I entered my folk/folk-rock phase and sought out music with a message and a soothing sound.

The list of albums that I have selected for the Summer of 1968 is a rather shortlist. That is not a reflection on the state of music that summer but was more indicative of the state of the economy that summer. Well, my economy.

I needed to buy a stereo.

I had jerry-rigged my own version of stereophonic sound by converting my family’s hifi to a stereo. I needed a new cartridge for the HiFi, and our local radio and repair shop, Johnny McGrath’s, had a cartridge that would fit the tonearm of my hifi, but it was a stereo cartridge.

I reasoned that I could hook up a supplemental amplifier and add a speaker, and voila, I had a stereo. I bought a cheap amplifier and a speaker at Lafayette’s Electronics down on 14th Street in the city and put it all together.

It was ok for a while, but I needed a stereo.

I used to go to EJ Korvette’s during my lunch hour from the mailroom at Lorillard Corp, and I saw a nice system for $99.99. I vowed to buy it as soon as I had the money after putting aside enough for college.

So, it wasn’t until August that I could buy the XAM Stereo at Korvettes, which is the reason for my short summer list.

Short though the list may be, it is comprised of iconic songs from iconic groups,

If you ever saw The Graduate, you will understand how Bookends and Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme made the list. After the terrible spring, it was something we all asked ourselves, WHERE HAVE YOU GONE JOE DIMAGGIO!!!

I was actually asking, where have you gone, Mickey Mantle? Thank goodness I had Joe Namath, or else I would have no stabilizing hero for whom to pine.

Where Bookends had us ask ourselves where the hell we were going, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme gave us poetry to help us through those troubled times even as it juxtaposed Silent Night with the mass murder of student nurses.

The next album on my list is Album 1700 by Peter, Paul, and Mary.

I had been listening to PPM for years thanks to my brother Michael, so one of the first stereo albums I bought had to be a PPM production. There were so many great songs that found a home in my psyche but perhaps none more than Bob Dylan’s Dream. Like the Byrds, Peter, Paul, and Mary sang Dylan so beautifully. But there were so many poignant numbers on this album powerfully performed, including Leaving On A Jet Plane by John Denver.

The last album of that summer was Idea by the Brothers Gibb, who was more commonly knows as the Bee Gees. Long before they or we knew of disco, the Bee Gees had several great songs, many of which were included on this album.

They were nice to listen to songs. Not so much full of meaning or poignancy, just excellent listening songs.

Well, 1968 had other terrific albums, to be sure. But these were the first few I bought for my new stereo. Other albums would come out in the fall, such as the Beatles White Album, but these summer albums would get me through the rest of that turbulent summer. The Beatles and Joe Namath would get me through the fall and winter.

Now we are off to the Summer of 1969.Summer Of 1969

In the world of music, the summer of 1969 can only bring up images of Woodstock.

Three days of peace, love, and music sprinkled with a bit of grass and brown acid that wasn’t particularly good. At least, that is what we would learn in the film and album that would come out the following summer.

But many would attend this festival in August of 1969.

I was not one of them.

At the time, the New York Jets were more important to me than attending any concert. Having beaten the Baltimore Colts on January 12, 1969, the Jets were now poised to play the New York Giants up at the Yale Bowl on a Sunday in August. It just so happened that it was the Sunday when hundreds of thousands would be listening to music up at Woodstock.

It would become one of those events that many would swear they had attended, but I was pretty content to say I had witnessed the first Jet-Giant game and one which the Jets had won.

Nevertheless, my summer had actually begun in May when I had completed my first year in college and returned to my summer job in the mailroom at P. Lorillard Corp. on 42nd Street in Manhattan.

To be honest, I would just as soon had stayed in the mailroom at the end of the summer the previous year and foregone going to college. I probably would have learned more. But I did survive that first year of college, even if I did not distinguish myself while doing so.

So, I was back in the mailroom and making money.

I had an economic plan now and could afford to spend ten bucks every payday on albums. Korvettes had a sale just about every week, allowing me to purchase three albums for around ten dollars.

I started by buying stereo versions of all my Beatle albums. The three that I listened to most were Rubber Soul, Yesterday And Today, and Revolver. I then added the Byrds Greatest Hits.

These got me through the first month or so of the summer. I would later purchase Blind Faith and Crosby, Stills, and Nash.

I then purchased the first Led Zeppelin album and became a fan of them as well.

