DEFINITION: Stereotype; steh-ree-oh-tipe

A stereotype is when a teaspoon of truth becomes a mountain of mythology.

2023/2024 Merry Christmas/Happy New Year: Santana ABRAXAS, Version 10

Steve Gallanter’s Blog: https://stevegallanter.wordpress.com

is a modest enterprise.  I usually send out about 40 or so Facebook copies and another 20 email copies of  brain candy with the occasional response from a friend being more than welcome as were the pass alongs which on 2 occasions reconnected me with folks from the past.

In April 2014 I began tweeting and my number of views exploded to about 200 altogether.

Oh joy!

...But wait there’s more…

I am both absurdly proud and humbled by the 1217 visitors this brain candy dispensary has tallied so far in 2023.

When the Christmas 2013 blog was passed along quite a bit it broke into the Top 5 of my Google search.

Most gratifying were several comments along the lines of “Thank you for this acknowledgement of a personal Christmas tradition, as I too have one.”

I responded to all of these comments gladly.  I was pleasantly taken aback at the number and intensity of these very private traditions and their importance to their adherents.

One gentleman took the time to send a message about his private tradition of chewing Trident spearmint gum after Christmas dinner as his now gone father had.

The last 10 years have brought thoughts of other Christmases to mind as my memory bank is thankfully still accepting deposits.  Indeed, this blog has precipitated thoughts of Christmases past to the extent that a 2023/2024 addition is appropriate.

 Keeping the faith is part of Christmas and the promise of a New Year is always uplifting even as the holiday transforms.

Christmas cards have largely been supplanted by a virtual blizzard of social media greetings.

Black Friday’s throng of shoppers have seen their number diminished by Cyber Monday’s ever increasing bandwidth and deliveries.

Indeed, grand-parenting, retirement, disability, estrangement and relocation change Christmas more with every passing year.

Still the Christmas spirit is till in my heart and those of many others…

In that spirit I am sending:

Merry Christmas: Santana ABRAXAS

Merry Christmas/New Year 2023/2024

Christmas is a time when we, even those of us who do not share in the religious meaning of the holiday, each have our own meaning for this day.

Santana’s ABRAXAS LP signifies Christmas for me. 

I bought ABRAXAS for my Mom for Christmas 1970.  Mom, Peter and I had seen WOODSTOCK and Mom was mightily impressed with Mike Shrieve’s epic drum solo on “Soul Sacrifice”.  While Mom always tried a little too hard to like what I liked her enthusiasm was more than sincere.

I saved my .75 a week allowance, pestered Dad for money and raked some leaves to conjure up the $3.49 to buy the LP at Port Chemists.

(I gave Dad innumerable promotional packs of aftershave and Borkum Riff pipe tobacco.  My brother Peter got Johnny Lightning 500 while I received several slot cars and Joe Paterno’s FOOTBALL MY WAY from Dad, a Penn. State grad.

It was my first “adult” gift-giving.

In 1970 I was 12.  It was to be my last boyhood Christmas.

Turkey, homemade cranberry sauce, (my Mom never, ever served that jellied, canned..uh.. stuff), and visits from neighborhood kids fulfilled every expectation.

Mom was surprised and delighted with ABRAXAS even with its “dirty” cover.  It played endlessly on the turntable of the Gallanter household’s Harman-Kardon Turntable, AM-FM Stereo with Recording Cassette Compact Stereo.

(Dad was quick to nudge me as a way of reminding me that he had purchased the stereo and had paid me to rake leaves.  On this Christmas I actually found this habit of his endearing).

Christmas 1970 was to be the last Christmas of our family as a unit although neither Mom, Dad, Peter or myself knew so at the time.

1971’s Christmas crystallized the cataclysmic changes, voluntary AND involuntary, familial AND cultural, well-intended AND malicious that would sweep through the lives of Mom, Dad, Peter and myself.

Christmas 1971 couldn’t have all of us in the same room for any length of time. I brought ABRAXAS to our North Shore Unitarian Universalist Congregation’s Jr. High room where I played ABRAXAS through headphones repeatedly to the puzzlement of the folks I willfully disregarded.

Headphones were clamped over my head as the congas of “Oye Como Va” reverberated.

“When Steven doesn’t talk, he really doesn’t talk,” I overheard one girl mention as I re-cued ABRAXAS.

Hostility was assumed to be my motivation, and not one completely inaccurate, but astral projection back to 1970 was the guiding star.  It was still my Mom’s LP but she was caught up in her own affairs and didn’t notice it missing.  Dad lived in Forest Hills, Queens as the divorce was now final.

(I remember looking at a snapshot of Christmas 1962 in our home at 86 Henry St, Merrick, Long Island.  There is a tower of blocks in front of me wearing a devilish grin with my Mom kneeling beside me with a bemused expression.  I remember kicking the blocks over.  1962 is my earliest Christmas memory).

For several years I continued to play ABRAXAS at Christmas.  Most memorably in 1975 when my Mom returned home from a hospitalization and I wanted to comfort her.  ABRAXAS proved to be more curative than the turkey I attempted to cook with tomato soup flavored stuffing).

By 1973 I was not speaking to my Dad, an estrangement that lasted more than 3 years.  ABRAXAS’ “Oye Como Va” reminded me of the photo of Mom and Dad celebrating their 1st. anniversary with a grinning Tito Puente, the author of the original “Oye Como Va,” at the Palladium in Manhattan, where my paternal grandfather worked.

ABRAXAS signified Dad as well as Mom and the paternal grandparents who posed with me on their laps but who I have no memories of.

The summers of 1974,1975 and 1976 found me at  Rowe Unitarian Universalist Camp and Conference Center.  ABRAXAS was in the ‘Radio Rowe’ LP pile for the public address system that broadcast on a loud, sporadic basis throughout the camp. Santana was very popular with my brother and sister campers although they would have been taken aback, to say the least, at the talisman it was to me.

