The Newell Post

Fifty years ago today I attended a play on Broadway. The play was I Do I Do. It was a requirement for my senior English class. I would be graduating from high school in two weeks.

I don’t remember much of the play as, like most Americans, I was still in shock having heard the news of the previous day. After just winning the California Democratic primary and sealing up the nomination as President, Bobby Kennedy was shot down just minutes after this remarkable achievement.

My mother told me he had died and then I went downtown with a classmate to see the play.

On the heels of the Martin Luther King assassination just two months earlier RFK’s assassination was a death knell to the America of 1968.

Cities would burn, the war in Viet Nam divided our nation more than ever, and Richard Nixon was assured to be the successful candidate in November.

It isn’t hard to remember those turbulent times and the only benefit of doing so is to reassure ourselves that America in 2018 isn’t as bad as you might think.

Like his brother’s assassination, Bobby’s loss keeps you wondering what might have been.

Would the Viet Nam war have ended sooner and the Great Divide that it created and still permeates our society today have been avoided?

Would the hope of racial and economic equality have been realized?

Would we have faith in our leaders today?

I know there are those who are sick of political dynasties. Jeb Bush found that out in 2016 and so did Hillary. Indeed the mystique around the Kennedys still remains to a degree but even Camelot has lost some of its aura over the years. Despite the human flaws possessed by the Kennedys and RFK in particular, they always put Country above self.

1968 was a dreadful year.

Seventy-four 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 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 and the only wall erected was built by the Russians.

It was a much different time.

It’s getting a little lonely in the Oval Office.

How many more of the President’s closest advisors will resign in the next few weeks?

It’s getting so Trump is like Reg in the Great Outdoors. For those who may not remember, Reg got struck by lightning 66 times. Like Reg, no one wants to stand near Trump anymore, lest they die!

And of course, despite all the scandals and pending catastrophes looming over Donnie’s head, he continues to tweet. His staff is so desperate that they have hidden his iPhone and replaced it with a Walkman and headphones along with a cassette tape containing his favorite top ten songs.

Here they are:

Number 10:            I Fought The Law And The Law Won

Number 9:              In Some Secluded Rendezvous

Number 8:              There She Is Miss America

Number 7:              Stranger In Moscow

Number 6:              Theme Song: From Russia With Love

Number 5:              A Town Without Pity

Number 4:              This I Swear Is True

Number 3:              Back In The USSR

Number 2:              Help

And Donald’s NUMBER ONE SONG!

Number 1:             Stormy

The easy listening list for Presidents with a lot on their mind.

I was teaching religion when religion education shied away from the Catechism of my youth to a more humanistic approach.

The standard of memorizing the answers to catechetical questions was replaced by a more new age approach. Loving and Caring and Sharing were the rote replies to the questions of the day and you only had to hear your students reply with a sarcastic sing-song retort to understand that the lesson hadn’t sunk in.

It’s not that loving and sharing and caring weren’t worthy ideals but that they seemed to be the answer to everything. How ironic that one of these standards has now fallen into disrepute. I am writing, of course, about sharing.

How many times have we found ourselves, as loyal Facebook users, sharing articles or surveys or any other type of information not our own? How many times have these postings resulted in passing propaganda that was not only false but was initiated by the Russians? I don’t have the answer to that but I am sure Facebook does.

How sad that this mainstay of social media has been allowed to be used in such a way. Of course, we are to blame. We allowed our biases to shape our sharing and to spread things that were not only false but, in many cases, mean-spirited and downright hateful if only because we felt self-righteous in our own beliefs because the article proved our point.

Trump is a bigot. Hillary hates white people.

It has gotten to the point that I no longer believe anything I read on Facebook unless it is something about the New York Yankees.

That is why I have taken the pledge and I no longer will share any article about anything.  I am even going to resist commenting on any post unless it is positive and one of my real friends has initiated the post.

Twitter is even worse and I have taken to blocking tweets from people filled with hate.

The good news about social media is that we do control the information we read. Like other forms of media, we can just “turn the channel” or, in the more modern form, delete the post, and move on to something more entertaining.

I am guessing some of you, if you haven’t already, will delete me from your Twitter feed and Facebook page.

Good for you!

Working in higher education for the last thirty years or so I attended many conferences and workshops. It was common that there would be at least one session at these events would be dedicated to dealing with millennials.

How do millennials think? How do you communicate with millennials?

It was also common that these discussions would serve as a gripe session where participants would share their favorite millennial anecdote.

Having three millennial children, all of whom I loved and liked, I never quite understood the sentiments expressed. Now, their parents were a pain in the ass but the students were usually a pleasure to deal with.

Of course, I was not without my own sarcastic observation particularly when it came to the resume of community service activities that, in my estimation, had the primary objective of getting the student into a competitive college.  Mea Culpa.