Unlike the previous summer, my taste was growing more eclectic. I always listened to the Beatles, but I also loved the Byrds, and their Greatest Hits would prove but a dipping of my toe into their extensive library. Blind Faith, like Cream before it, was an amalgam of great talented performers with a unique style but who stayed with us for an all too short time.

Crosby, Stills, and Nash, however, brought us a great first album that would be followed up with continuous additions to the soundtrack of our lives.

Summer Of 1970

Purists may tell you that 1970 was the last year of the 60s. But, those of us who lived through 1968 and 1969 were happy to leave the 60s behind, and we greeted 1970 as the dawning of a new decade.

Unlike summers past, most of my musical delights were of more recent vintage. Having purchased the stereo versions of most of my must-have albums, I was now poised to focus on new or recently released albums.

The one exception to this was the Byrds.

Realizing that the Byrds Greatest Hits was a mere appetizer, the start of the Summer of 1970 began with the purchase of everything the Byrds had previously released.

I always thought Let It Be was one of the best Beatles albums, and I wore that album out in the Summer of 1970. It was released that spring but still remained on my hit parade for many months afterward.

One of the things that my friends and I used to do was venture into Central Park on Friday nights. First, we would go to the Sixth Avenue Liquor Store for a little Bali Hai and then peruse the sights of The Park.

On one of these Friday nights, our plans to go into the park were thwarted by a sudden cloudburst. We still went to the Sixth Avenue Liquor Store, but instead of drinking our wine in The Park, we opted to drink in a covered portion of a sidewalk cafe provided by the St. Moritz Hotel.

Realizing that the hospitality we assumed would be offered by hotel management was subject to change and revocation, we decided to vacate the cafe as we considered our options for the rest of the evening.

That summer, the film version of Woodstock had been released, so we decided to see it on this wet Friday night.

Well, it was like going to Woodstock.

We were wet in a mind-altering state. All that was missing was the mud, and we did not mind that at all.

The following week I went out to purchase the musical version consisting of three LPs, and it was an instant favorite that I would continue to listen to for quite a while.

Additionally, the Summer of 1970 provided us with Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s Deja Vu; Easy Rider, another soundtrack from the movie of the same name; Get Yer Ya-Yas out by the Rolling Stones as well as Their Satanic Majesties Request; and Melanie’s Candles In The Rain.

I should point out that, for the Summer of 1970 and the previous years, there were individual songs that have made my Summer Playlist, but I never had the albums on which they were released. The nice thing about iTunes is that you can purchase individual songs. Nevertheless, you might include many of these albums on your list, but I only included albums that I bought.

Summer Of 1971

In the Spring of 1971, I marched on Washington in protest of the war in Viet Nam. I wrote about that in an earlier post so, I won’t dwell on that. But music had been as crucial to the peace movement as other examples of the culture of the times.

But by the Summer of 1970, I was more interested in the love component of Peace and Love.

I am not sure if that change altered my taste in music. I certainly acquired a deeper appreciation of the music of that summer, especially as it culminated in the meeting of the girl who would be my wife for the last forty-five years. We met as the Summer of 1971 was nearing its end, and the music of that summer brings me back in time to that first encounter with Eileen.

Aqualung provided my introduction to Jethro Tull. Having bought this album in the Summer of 1970, I later purchased quite a few other examples of Ian Anderson and the boys of Jethro Tull. Four Way Street became an instant iconic presentation of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s music. No sooner had I purchased this album, but Every Picture Tells A. Story by Rod Stewart and Faces was released. It contained so many great songs that still are pleasing to the ear fifty years later. Then Carly Simon released her first album, and I fell in love with her music even as she elicited some concern about love and marriage in her The Way I Always Heard It Would Be.

Then there was Cat Stevens. Moonshadow, Peace Train, and Morning Has Broken on Teaser and The Firecat, which were instant favorites.

Then after I met Eileen, she introduced me to his Tea For The Tillerman album and the Moody Blues’ Question Of Balance.

Music provides the Time Travel that only a Doctor Who fan can appreciate. A song can instantly bring me back to another time and place, and this is undoubtedly true for the albums that I have selected for this essay.

Other summers have their music, but I chose these years as they were a significant change in me personally. I was not the same person in the Summer of 1968 as I became by the Summer of 1971.

By the Summer of 1971, I became a more confident person thanks to the fact that I finally listened to my mother, who always urged me to read. Well, I did finally do what she advised and never stopped. Then, my friend PJ, who, during a drinking session at Fordham University’s Ram Skeller, encouraged me to follow his diet. I did, and in a few short months, my transformation was achieved.