Boston gained me as a resident in 1978.  I left ABRAXAS with Mom.  I played it upon my early Christmas sojourns to the ancestral home.

In 1981 a group of we Port Washingtonians had a Christmas celebration at the New York, New York discotheque in Manhattan.  Mom remarked that the percussion of much disco reminded her of ABRAXAS.  The next day I played the now battered LP.  Upon hitching back to Boston I purchased a used copy at Looney Tunes Used Records.

1982 brought the realization that college graduation was beyond my capability.  At home in Port Washington I put on ABRAXAS to please Mom before disappointing her.

By 1984 my Dad had passed.  Yes, “Oye Como Va” reminded me that once upon a time Dad and Mom were deeply in love and Peter and I were fortunate to be the offspring of their union.  I have no recollection of my grandparents on either side but ABRAXAS is a talisman of their lives causing mine.

10 years pass. ABRAXAS PLAYS annually on my Panasonic Plus Cassette-to-Cassette AM/FM with Auto Reverse boom box.

1995 found my brother Peter and I at odds to the extent that I spent Christmas in Boston brooding ambivalently although I did send presents to Peter, his wife Aida and Mom.

I consoled myself with ABRAXAS “Hope You’re Feeling Better”s theme of ambivalence powered by congas and Carlos Santana’s wah-wah guitar pyrotechnics.

2022’s first week has made “Hope You’re Feeling Better” a talisman of COVID even more than “Oye Como Va.”

“Is that you

Your eyes slowly fading?

Is that you

Your mind full of tears?

Is that you

Searching for a good time?

Is that you

Waiting for all these years?

Is that you?

Look across the ocean

And I hope you’re feeling better.”

https://youtu.be/P_vJBz2_LtE

The clever wordplay of shifting from the declarative voice to the interrogative voice is the kind of lyrical daring do that seems to have vanished, along with the presence of rock music in general.

But make no mistake; “Hope You’re Feeling better” is perhaps Greg Rolie’s finest vocals on ABRAXAS. The questing baritone being cut off by the fiery pyrotechnics of Carole Santana’s wah-wah wailing is a metaphor that is far more descriptive than any printed lyric can give voice to.

ABRAXAS is definitely the gift that keeps on giving.

The repeated playing of “Hope You’re Feeling Better” is an uplift in much the same way as “Oye Como Va.”

…Indeed, the ambivalent holiday of 1995 seeped to mind…

Being well into my 30’s in 1995 I had made my own Christmas tradition of surprising someone that I liked with a gift that spoke to an affection that had not been fully expressed.  Being single, childless and employed in an industry that throws folks together and throws them away with equal speed I had learned that small blessings are sometimes the only blessings one can receive but that can be a good thing.

…I was sitting on the living room floor of 24 Haviland St, Apt. 28 at about 9 P.M. 2 days before Christmas wrapping up 2 gifts while ABRAXAS played through the open door of my bedroom.  My roommate was out of the country for the holidays so I felt little compunction about playing my music a tad louder than I might have otherwise.

I was wrapping 2 gifts for a former co-worker.  Patricia was a beautiful woman who had tended bar at the same venue as I.   Although it had been a brief and occasional job for her the chit-chat of the time when I was an afternoon employee at that venue had crossed over to more chit-chat when we briefly worked the same bar.

Patricia was in the midst of several transitions in her life and I was taken aback, although pleased, when she asked me to call her.

Over the course of more than a year these calls became more frequent and more intimate and I found myself listening more than I spoke.  Certainly, I was flattered to be trusted but more than that I trusted her with the pure aspects of my heart that had become very distant.

Pure and impure thoughts mingled, as Patricia was a beauty.

I was thinking about how to finesse a meeting with Patricia so as to give her both of her gifts.  One was a sardonic look at the recent past while the other was a light unto what was to come.

The phone rang, landlines had only begun too cede their domain to pagers, and it was Patricia.

“…Steve, I am at the bar. I have a present for you.  Where do you live?”

“I have 2 presents for you. I live 25 yards away I’ll be there in 5 minutes,” I replied.  My heart did a full-gainer. Steeling myself I managed to wind some Scotch tape around my gifts and jetted out the door to the bar.

Patricia was by the pay phone smiling.

I ordered drinks, we took a booth and we spoke briefly of the joy and relief of having finished Christmas shopping.

“What did you get me,” she asked with the slightly turned head that moved my eyes and heart.

I gave her the 1st. package and she ripped off the wrapping with an urgency that was enthralling.  Laughing out loud she proclaimed, “I don’t know what I would ever use this for!”

“I know, that’s why I got it for you!”

I slid the other gift over the booth’s table when the owner of the bar came by to shake my hand and wish me a Merry Christmas.

I thanked him and introduced Patricia who also wished him a Merry Christmas.

“You know him?”

“I’ve been coming here since 1979,” I offered while wondering what Patricia might think of my recreational habits.

Patricia unwrapped the second gift and plugged it into a socket. She smiled a closed mouthed gesture of gratitude while nodding slowly in a way that signaled that all was right in the world if for only this moment.

“C’mon open your present.”

I opened Patricia’s package to find a mustard colored turtleneck that would undoubtedly be a good fit underneath a leather jacket for Boston’s winters.

I blinked involuntarily and held her hands briefly.

“Hey, do you think that the Prudential Mall is still open?”

“If there is any night of the year when it would be open late tonight would be that night.”

“Let’s go, we can leave the stuff in my car.”

My mind was pondering whether this meeting was a gesture of sympathy for being estranged from my family, gratitude for being a shoulder to cry on or just because Patricia was a good kid…or something more.

We walked the 200 or so yards to the Prudential Mall and after determining that indeed the stores had closed at 9, walked back to the car and I removed my gift.

We hugged.

Patricia got into her car.