This past Saturday we saw thousands of millennials parade through major thoroughfares of major cities, not just in the US. They marched, not for the sole reason of getting into a good college, but rather, simply to survive high school.

How can you argue with that?

How can you be critical of these heroes?

Many had seen classmates and teachers torn to shreds by guns too sacred for the NRA and their supporters to surrender. Yet, you had those who mocked their effort to defeat the gun lobby. I won’t repeat the nasty things said about these heroes.

I understand these people. They hate government. They hate what government does. They hated Obama because he was a socialist. He let Wall Street get away with the greatest theft in American financial history and he’s a socialist? Sorry, I digress.

The gun lobby is afraid that their guns are going to be taken away. Even as the Democrats cower at that thought and refuse to even utter anything stronger than “We’re not going to take your guns”, the gun lobby won’t give in an inch. They refuse to allow even the most basic regulation.

But, the millennials are not going away.

Thanks be to God.

Anytime you have to explain a joke it’s probably not that funny in the first place. Nevertheless, I feel I have to explain the title of this entry lest you think I cannot spell.

Today, of course, is the Ides of March and I am writing a piece on some ideas I have had. You get it now? The Ideas Of March.

Perhaps I should have quit while I was ahead?

Well, maybe you should quit reading this while you are ahead?

Here are some ideas I have had in no apparent order of importance or pithiness.

Politicians should be like NASCAR drivers and wear suits containing the logos of companies and entities that finance their activities.

Baseball is about reliving your youth with your kids right next to you. You certainly don’t want to speed that experience up. The longer the game, the greater the enjoyment.

Cheating baseball players are more reviled than cheating political leaders.

There’s nothing easier than being a loyal friend.

You have to be wherever you are.

Listening should be taught in college.

It’s good to remember yesterday but don’t let it get in the way of tomorrow.

Fathers should listen to their daughters and sons should listen to their mother.

Social Media should require social behavior.

What’s the good of having opinions if I have to keep them to myself?

Well, that’s my ideas for the Ides Of March.

The good news is Saint Patrick’s Day is right around the corner.

There is a movement.  High school students in Parkland, Florida will be marching on Washington.

They are not protesting the two wars in the middle east. Nor are they protesting the meddling in our democracy by the Russians.

They are, instead, calling out our leaders to put an end to the war in our schools.

These brave students are tired of going to school in fear.

They are tired of being caught between the NRA and a hard place.

They are tired of being targets.

I learned very early in my development as a parent that it is always a good idea to listen to your kids. It’s time for America to listen and to heed what our children are saying.

Instead of paying attention to incessant tweets and pointing fingers at the “enemy”, how about we listen to our children when they are begging for our protection?

Is that too hard for us to do?

Is it more important to pay attention to gun runners and those that seek to protect them than saving our kids?

It’s ironic that only the FBI is taking any kind of responsibility and, because of that, they want Wray’s head.

No one is looking at the guy who sold this kid a gun.

No one is looking at the governor who supports guns in the hands of everybody.

No one is even looking at the lunatics who want to arm our teachers as if shooting this deranged kid with an assault rifle is the answer.

How about we never let anyone buy an assault rifle in the first place?

Well, that may not be the answer but it sure is a good start.

When The G Man and The Judge bring Law and Order to Yankee Stadium peace and love will reign in The Bronx.

Not since the M&M Boys of the 1960’s has the prospect of Opening Day at Yankee Stadium been so anticipated. Will Stanton or Judge be the first to homer on Opening Day? Will they go back to back for the first time?

As we approach the first spring training day all Yankee fans will be asking these questions and many more. It’s like Christmas Eve all over again just thinking about what will be.

Then you start thinking about all the other participants waiting to do their party.

Sanchez and Gregorious.

Hicks and Bird.

Oh My!

Not to forget Gardner and Frazier as well as the rookies who may surprise.

And, I wouldn’t write off Ellsbury just yet.

This may well be our Booneified return to the World Series and maybe a run at the 1998 record for most wins in a complete season.

Happy New Year everyone.

Those of us who knew and loved Father Peter Colapietro were  devastaed when we heard the news of his passing.

For me, I immediately thought back to the first time I met Father Pete.

I had just started teaching at St. Vito’s and, on the Friday of the first week of school, Father Peter hosted a faculty party to celebrate the new school year. Father Peter and I were standing outside the rectory next to my 1973 Vega as I was putting my books into my car. He approached me and extended his hand as he smiled so brightly. I immediately felt happy to meet him.

He had that effect on everybody.

We started talking and he asked, “So where are your from Jimmy?”

This started a long, sadly not long enough, friendship.

For some reason, he called me Jimmy while I was Jim to everyone else at St. Vito’s

I answered Pete’s question saying I lived in Flushing but that I was from The Bronx.