I was reading and looking good at the same time.

I like to think that the music of these Summers brings me back to the days of my Epiphany and helps me deal with the changes of life facing this seventy-one-year-old man.

Peace and Love, everybody.

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Everything Old Is New Again…If OnlyJuly 16, 2022

Saturday Morning Rant: Surviving 1968June 13, 2020

Late Night Time TravelingNovember 17, 2018

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2 Responses to Summertime Words Of Love

1. PJ says:
2. May 30, 2021 at 9:38 am
3. “Sidewalk dining before its time”—— with no food, if I remember correctly! Great stuff.
4. Reply

• section6rowh says:
• May 30, 2021 at 11:19 am
• But Bali Hai was plentiful 😄
  • Reply

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What Is A Father? What Is A Dad?

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I wrote this a few years ago to commemorate Father’s Day. I wrote…A Father is the guy…

I have updated this today and changed it to A Dad is the guy…

It’s a clarification that needed to be made. Any man can be a father but it is the blessed ones who become Dads. So, for all of you who are Dads or were fortunate to have a Dad, Happy Dad’s Day.

A Dad is the guy who took you to your first Yankee game and sat you in the Bleachers because that was where Mickey Mantle played.

A Dad is the guy who just couldn’t wait until December 25th to give you your first set of Lionel Trains and so he gave them to you in October.

A Dad is the guy who that same Christmas gave you your Santa Fe diesel three days before Christmas.

A Dad is the guy who didn’t get you those Mouseketeer Ears you wanted so badly but came home with the most beautiful red two-wheeler you ever had in your life.

A Dad is the guy who didn’t always give you what you wanted but made damn sure you got everything you needed.

A Dad is the guy who never uttered a profanity in his life until that day you went missing, and he had to search the neighborhood looking for you.

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A Dad is the guy who answered ‘steak’ to the question ‘What’s for dinner?’ that you yelled to him up at the window when he was calling you in for dinner because he didn’t want the neighbors to know we were having meatloaf.

A Dad is the guy who took you to Ferry Point Park on evenings after he worked all day and then had to flag every fly ball that went to the opposite field he was playing.

A Dad is the guy who couldn’t tune a ukulele without breaking a few strings but could sing Ain’t She Sweet like no body’s business.

A Dad is the guy who made a weekend without electricity the most magical weekend of a kid’s life.

A Dad is the guy who was called The Tasheroo Kid and never explained what that meant.

A Dad is the guy who didn’t know the definition of a sick day.

A Dad is the guy who saw you sleeping on his living room floor and went out and bought a sofa bed the next day.

A Dad is so much more than all the things I have listed, and I am only one of his five children, and if you have been blessed with such a Dad, then you have been truly blessed, indeed.

Eighty-one years ago in the European Theater of Operations in World War II thousands of insanely brave men accosted the shores of France at Utah Beach and thus began the end of the Nazi empire.

Back at home, there were no debates about whether this was the right thing to do. No one questioned the President’s motive in ordering the attack. No revisionist historian had yet pondered the dramatic loss of life and whether such sacrifice was prudent. It was a different America. No one was going to apologize.

I thank God for that.

Where would we be in this country, in this world, had these brave men not thrown themselves on the beach that day in 1944? Maybe we would not have prevailed in World War II? Maybe we would be goosestepping our way through life hating everything and everyone not Arian? Maybe the world economy would consist of  Nazi Germany and a militarist Japan?

Remembering those that put their lives on the line for us this day seventy-five years ago is the least we should do today.

That was a time of American heroes when partisan politics had not brought our government to a grinding halt. It was a time when no one would dare question the integrity or patriotism of the American President.

For his part, FDR would never have praised Hitler or Hirohito and insult Churchill. Then, after the war, Truman stood up to Stalin and helped recreate Europe.

The only wall erected was built by the Russians.

It was a much different time.

Years later, when the war in Viet Nam was dividing our country, setting us up for today’s division, you could not argue with a World War II vet about the war. Although many were reluctant to speak about their experience, they never questioned the legitimacy of the war nor their duty to answer the call to defend this country.

It was a much different time.

These heroes possessed an undying faith in their country, in their President, in their religion. There may have been atheists among them, but they didn’t openly mock believers as you often see today on cable news and even commercials supporting atheism.  Believe or don’t believe, just don’t mock. It’s so unAmerican.