I returned to my apartment…

1997 found Mom in a nursing home for the final phase of her life.  I bought her a new Walkman with ABRAXAS poised to play.  She was delighted.

1999 found Mom receiving a Discman.  The first CD…?  Yes, she remembered.

2004 brought the end of Mom’s life.  On that Christmas I played ABRAXAS at 2 AM in the living room of 42 North Bayles Ave, Port Washington on my Discman in a private memorial to Mom.

2013 found my now gone friend Steve Boisson offering that he had “never thought of Santana as Christmas music” while offering blues artist Charles Brown as his own eccentric Yuletide troubadour.

2019 found me in brother Peter’s place in Port Washington, N.Y. the night after Christmas patting my protruding tummy and nursing a straight up Jameson.

Peter’s television was displaying a vivacious Latina declaiming the weather.

“That’s Audrey Puentes.  Her father is Tito Puentes,” Peter offered.

“Hmmm..,” I said to myself.

My grandmother Marie Jack, biologically my Mom’s stepmom, gifted me a Christmas ornament featuring 2 cardinals in a gilded cage in, I believe 1973.  It never occurred to me at the time that I would never see Marie again although the passage of time and circumstances eventually made this reality evident.  From 1997 to 2017 I brought the ornament to the ancestral home for the talismanic Christmas tree.  In 2017 I neglected to bring it home but Aida was good enough to rescue the birds as they nestled in my rolling case for the Greyhound to Boston.

Much to my sadness the fragile frame of the cage was twisted in transit and my efforts to restore it fell short.  However, it is intact, if a little twisted, and resides next to Aunt Goldie’s sock monkey as ABRAXAS plays.

Our decade has brought the passage from this world and from my life of more than several folks; Martha Shaw among them, and places. Looney Tunes records, where I purchased my Santana ABRAXAS CD has been gone since 2012; likewise T.C’s Lounge, with local watering holes and record stores right up there, or down there, with trilobites as fossils.

ABRAXAS keeps record stores and Christmas alive at one and the same time as this mind contemplates Christmas 2022 and the New Year of 2023.

To all those folks both present and absent I humbly offer,

“Oye Como Va.”

ABRAXAS signifies Christmas; calling out to heart the folks who have passed, friends who are missed, places that are gone and the phases of the Christmases past, present and future.

ABRAXAS is a talisman as real as a rock, in LP, cassette,  CD and YouTube formats that holds in its notes the presents, love, tears and hopes of Christmas every time I so much as touch it.

I am listening to it right now.

“Oye Como Va”

“Hope You’re Feeling Better”

!Merry Christmas!

!Happy New Year!

HAIKU 5*7*5*: AARP

No more ‘woe is me’.

Think of the benefits of

Me! AARP!

G.L: HOMELESS?

G.L. is a neighborhood woman I became almost acquainted with about 12 years ago. Our paths had crossed at a Fenway CDC meeting concerning the Huntington Ave. branch of the YMCA’s plan to demolish their old gym and enable Northeastern to expand with the blessing of Mayor Menino in spite of the fact that the mandated Institutional Master Plan(IMP) had been circumvented and Northeastern was disregarding its own promise to cap enrollment.

…I will spare you readers the saga. Suffice to say that the gym was demolished and Northeastern continues to expand…

G.L. was someone I had already seen around the neighborhood for years and years. Shopping at Whole Foods, wandering through CVS and browsing at the Mass. Ave. Economy Hardware. As is so often the case maintaining eye contact for more than a nanosecond became appropriate.

Such is the etiquette of what passes for “community” here in liberty’s chosen home.

G.L. was a 30ish woman with a tea with milk freckled complexion and long, cascading mahogany wavy hair cascading down the back of her spindly frame.

I had never spoken with her but her neighborhood shopping, accompanied by the kind of 2-wheeled cart usually wielded by someone much older, was characteristic of a local.

I did notice that she wore a 6″ diameter J.F.K. MA/D button on whatever her outerwear was. Whether the button was old or a retro item I didn’t know but it was interesting.

The Fenway CDC meeting regarding Northeastern’s plan was held in the Community Room of the Morville House, the seniors’ building a mere hop, skip and jump from my domicile.

The YMCA meeting attracted about 100 folks. Some folks were repelled by Northeastern’s utter disregard of their own stated promise to cap enroll. Others were cheered by the fact that Northeastern was a non-profit in the increasingly gentrified Fenway.

I had more than a little skin in this game as a 40+ year resident of the East Fens and as a “student” at Northeastern 78-82 and again in 85 when Northeastern was the country’s largest private university and the least expensive.

G.L. made no comments but appeared attentive. Once the discussion concluded on an inconclusive note and the remnants of Martinelli’s Effervescent Apple Juice, donated by Whole Foods Market’s Symphony Hall branch had been drained when I walked over to G.L.

“What did you think?” I asked.

“It is complicated, the whole IMP thing”

“I love your J.F.K. button.“

“Thanks. Did you like J.F.K?”

“Well, I was 5 and J.F.K. was a very mixed bag as a President but his murder was one of the worst things that has ever happened in this country.”

“Yes. Well have a good night.”

Further salutations were needless as both of us were wearing stick on name tags.

G.L. always gave me the toothy grin that follows the inadvertent meeting of head nod acquaintances at CVS.

Eventually, this retracted back to head nods. I thought little of it and indeed G.L. wasn’t seen at any of the local organizations meetings that I attended. Evidentially Whole Foods was still on the itinerary. I took the liberty, after the obligatory head nod, to glace into G.L’s cart and saw no meat. A fleeting thought, of which I have many, thought of asking whether she was of Veggie Nation that I am a citizen of but that fleeting thought was a …fleeting thought...

As the years crawled by, am I the only 1 whose sense of time has gotten slower with age? Please advise...

…the fleeting eye contact became more fleeting on G.L’s part and eventually on mine...

