The old saying is correct – you’re as old as you feel. Billy Crystal’s Fernando character on Saturday Night Live used to say that it doesn’t matter how you feel, as long as you look “mahvalus.” But I think it’s just the opposite. It doesn’t matter how you look, as long as you feel “mahvalus.”
All this is apropos of my turning 60 today. I have survived a decade that was hard on my health. But I can truthfully say that I am as healthy today as I was when I was 40. So for me the idea that turning 60 is a milestone is strange. I don’t feel any older. That is not to say that I won’t take advantage of the senior citizen discounts that will now come my way. I certainly will (if I remember I’m 60).
Back in the summer of 1967, the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I was 14 and was playing lead guitar in a garage band called The Medievals. We played local dances and actually got paid for it. My bandmates and I sat and listened to Sgt. Pepper as soon as it came out. On Side 2 was a song called “When I’m 64” imagining a distant future and the uncertainty of love surviving. At the time, I couldn’t imagine a time 50 years into the future when I would be 64. Now, it’s just four years away.
When I started writing this blog I wrote an article about the sands of an hourglass and the Days of Our Lives. I have had 21,915 days so far. Some of them have been dull, some exciting, some lovely and some terrifying. Many of them have been memorable. On my 60th birthday, I am looking forward to several thousand more memorable days. On to 70!
Memorial Day memories
May 2013
I always have mixed emotions about Memorial Day. When I was a kid, my town had a Memorial Day parade and Little League baseball players like me always marched in it with our uniforms. We would gather in a parking lot and the ancient World War I veterans would congregate with the middle-aged World War II and Korean War vets. Then the World War I vets would get to ride on a float while the rest would walk.
My father, who was a World War II veteran, never marched. Like many guys who saw things that no one should ever have to see, he came back from the war with only one thought – to forget he was ever in the army. He instilled in me a hatred of war and distrust of things military that survives to this day.
And yet, I was enthralled by the smiling veterans on Memorial Day. These paunchy patriots were the guys who saved the world from fascism. I remember that some of the old veterans were so overweight by this time that I thought they were called doughboys because they looked like the Pillsbury character.
Like most boys, I had seen lots of war movies and the idea that these guys had fought for the country was a romantic one. Seeing that I was a little bit too much in awe of my Uncle Angelo who was a World War I veteran, my grandfather was quick to point out, “He never saw combat. He was a cook at Fort Dix. He never left New Jersey.” I should mention that neither of my grandfathers served in World War I. They were both extremely good businessmen who managed to work the system and get out of the draft.
I think there was also a pragmatic reason I was interested in these veterans and their stories. At the time, there was another war going on and a draft that was just waiting for me to turn 18 to snatch me up into the army. So my interest was not purely academic. I really wondered what life in the army was like and whether I would survive it like my father and have psychic scars for the rest of my life. Or would I try to work the system like my grandfathers? Or perhaps I could swing a safe job like my Uncle Angelo.
These were the thoughts going through my young brain as I watched the flags and the guns and the military vehicles roll through the streets of my town on Memorial Day in 1965. “Freedom Is Not Free” and “Thank a Veteran Today” the banners read. And as I grew older and the draft was abolished I was very thankful that it was them rather than me who had to do the dirty work of defending the country.
So every Memorial Day I would seek out the veterans who sold poppies in public places to benefit those who had been braver than me. Every Memorial Day I flew the American flag that was draped over my father’s casket when he died. And every year attending Memorial Day festivities I would get choked up when the bugler played Taps.
My father instilled in me the idea that war is hell, but I also think it’s often unavoidable. So it’s important to take one day a year and honor those who have served and especially those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. That’s why I will be in the cemetery on Memorial Day weekend paying my respect to the veterans in my family rather than heading for the beach.
21st century marital infidelity via DVR
May 2013
Modern video technology has revolutionized the way we watch television. The digital video recorder (DVR) has made it so easy to record television that many people no longer watch anything “live.” It’s easier to watch later (even just 20 minutes later) and then zip through the commercials.
This has had two unanticipated social repercussions. First, since most people do not watch television when it is broadcast, it’s no longer possible to have water cooler discussions at work of the previous night’s programs because many people have not yet watched them. And a related phenomenon is the new form of marital infidelity called “video cheating.”
What is video cheating and how serious a problem is it? Video cheating is watching a show alone rather than waiting to watch it later with your significant other. How serious a problem is it? Oh, it’s very serious. It’s a sign of pure selfishness, like finishing the last of the chocolate ice cream without offering to share it.
Back before video recording we all had to watch the shows live or not at all. We all found out together who shot JR. You either were in front of a television set on Tuesday, August 29, 1967 or you missed the series finale of The Fugitive and probably still don’t know the fate of the one-armed man. The VCR brought some freedom from the network schedule, but the DVR made recording shows to watch later (so-called “time shifting”) a way of life. And so today, we rarely ever watch live television except for sports and news.