Growing up in the 1950s included the continuity of faith in our country. It was demanded of us though never a word had to be spoken. It was just taken for granted that you supported our nation. When the USSR threatened us with annihilation as Kruschev banged his shoe at the United Nations, President Kennedy was respected even by those disagreeing with him.

It was a much different time.

Perhaps on this one day, we can put our political and cultural hostility behind us so that we can focus on the heroes who assaulted the beaches of Normandy to ensure our freedom to disagree.

This is a birthday card for my daughter, Jeannine. I wrote it for her a few years ago, and I have shared it every year on her birthday, and I do so again. Since the first time I shared this post, she has had two beautiful boys who have brought joy to our family. So, once again, Happy Birthday, Jeannine.

The Day The Music Died?

February 3, 1959, was a day I will forever remember. I can still see my brother Mike and me watching our Mother prepare breakfast. I cannot tell you what the weather was like. If there was snow on the ground, I could not tell you. What I do remember, though, is listening to the green Zenith radio that was up on the shelf over our refrigerator.

In those days, my Mother would often have on a rock and roll channel. It would be years later that she would turn to listen to Rambling With Gambling. So, back in 1959, she was probably listening to Herb Oscar Anderson or someone like him. On that particular day, it did not matter what channel you had tuned into or who the DJ or radio host was. That day it was all the same news and music. Buddy Holly had died, and that is all we heard that day. Even as an eight-year-old, I saw the irony in his most recent recording that every station was playing. ‘It Doesn’t Matter Anymore,’ written by Paul Anka, just about summed up the feeling of that day.

We also heard that Ritchie Valens and the Big Bopper had died as well in the same airplane crash as Buddy Holly. Twelve years later, Don McLean would refer to this day as The Day The Music Died. While music most certainly did not die that day in February, it was never the same. I am not sure what impact The Big Bopper would continue to have on the course of music, but Buddy Holly and Ritchie  Valens would surely have continued to provide terrific music and, no doubt, to inspire new artists and bring new innovations to rock and roll. It is not coincidental that The Beatles recorded ‘Words Of Love’ in deference to Buddy Holly’s contribution to music.
Twenty-Five Years Later
Now, it is February 3, 1984. Eileen and I are expecting our second child. The plan was that we would go to the hospital that Monday, February 6th, for the birth of our child. That taught me a lesson. There are some things you can plan and some that you cannot.

It was a Friday evening. We had a nice dinner, and I was just about to put a fire on and watch the Winter Olympics. No sooner had I had the logs in the hearth than Eileen called out from the bathroom that we would need to go to the hospital instead. My first reaction was to push my way into the bathroom and take a shower. To this day, I cannot fathom why I thought it necessary for me to be showered and shampooed. I guess I was recalling when Sean was born and that it was going to be a long night/day.

Now we had made plans with friends to take care of Sean on Monday, but they were nowhere to be found. So, we called our friend’s mother, who promptly drove over and picked up Sean. Eileen and I then made our way to Southampton Hospital. Upon arriving at the Hospital, Eileen’s doctor came in, shaking his head, saying, “I thought we agreed this was going to happen Monday. I was just about to watch the ice skating competition.” I told him I was too, but that at least I did get my shower in.

We then made our way to the OR room, and I got the chance, again, to sit next to Eileen as our baby was being born. (Let me tell you, that’s the type of sex education we need in our schools.)

The birth of your child is always amazing. One minute, she wasn’t there, and the next, she was. Before that minute had elapsed, however, we named her Jeannine. It was 9:30 PM.

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She was a sight to behold. A beautiful round face trimmed with a wisp of reddish hair. We always thought she would be a redhead like her mother. The maternity nurse took her and got her ready for her crib, and then both of us walked Jeannine up to her room. Eileen was in recovery and would join us later.

When we got to the room, the nurse asked me if I wanted to hold her. So, I picked her up out of the little crib and took her in my arms. She turned her head up to me, and I swear she looked me right in the eyes. I think she was a little miffed for being disturbed while she was napping. She had a look, and I also think she was eying me up, wondering what her fate would be with this big doofus that was holding her. Her eyes were wide open and deep blue, her lips were puckered, and the nose that I would spend most of her early years stealing and hiding was as cute as could be.

It was then that I first sang ‘You’re Sugar….” but it was by far not the last time.

Happy Birthday, Jeannine.

Though the music may have died back in 1959, it was resurrected in 1984.