Hey, there have been 100s of Fenway folks I have chatted with on 1 or 2 occasions. Indeed, over the course of 7900+ bar shifts chatting with strangers is a career skill.

Still…I did notice that G.L. was now trailed by a Pullman type of 2-wheeled luggage rather than a shopping cart and now narrowed her eyes to avoid even the most inadvertent of eye contact.

So be it….and these little non-interactions continued through my visits to Whole Foods, CVS and Mass. Ave. Economy Hardware. The J.F.K. button remained affixed regardless of outerwear or weather.

2020 ushered in the COVID era and the closing of my employer of better than 9 years. While I was fortunate enough to receive unemployment benefits and SNAP benefits and remain well the temporary closing of the Huntington Ave. Y had left my frame looser than I would like.

To combat this I power walked through the Prudential Mall complete with mask, water squeeze and a Walkman, I am not making this up, blaring the Gypsy Kings or the Rolling Stones. When my ears were naked the Pru’s s music system invariably treated me to a 120 BPM instrumental version of George Michael’s “Every Thing She Wants” whereupon...

…there was …

G.L. being trailed by the very same 2-wheeled Pullman luggage; now bulging from its contents and patched with swatches of silvery duct tape. G.L’s hair was now noticeably longer and grayer and her knees were bony. Even in the climate controlled Pru she wore a hoodie under a windbreaker paired with cargo shorts and the omnipresent J.F.K. button

G.L. had been by herself on each and every previous sighting, including our chat at the Fenway CDC, but now there was a gray-haired gentleman walking alongside but not really with her.

Hmmm…

I had never contemplated any sort of attraction beyond fleeting eye contact. Was this guy her?…closer inspection wasn’t advisable as I had to keep up my 2 steps per second pace for the 300 steps on my route on the way to my 10,000 steps…so I kept on stepping until my 10,000 steps were stepped, drained my water squeeze and strolled to my domicile.

My next mall walk saw the same scene with the battered bulging Pullman, hoodie, shorts, J.F.K button and the guy.

Having avoided eye contact I continued another 2 steps a second and on my next lap saw G.L. and the guy sitting on a bench. They were sharing a bottle of Coke and seemed to be engaged in an animated discussion.

I switched lanes so as to avoid detection and kept on stepping.

30 seconds later, I stride by on the the front of the bench. G.L. made a nanosecond of recognition and returned her attention to the guy and her now unzipped Pullman while handing the Coke bottle to the guy.

I dared not look at the Pullman.

“Is G.L. homeless?” I asked myself.

Homelessness folk are the reality of Boston.

My initial experiences with homeless folk were on my boyhood visits to New York with my parents during school vacations and for the occasional sports event. I recall all too well seeing a man curled up in front of a building adjacent to the Tin Lizzy restaurant in Manhattan where I dined with Dad prior to attending a Ranger game. I recall being stunned, tearing up and then backing away.

My Mom took my brother Peter and I to Madison Square Garden to see the bowling alley and we were startled by panhandlers in the Long Island Rail Road lobby in Penn Station.

By the time I was able to gallivant into “the city,” which means Manhattan, (No, Mets games do not count), when I was 13 I had learned to acknowledge and distance myself from stuff that was all too factual.

In 1975 I first attended CBGB’s by the nexus of Bleeker and Bowery and saw the Ramones invent punk rock. The Bowery was then studded with SROs and rooming houses. Following visits saw the bums drinking “puck,” a concoction of sweet sherry and red wine. Nascent punks from Long Island were markets for yelps of “Spare change” and many obliged.

Following settling in Boston in 1978 my rooming house residence(s) featured many folks who were minimally housed. I got to know and even befriend some of my domestic neighbors and occasionally shared TVs, stereos and beer.

For a variety of reasons these houses no longer exist. Indeed, 57 Hemenway St, where I lived from 79-85 is now owned by the Fenway CDC and boasts a plaque by the front door testifying to this once common housing.

As the cost 2021 saw the lessening of the COVID pandemic I saw G.L. around from time to time although eye contact was nil. Upon her passing me at While Foods accompanied by the 2-wheeled shopping cart I would spy a look at her feet and she was wearing socks; the absence of socks being mute testimony to the lack of laundry facilities that are one of the many effects of homelessness.

“Is G.L. couch surfing?” I asked myself while glancing at the left greens in her cart. “Couch surfing would explain the clean socks and food. Maybe you should just stop speculating,” I told myself. “Maybe she is unemployed. Maybe, just maybe, she is one of those folks for whom public perceptions are virtually meaningless.”

From 1980 to 1982 I was on the paid staff of the Pine Street Inn homeless shelter. A sister Rowe camper arranged a meeting with the Asst. Mgr of the Women’s Unit. I worked primarily in the Women’s Unit giving shower passes, assigning lockers and signing up women for Boston City Hospital(BCH).

Undiagnosed diabetes, hyperglycemia, sight and hearing loss were very common maladies. Much of our guests’ problems were organic.

Additionally, illegal immigration, the closing of residential hotels and the barring of sub-let leases created a structural force that was very real.

But the time was mostly enjoyable and enlivened by playing my 12″ single of Ottawa’s “Hands Up” for our guests. The work was more jovial than trying and the flexible schedule fit my needs.

L. and I would make the occasional trips to the Candy Cupboard for snacks for our emaciated guests. This is in stark contrast to the obese denizens of Mass. and Cass of 2023.

G.L. seemed to be thinner and grayer every time I saw her and the now wobbly wheeled Pullman moving through CVS without the gray-haired guy. The J.F.K. button still affixed to her hoodie. She was wearing socks.

Both of us avoided eye contact.

Is G.L. homeless? A couch surfer? The lover of the gray-haired guy? Is this little slice of the Fenway a product of my overly presumptuous mind? Maybe she is just one of those folks who don’t give a flip?

I do not know whether G.L. is homeless.