But with great power over the television viewing experience came great responsibility. The shows you formerly watched together with your spouse now could be watched without him or her. This led to a silent pact wherein each partner agreed to wait for the other before viewing so that the former live TV sharing experience could be replicated. While the rest of the world was on week five of Mad Men, in our house we could be on week 4 or even week 3. But as long as we watched it together it didn’t matter.
Breaking the pact could be as simple as watching the show live while your spouse is out. The absent spouse comes home and the following scene is played out:
Spouse 1: “You missed a great episode of Burn Notice.”
Spouse 2 (voice rising): “What do you mean I missed it? We’re supposed to watch that together. Why didn’t you wait for me?”
Spouse 1 (apologetic): “I’m sorry, the DVR changed the channel I was watching and started recording Burn Notice. What did you want me to do, shut off the TV?”
Spouse 2 (outraged): “Yes!!! That’s OUR show. You can’t watch it without me. What’s wrong with you?”
[Spouse 2 storms out of the room to pout.]
Video cheating – it’s a terrible thing that technology has wrought. And don’t get me started about spouses hijacking the Netflix queue and refusing a friend request from their spouse on Facebook. It’s a miracle the divorce rate isn’t 80%.
A marriage in Vermont
June 2013
One of the joys of life after 50 is seeing your children get married and start families of their own. It provides the prospect of continuity of the family name and I guess on some fundamental level it signals that the biological imperative to pass down your genes has been fulfilled. My doctor once told me that once you fulfill your reproductive obligations, Mother Nature does her best to kill you off because you’re no longer of any value to the herd. Thankfully, modern medicine usually frustrates Mother Nature’s murderous ways.
While a 90-degree day in New York is just another summer day, northern Vermonters are not used to that kind of heat. They usually don’t need air conditioning, and so we found that the reception hall was cooled only by fans. Needless to say, fans are not up to the job of cooling a barn full of people in fancy clothes, particularly when they start dancing. My daughter’s boyfriend perspired so profusely that he had to throw his shirt away as nothing could remove the perspiration stains.
Fortunately, the cathedral where the wedding ceremony occurred was fully air conditioned. As I watched from the front row (there are some benefits to being father of the groom) I was struck by a sense of déjà vu. I looked at my son and saw myself 35 years ago. It was very strange, and very right.
Kim and Dave tie the knot
But then the priest pronounced them married, they kissed and the crowd applauded. Suddenly, an involuntary sound burst out from deep in my chest. It was a sob of joy. It was just one short outburst, but I immediately thought back to the last time I could remember reacting in that way. It was 27 years ago and the nurse in the delivery room handed my son to me. This same primal sob of joy blared out of me then. Now the little boy was a man and taking a wife.
I think that probably the best thing about getting older is having the joy of seeing the fruits of your parenting labors. Being a parent is not an easy job, and when it goes right, it’s cause for celebration. So here’s to a son well done and his lovely bride.
A Father’s Day toast to my stepfather
June 2013
As someone whose father died more than 45 years ago, I have not really celebrated Father’s Day for a long time. I have celebrated my grandfathers and my father-in-law on that day, but none of these people were my father, and it’s not the same.
There’s one person who’s often mistaken for my father, and that’s my mother’s husband. My mother remarried in 1984 and has been married to a man with the improbable name of Americo for nearly 30 years now – far longer than she was married to my father. Americo, who goes by the nicknames of Rick and Merc, is a great guy who was an avid golfer into his late 70s. But he’s been off the links for a while now. You see, he turned 90 on June 1, the same day my son was married.
Americo Consolatore
In fact, we continually embarrassed him that day when hundreds of wedding guests, many of whom he did not know, came up to him and congratulated him on the milestone. And of course, we had a cake, and my nieces sang “Happy Birthday.” It was very gracious of my son and his bride to share their day with him.
So Americo has been AARP-eligible since 1973, and although he’s slowed down a bit with age, he’s still very much living and loving life. I’d say he has a good shot at making it to 100. Seeing Americo still enjoy watching golf and baseball, his beloved gelato and the occasional martini, is an inspiration to those of us more recently arrived at 50 plus. He provides the kind of perspective on life that only longevity can bring.
The thing about living a very long time is that you have to watch everyone your age – friends and family – die before you. That’s sometimes almost too much to bear. Americo still gets choked up sometimes talking about his beloved first wife, whom he lost to cancer more than 30 years ago.
Speaking of hurt, Americo suffers from chronic back pain from his golfing days. But he didn’t let it stop him from making the five-hour car ride to Vermont recently for the wedding. He couldn’t miss that. You see, he’s been a true grandfather to my children from the day they were born. And here’s the kicker – he never had any children of his own. Yet as soon as my wife and I had kids, he took on babysitting chores right along with my mother. He took them to parks to play and on trips to pick strawberries. He was responsible for their learning how to swim.