I didn’t think it was possible but his smile grew even brighter.

Then, of course, he asked what parish. I told him Blessed Sacrament.

By this time he was busting as he revealed he, too, was a Blessed Sacrament graduate.

Then he asked me where did I live. I replied, “Leland Avenue.”

“I lived on White Plains Road”, he blurted out.

I then told him my wife grew up on White Plains Road.

He then asked me her name. “Eileen Rooney”, I said.

That was all it took to seal the deal.

He grew up across the street from my wife and knew the Rooney family very well.

We both shook our heads at our good fortune to share such a common history.

Then, Peter looked down at the back bumper of my car and the bumper sticker stuck on to it.

It read, “HAPPY DAYS IN HAMPTON BAYS”

Peter now knew I was a fellow traveler.

Then my new friends and I joined him on his patio for a terrific way to end the week.

Over the years at St. Vito’s I had many occasions to be in Peter’s company and I cannot recall any time that he did not light up the room when he entered. He was always happy to see you and never had an unkind word about anybody.

My friends at St Vito’s can understand when I write that St. Vito’s was a very special place. It was a special time for me but I always knew my stay would be a short one. I always thought of St. Vito’s as Heaven On Earth or at least Eden.

Once you entered its doors your problems were left behind. Sorrow was replaced with Joy. You never wanted to leave. I used to hate the summers because I had to stay away for over two months. By August it was sheer torture for me.

So, the prospect of leaving St Vito’s was not a pleasant thing to ponder.

On one occasion I was talking to Pete about this very thing, the idea that we might have to leave St Vito’s one day. I was upset about it and listed all the beautiful things that St Vito’s had given me; my friends and colleagues; my children who I got to teach and their parents who sacrificed so much to allow me to teach their children; and, almost as important, the personal gratification that I was doing something real, something that mattered, something that would have a lasting effect.

Then, after confessing all of this, Peter just put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Jimmy you just have to take St. Vito’s with you.”

And you know what? I did just that.

Every where I worked after St Vito’s I brought something special. I brought joy. I brought cheerfulness. I brought laughter. I always prefered comedy over drama and I think that for the most part I succeeded in bringing comedy every where I went.

I would think of Peter often, especially when I changed jobs and I know he might be embarrassed to read this but I always saw Christ in Peter. I always saw that.

When he was on the altar, I saw Jesus. When he was on the pulpit, I saw and heard Jesus.

But what surprised me most as I thought of Peter this week is that HE saw Christ in ME.

Think about this. He saw Christ in YOU!

I always thought that when I left St Vito’s it was like leaving the Garden of Eden. I had snatched that Apple out of the serpent’s hand and cashed it in for a house in the Hamptons. I had caved. I gave up the spirtual world for the material world.

I was wrong to think that and this week I realized something else had happened.

Thinking about the conversation I had with Peter when he advised me to take St. Vito’s with me, I realized he was commisioning me to make the outside world a better place. It was like Jesus sending the Apostles out to spread the good news. He had faith in me that I could do it.

The Father Peter who saw so much in each and every one of us is the Father Peter I will always remember.

The Saloon Priest is an interesting story and reveals the humanity and the need to share his life with everyone but Peter was much more than a celebrity priest. To be sure, many of the celebrities benefited from his friendship and I hope they, too, saw Christ in him. I am confident Peter saw Christ in them as he did in all people.

I decided not say goodbye to Peter. He will still be with me as I am sure he will be with you.

Keep him in your heart for a while and remember what Peter taught you.

Earlier this week I told Jeannine that I  would, once again, post this entry of the Newell Post in honor of her birthday. I told her I had to do this and she said, “You could write something new.”

I thought about it but, quite honestly, I don’t think I could have done any better and, so, here is my memory of two memorable events (and one life-changing) events.

I first posted this entry on February 3, 2012. Though the sentiments expressed within may not do justice to the craft of writing, they remain noble sentiments notwithstanding. I have often been accused of repeating myself and I do try to avoid doing so as not to annoy. However, I have learned over the years that Truth and Beauty are not one-occasion pleasures. Perhaps Jacqueline Susann said it  best, “Once Is Not Enough”.

So please indulge this brush with repetition if not for your own enjoyment then to help keep the memory of Buddy Holly alive and to wish my daughter a Happy Birthday.

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 listening 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 nor did it matter 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 had 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 6^th 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 be going to the hospital instead. My first reaction was to push my way into the bathroom and to 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.)

It is an amazing thing to behold. One minute she wasn’t there and the next minute she was. Before that minute had elapsed, however, we named her Jeannine. It was 9:30 PM.

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 the both of us walked Jeannine up to her room. Eileen was in recovery and would join us later.

When we get 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 and 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 who was holding her. Her eyes were wide open and deep blue and the lips were puckered and the nose, that I would spend most of her early childhood 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.