Indeed, in a lot of ways I would prefer not to know.

G.L, I wish you, and your J.F.K. button, well.

HAIKU 5*7*5* Autumn calling

Brown leaves on cement

The days are growing shorter

Fall is heaven sent

BASEBALL: Los Wepas(Woo Sox) vs. Scranton Railriders, 8/18/2023

Minor league baseball has always occupied a niche in my mind, even before my brain became partially digitized.

As a youth I pored over the fine print in the back of STREET and SMITH’S BASEBALL 1970 detailing the exploits of the Mets AAA Tidewater team and pondering whether Ed Kranepool would make it back to Flushing? Yes.

Would Rod Gaspar would make it back to Flushing? No.

This was a stark contrast to the NBA and the NFL, I followed football at the time, where the “minor leagues” were the larger universities.

I have paid 2 visits to Pawtucket, R.I. to see the Paw Sox in both the original and renovated McCoy Stadium.

2012 and 2013’s summer breaks from work enabled me to see the Brooklyn Cyclones, the Mets short season A ball, 70 game season, at MCU park at Coney Island. (The Cyclones now play a 140 game season in long format A ball).

The 2022 Woo Sox had better than 70 players on their roster during the course of the season. Being “sent down” or DFAed/Designated For Assignment is an occupational hazard of the lower reaches of MLB. Sure enough Christian Arroyo, who lost his spot in the Bo Sox lineup with Trevor Story returning from the IL, is now a Woo Sox and playing shortstop; playing multiple positions being a part of player development and a way of keeping the rust from getting too rusty.

Old friend Franchy Cordero was in the lineup for the New York Yankee AAA affiliate Scranton Railriders, continuing his career ping-ponging between MLB and AAA.

The Woo Sox were Los Wepas tonight, Spanish for “energetically happy” for this Latin Night. Along that line attendees were greeted with a Jumbotron video on the career of Roberto Clemente. On that note it has been 50+ years since Clemente’s death and there more than a few Clemente jerseys worn by fans. Polar Park’s sound PA system was up to the task of amplifying Pirate announcer Bob Prince’s commentary.

Polar Park is a 70 minute trip from Back Bay Station via commuter rail and this newly minted senior citizen…AARP..! happily took advantage of the 1/2 price, $12, round trip fare. There were more than a few Woo Sox fans on board once we traveled west of Natick.

Union Station in Worcester is a twin turreted 1911 structure that originally served the Boston and Albany line and is now on the national Register of Historic Places. The repurposing of the station houses 2 restaurants both of which were busy on my 5:25 arrival time.

This enabled a brief wander through the Canal District of Worcester which boasts some early 20th. century architecture and some abandonment.

Independent specialty coffee shops nestled next to Vietnamese eateries are true diversity.

Polar Park rises up with an almost yellowish, greenish, bluish kind of glow. Walking towards the lights and hearing the crowd buzz is a feeling that I have never tired of…and I attended my very first game in 1966!

A Wormtown dedicated beer bar is among the 1st. attractions before the ticket entrance. I chose to get my pre-gaming on ASAP and happened into a gentleman who had the same idea. He asked if I had been here before and I replied in the affirmative.

“Let me buy you one!”

I gladly accepted and did the tipping, $5 on $28, The Summer Brew has a malty feel with a touch of citrus.

Friendly fans are always the best part of baseball!

Good drinking and I am not just writing that to please my non-sponsor.

Following the requisite pat-down and bag search, my 9″ x 5″ shaving bag containing a notebook passed muster I entered Polar Park’s blue industrial themed seating.

Polar Park is a 2 tier stadium. 329′ to LF, 402′ to CF and 320′ to RF.

Foul territory is commodious in back of the plate and up until the dugouts with virtually no foul territory beyond 1st. and 3rd. bases. This favors power hitters who foul into the outfield sets. In this sense Polar Park is very much like architect Janet Smith’s other parks; Camden Yard in Baltimore and Progressive in Cleveland.

The outfield is festooned with signage from Polar, Wormtown Brewery and Table Talk pies all of which reside in Worcester. This is in contrast with Fenway Park and most MLB parks which display as much national as local advertising.

I paid $25 on line at the Woo Sox site to get an 11th. row box seat. For $30 you can buy a padded seat in the first 10 rows. Contrast this with $61 for a Reserved Grandstand Section 16 seat at Fenway.

Likewise the official program was $5 for a 184 page volume that, although stuffed with ads for Polar Soda, Wormtown Brewery and Table Talk pies, offers a history of the franchise, surprisingly detailed biographies, former BoSox catcher Rich Gedman is a Worcester native and the hitting coach of the Woo Sox; of all of the players, a scorecard and the current roster of the Scranton Railriders.

The game began promptly at 6:45, a practice that MLB would do well to emulate as it enables attendance for kids and those with 8 A.M. jobs.

RHer Kyle Barraclough took the hill for the Los Wepas although none of his 290 MLB appearances has been as a starter. Barraclough throws from a 1 o’clock slot with a slight corkscrew of his upper body. His fastball had righties leaning back while the ball zipped down into the lower right quadrant of the zone. Foul balls went into the netting behind home plate.

If you ever in the mood to watch a game carefully note where the foul balls go.

Few balls went anywhere on this evening as Barraclough went 6 2/3 while King 11 to progress to 9-0 for his combined record in MLB and MiLB 2023. If the Sox fall out of the wild card chase I would expect to see Barraclough get a look during the last week or so of the season. Predicting anything in baseball is always tricky, especially the futures of pitchers but at 33 Barraclough could almost certainly help someone in MLB…or Japan.

As always screaming 10 year olds provided in house entertainment and screamed “WOO” after each strikeout.

In the 2nd. old friend Bobby Dalbec weaseled out a walk and Emmanuel Valdez boomed his 10th HR of 2023 deep into the LF berm setting off frenzied pursuit by screaming 10 year olds.