By the time Americo married my mother, I had already been married for five years. So he never had to play father to me as might have been the case had I been 15 or 16. But he always represented to me the prime example of the American Dream. He was born in the United States to Italian immigrants, who were so proud of their new country that they named their only son after it. He spoke only Italian until he entered kindergarten. But then he assimilated and worked his way to middle-class security with a house, and a yard that was the envy of his neighbors for many years.
So as he enters his 10th decade on this planet, I think it’s about time I recognized this father figure who continues to show everyone who knows him that life after 50 can be very sweet indeed.
Baseball bridges generation gaps
July 2013
As we move past the half-century mark, it’s natural to be bit by the nostalgia bug. More and more of our sentences begin with “Remember when …” and “Years ago …”
It occurred to me recently while at Yankee Stadium that baseball is the nostalgia sport. The lords of baseball go out of their way to try to make us remember that long-ago September when Bucky Dent shocked the Red Sox or the October when Reggie hit three home runs in one game. In my family, we all remember the April opening day in 1996 when we sat in the cold and watched Andy Pettitte pitch in a snowstorm. The team went on to win its first World Series in 18 years.
Because baseball is a sport that worships its past, it’s a great generation gap bridge. It’s not unusual for three generations of a family to go to the ballpark together. During the Vietnam War, baseball was often the only way that many fathers and sons could have conversations that didn’t end with “You’re an idiot!” or “Get a haircut!” Baseball kept the lines of communication open just long enough for maturity and cooler heads to prevail.
Back then, fathers could take their families to the ballpark and the entire day would cost less than $100, including hot dogs and beers. Today, two tickets will usually put you over $100. Add $12 beers and $7 hot dogs and a trip to a major league ballpark has been converted from a regular pastime to a special occasion.
My family recently planned one of those special occasions to Yankee Stadium. We had 22 people with us so we qualified to buy tickets from group sales. That also qualified us to have our name on the scoreboard for a few seconds as the Yankees welcomed the Terranella family and friends. It was neat.
In keeping with baseball’s mission of glorifying its past, Yankee Stadium features a full-blown museum in addition to Monument Park. This is like a mini hall of fame where plaques commemorate the legendary players of Yankee history. Grandfathers walk through and point to Joe DiMaggio’s plaque and say “I remember seeing him play in the 1949 World Series when they beat the Dodgers.” Fathers point to Mickey Mantle’s plaque and say “There was nobody better, ever.” Sons look at Don Mattingly’s plaque and say wistfully, “If only he had played a few years later he’d be in the Hall of Fame today.”
Our moment of fame at Yankee Stadium
Now please don’t get me wrong. I know that women love baseball as much as men. My mother has been a fan for as long as I can remember. But I mention fathers and sons because I think that baseball is a key component of male bonding. But more than that, it fosters family bonding. Oh sure, there’s always one contrary family member who refuses on principle to root for the home team. But the ribbing that ensues is all in good fun.
Baseball itself takes a lot of ribbing over being so slow. But I prefer to look at it as leisurely. Along with golf, it’s age appropriate for those of us old enough to remember when there were only 16 teams and pitchers batted in the American League. But it’s also age appropriate for a five year-ol
d who comes for the Cracker Jack and cotton candy. Come to think of it, I can’t think of a better way to spend a summer’s day.
You must remember this – The man behind an icon
July 2013
It’s one of the most famous songs ever written because it is the centerpiece of one of the most famous movies ever made. But its author is largely unknown – the answer to a trivia question. The movie is Casablanca and the song is “As Time Goes By.” But who wrote it?
Earlier this year I attended a screening of Casablanca at the State Theatre in New Brunswick, New Jersey with the New Jersey Symphony Orchestra providing the music. Max Steiner’s classic score never sounded better. But Max didn’t write the song that people remember most from Casablanca – the song that Ilsa asks Sam to play again. Max Steiner for all his musical genius did not write “As Time Goes By.” A man by the name of Herman Hupfeld did that.
Who, you may well ask, was Herman Hupfeld? He was the son of a church organist in Montclair, New Jersey. He began his career in 1912 singing his own songs in Ziegfeld’s Midnight Frolic. This was the after-hours entertainment that Florenz Ziegfeld staged after the Ziegfeld Follies on the roof of the New Amsterdam Theatre on 42nd Street. Hupfeld went on to serve in World War I as a saxophonist in the U.S. Navy Band. In the 1920s, he wrote songs for various Broadway shows. He was the “go to guy” for what they called “additional material.”
In 1931, Hupfeld provided additional material for a musical called Everybody’s Welcome. The show had a book by Lambert Carroll, lyrics by Irving Kahal and music by Sammy Fain. Fain and Kahal wrote “Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella” and Fain went on to write “Love Is a Many Splendored Thing.” But Everybody’s Welcome did not produce a hit for the duo. The hit of that show, which ran for 139 performances, was the additional material provided by Herman Hupfeld – “As Time Goes By.” Rudy Vallee had a successful recording of it.
Tales of the Tarantula Page 4