In the 5th. Railrider Andres Chaparro took out a Barraclough heater to LF. The nest 2 Railriders skied out to left center prompting the couple behind me to talk.

“Why don’t they take him out?”

“Because its the minors and I guess they figure he’ll learn a lesson.”

At this I turned around and asked, “Yeah, all of those balls were hit hard to left center. Do you come to a lot of games?”

The gentleman answered “I do.” while the woman smiled.

As always, friendly fans are the best part of the game.

In the 5th. Andres Chaparro put the RailRiders on the board with a screaming HR to LF.

I visited the concession stands and saw the long lines so I went to The Market where I bought, via debit card, a Polar Orange Dry and a bag of peanuts for $9.63

However, in the 5th. Los Wepas’ Dave Hamilton stole 2nd. and 3rd. in the same at bat followed by Wilyer Abreu’s single to add on an insurance run.

Hamilton also stole a base in the 8th. when the Woo Sox tried to tack on 1 more but was left stranded.

Like MLB MiLB has expanded the bases from 15″ to 18″ to encourage running and it has had a pleasing effect.

AAA players always run. This is in stark contrast to the nonchalant efforts of many Red Sox. Yes, I mean you Rafael Devers.

Polar Park’s infield dirt is dirtier than that of MLB’s as MLB added a higher % of crushed brick in 2023 to accommodate HD TV.

Perennial prospect Zac Houston was the opener for this bullpen game and pitched the first 3 innings, allowing all of the Los Wepas runs.

Houston was followed by the side-arming southpaw Josh Maciejewski’s 2 clean innings and the 35 year old Zach McAllister who each tossed 2 clean innings while Aaron McGarity allowed 1 run in his 2 innings.

Barraclough’s 1 run, 11 K outing was followed by Joe Jacques and Justin Garza’s combined 2 1/3 scoreless innings.

The PA announcer’s game summary was overwhelmed by screaming 10 year olds screaming “WOO!”

Following the game Uni Bank’s 70s Serenade featured 20 minutes of pyrotechnics. The Bee Gees’ “Night Fever” never sounded righter.

Ambling back to Union Station there were more than a few fans. it is a good sign that the 8,633 at the 9,051 capacity Polar Park made this their destination on a Friday night.

Wormtown Summer Ale, friendly fans, screaming 10 year olds and a …win!

I”ll be back.

Woo!

Negro League Baseball Museum, “Barrier Breakers” at 118 Boylston St, Boston, through August 4, 2023

Negro League baseball has been an interest of mine for over 50 years.

Robert Peterson’s ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE captured the attention of this 12 year old Mets fan upon its publication in 1970. The Carrie Palmer Weber Junior High of Port Washington N.Y’s librarian Ms. Futter always had a smile upon seeing me take out ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE for perhaps the 4th. time.

As my youth coincided with the civil rights era so my prepubescence was simultaneous to the awakening of casual fans to Negro League Baseball whose last generation of homegrown players, Henry Aaron and Willie Mays, were MLB’s greatest stars of my youth.

My folks were a tad taken aback, neither of whom were fans, but Mom bought me a copy of Satchel Paige’s MAYBE I’LL PITCH FOREVER featuring Satch,s tales of history, discrimination, fun and total fiction that somehow coalesced into quite a read.

My 2014 visit to the National Baseball Hall of Fame(NBHOF) in Cooperstown N.Y. was partially prompted by my interest in seeing the Negro Leagues’ exhibit ‘Pride, Passion and Prejudice.’ I was delighted to find not some little dusty niche but a thoughtfully curated exhibit. Best of all the many visitors to the NBHOF showed real interest, lingering long enough to read the history and marvel at the photos and equipment.

Yes, players from the Negro Leagues enshrined in the NBHOF, such as Satchel Paige and Josh Gibson, have their plaques, in the cathederalesque setting of the NBHOF’s main room.

The Negro League Baseball Museum’s(NLBM) Twitter site posted notice regarding the ‘Barrier Breakers’ exhibit at 118 Boylston St. in an Emerson College building located about 150 yards away from employer.

I walked in and was greeted more than kindly and signed the Guest Books.

‘Barrier Breakers’ is a collaborative venture of Emerson College, the Boston Red Sox and the Negro League Baseball Museum dedicated to the wave of post World War II players following Jackie Robinson breaking the color line.

Not that Jackie Robinson is absent; far from it. His dedicated niche describes his significant career at UCLA where he started as a running back in the Rose Bowl and earned letters in tennis and basketball as well.

Indeed, it is certainly worth speculating what Jackie Robinson night have done in the NFL.

https://footballfoundation.org>sports

or NBA

https://www.ncaa.com

Of interest in the Jackie Robinson section of the exhibit is the mention of Robinson being court-martialed and acquitted for defying segregationist seating while in the Army.

But make no mistake; this is about far more than just the breaking of the color line in MLB; it serves to illustrate the erosion of de facto segregation prior to the legal aspect of the civil rights movement.

The Cleveland Indian’s Larry Doby gets his often unacknowledged entrance as the American League’s first black player.

Monte Irvin’s, I have a Monte Irvin t-shirt, role as an early player whose career was split between the Negro Leagues and MLB, display emphasizes that the 30 year-old rookie of 1949 had enough going to lead the National league in RBI’s in 1951. During my youth Mr. Irvin worked for the Commissioner’s Office of MLB.

The display of ‘Barrier Breakers’ is guest friendly with large sepia toned photos and text with serifs resembling that of my Mom’s 1949 Royal typewriter.

One of the many educational aspects of Barrier Breakers is the inclusion of Latino players such as Minnie Minoso and Martin Dihigo and who played in the Negro Leagues as well as in Cuba, Mexico and Puerto Rico.

Lesser lights than the above, such as Bobby “Rope” Boyd nicknamed for his line drive hitting and Harry “Suitcase” Simpson for his size 13 cleats, not his well-traveled resume as I had assumed, feed the compulsive fans quest for more.

The very stylish uniforms of the Kansas City Monarchs and Newark Elite Giants are represented by replicas and worth the visit in and of themselves.

As a museum buff it is not only what is displayed but the thoughts inspired that move the heart and mind.

By 1954 the Negro Leagues were fading as young stars Willie Mays of the Birmingham Barons and Hank Aaron of the Indianapolis Clowns undeniable talent inspired the New York Giants and Milwaukee Braves MLB teams to sign them without compensating their original teams draining both talent and $$$ from the Negro Leagues.

Along that line, was Bill Veeck’s signing of Negro League stars such as Satchel Paige, Hank Thompson and Willard Brown was an attempt to capitalize on those players’ fame as Kansas City Monarchs to fill the empty Sportsmen Park of the St. Louis Browns? Bob Watson of the Yankees as the 1st. black General Manager in MLB is genuinely historic although not of the time frame depicted.

On a more serious note Barrier Breakers represents an era after WW II and prior to when most white folk were aware of civil rights.

Entertaining and educational Barrier Breakers is an enlightening visit. The show is free and will be at 118 Boylston St. Boston until August 4th.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ONLY THE BALL WAS WHITE, Robert Peterson, ISBN 97080548811242, 1970

MAYBE I’LL PITCH FOREVER, ISBN 9781938545191, Satchel Paige, John Holway, David Lipman, 1962

THE NEGRO BASEBALL LEAGUES, Bob and Byron Motley, ISBN 978-1–68358-400-1, 2012

All of these books are available on Amazon.

The Negro Leagues Baseball Museum, curated by Roberto Perez on Twitter is a wonderful site.

HAIKU 5*7*5* Basketball: 1977

Manorhaven rocks

During the Summer of Sam

Cut offs and tube socks

2023: 10 SIGNS OF AGING.

1) Your age is 455 in dog years.

2) 44 years a vegetarian.

3) Your nose and ear hair grow at an alarming rate. The hair on your head…not so much.

4) Procrastination regarding daily events lasts about as long as it takes to enter this sentence.

5) Your injuries are visible.

6) “Thank you” is good.

7) AARP!

8) You are kept awake for hours by computer work; even while wearing blue light blocker shades.

9) Spying deer, skunks and porcupines at UU Rowe MA Camp and Conference Center is chapel.

10) Writing for folks feels right now.

MOVIE: SUKIDA

2005

DIRECTED BY

Hiroshi Ishikawa

WRITTEN BY

Hiroshi Ishikawa

PRODUCED BY

Hiroshi Ishikawa

CAST

Young Yu: Aoi Miyazaki

Adult Yu: Hiromi Nagasaki

Young Yosuke: Eita Nagayama

Adult Yosuke: Hidetoshi Nishijima

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZBJyfKmN5Y

Japanese culture has come to take up more waves of my bandwidth every year of the 21st. century.

My 2001 obsession with Ichiro Suzuki blossomed into the reading of Robert Whiting’s SLUGGING IT OUT IN JAPAN about MLB star Warren Cromartie’s stay with the Yorimuri Giants of the NPB. Mr. Whiting’s YOU GOTTA HAVE WA was a gift from my brother Peter and opened a window into how the game of baseball in Japan could be both so similar and dissimilar to MLB here in the U.S.

Japanese pop music first blipped on my radar screen at the Boston-Boston disco with Yellow Magic Orchestra’s “Computer Games,” which became “Firecracker” in its 7″ 45 RPM incarnation.

In 2014 my Hewlett Packard Pavilion 23 computer brought superior sound and vision to its 23″ inch screen thus enabling

…the kawaii antics of Kyary Pamyu Pamyu…

…the motion capture digital dancing of Miss Monochrome/Yurie Horie …

…and the viral phenomena of Mariya Takeuchi’s “Plastic Love.”

Japanese movies followed. The high resolution of my new computer enabled watching movies I had only heard of; Yasujiro Ozu’s LATE SPRING and the epic serial of INFERNAL AFFAIRS among them.

SUKIDA was recommended over the bar by a guest of mine who told me it was her “favorite artsy movie.”

SUKIDA

PLOT SYNOPSIS

Yosuke(Hidetoshi Nishijima) is a high school student who has quit the baseball team, grown out his hair and aspires to be a musician. Yosuke plays the same short instrumental:

“Dear Blue” by Yoko Kanno

https://youtu.be/DnzrU3qFltw4

on his guitar repeatedly above a river spillway.

Yosuke is joined by Yu(Aoi Miyazaki) a girl from one of his classes. Yu lives with her older sister, who goes unnamed, and her mother, who is not seen.

Yu hums the tune to her sister who is mourning a tragedy. Yu arranges a meeting between Yosuke and her sister. A tragedy ensues.

17 years later Yosuke and Yu meet again under completely different AND very similar circumstances…events unfold.

SUKIDA

opens abruptly with nary a hint of back story or expository dialog. This conceptual sleight-of- hand braced this viewer for an accelerated pace. This expectation was immediately and slowly defied by the appearance of the visual motifs that run through both halves of this movie.

SUKIDA

is muted. The sound is quiet, as opposed to the digital din that has become the new normal of the 21st. century. Yet, sound is prominent and skillfully used as the sparse murmuring of Yu and Yosuke as Yosuke plays guitar is at the same volume as the cascading water and the crickets of the grass.

SUKIDA

uses subtitles via YouTube’s ‘Settings’. Ordinarily this viewer prefers even the most inexpert dubbing to subtitles as subtitles move the eye to the bottom of the screen; thus focusing on dialog rather than visual information. Additionally, this brain’s literary bandwidth and the visual bandwidth are far from the same.

However, on this occasion the subtitles work as the sparse and often monosyllabic voices of Yu and Yosuke provide the murmurs of meaning and the written words are merely minimal clues.

SUKIDA

manipulates the viewer’s musical expectations. Yosuke’s guitar is heard before his figure, let alone face, is viewed. This lends a certain voyeuristic aura to the goings on yet the sight of the guitar always lets you know that the sound is coming from a specific source and is not merely a soundtrack strategy.

SUKIDA

projects a grayish monochromatic palette. The dirt, grass and sky are almost one in color in both image and motif. The tumbling clouds above the heads of Yu and Yosuke call to mind nothing so much as the cumulus choreography of Francis Ford Coppola’s RUMBLEFISH

SUKIDA

has a certain sly sensuality. An uplifted jaw, and a middy dress billowing in the wind prepare one for the almost intimate actions of the adult phase of the saga.

SUKIDA

has a narrative taking off from unlikely coincidences that become inevitabilities. This is more pronounced in the 2nd. half of the movie when Yu and Yosuke reconnect. This is foreshadowed by Yu saying “Let me hear it when it is finished,” and the gentle shock of Yosuke’s 1st. initiating dialog.

The railroad station scene in the reconnection of the 1/2 half of the film is in real time and the 2 minute sequence feels much longer. As unlikely as the reconnection is it feels right as the theme of predestination has now grown in the viewer’s mind. Not to be overly pretentious but this tale has a strongly deterministic bent.

SUKIDA

changes its visual palette when Yu and Yosuke reconnect some 17 years after their meeting. The shades of pinkish highlighting the 2 incidents bonding the adult Yu and Yosuke are much richer than the previous cinematography. Yes, ‘less truly is more’ as these departures from the preceding minimalism shock the eye and lead the viewer into the actions of Yu and Yosuke as adults.

Kudos to Hiromi Nagasaki as the adult Yu and Hitoshi Nishijima as the adult Yosuke for using very much the same gestures; Yu’s fidgeting hands and Yosuke’s downward glances, as in the adolescent 1st. 1/ of the movie. This physicality gives the story a credibility that it otherwise would not have.

SUKIDA

becomes marginally more colorful in the 2nd. 1/2 as the splash of pinkish flesh in both of the criminalistic scenes foreshadow the intensity of the of the latter stages of the story.

Indeed, the teen yearning of the beginning becomes the adult desire as both Yu and Yosuke are now employed on the fringe of the “big plate” of the music industry.

Yu has an undefined administrative job in the music industry as Yosuke to struggles to get his 17 year old song recorded when Yu happens into the recording studio of Yosuke’s company and plays while Yosuke watches Yu in the CCTV monitor.

This meeting sets the stage for the doppelganger events of the 2nd. half of our saga.

Gentle readers, the ending will not be revealed.

SUKIDA

…Static in action, yet leaping 17 years…

…quiet and musical, cruel and romantic…

SUKIDA

unites contradictions to the enhancement of all themes and the diminishment of none.

Yes, A.R. this might be my favorite “artsy movie”.

SUKIDA and the theme can be heard on the links above and on my Facebook page.

TIPS FOR SERVERS #2: Ordering…

“We’re ready

to order.

Now what do we want?”

…Sigh…

PASSING: Bobby Hull, 1939-2023

NHL Hall of Famer(HOF) passed away on January 30th. of this year. Mr. Hull was 84.

Bobby Hull was a historic player only 1/2 a notch below Orr, Ruth, Russell and Gogolak.

Hull, along with Chicago Blacks Hawks’ teammate Stan Mikita, was the earliest adopter of the curved stick. This enabled Hull to lift the puck to the eye level of the goalie, adding elevation to his 118 MPH shot which was powered by Hull’s 29 MPH skating speed.

Old sports nicknames are invariably corny but “the Golden Jet” was apt.

To maximize leverage Hull shot with a long backswing while skating full speed; placing his weight on his front leg.

“Imitation is the highest form of flattery” is a corny adage but more than apt in this case. Hull inspired a generation of slap-shooters including his brother Dennis “the Silver Jet” Hull, Yvan Cournoyer and the Rangers’ Rod Gilbert all of whom were mainstays of my youthful NHL fandom.

A secondary effect of the curved stick was to convince goalies to play with a mask. To be sure early masks, such as that adopted by Jacques Plante in 1959, obstructed vision, but the heat seeking missiles launched by Hull and his imitators made personal safety paramount.

In 1967 the Gallanters moved from Merrick, N.Y. on the South Shore of Long Island to Port Washington, New York on the North Shore of Long Island. In Merrick WOR 9, the station of the Mets and Rangers, was plagued by “flipping” and “snow,” 2 maladies that are now extinct. Port Washington was blissfully better even on our household’s 12″ B & W General Electric.

Baseball cards had been an obsession since I was 6 but now the Rangers were on my radar screen. I was not an ice skater so even watching the Rangers had a certain exotic appeal.

After prolonged begging Dad brought me to see the Rangers vs. the Chicago Black Hawks on December 30, 1967 at the new Madison Square Garden.

The game instantly transfixed Dad and I as it was his first NHL game as well.

Bobby Hull scored in the 3-3 tie; as this was long before the amateurish tie-breaker shootout. I thought that it was kind of neat that there was a tie. So unlike baseball!

Bobby Hull Hockey entered my life in 6th. grade when I played it against Ernie Jenkins while watching Bobby Hull get his jaw broken by Montreal Canadian “enforcer” Johnny Ferguson.

Bobby Hull Hockey consisted of a 36″ linoleum rink which had 5 positional players traveling up and down slots in the “ice”, and a goaltender. All of the hockey players were controlled by rods beneath the surface which were manipulated by the players via gears underneath the hockey players. This enabled players to pass, shoot and defend.

After prolonged begging Dad bought me Bobby Hull Hockey which became the bestest of Christmas gifts…and not so coincidentally another neighbor of ours also received Bobby Hull Hockey for Christmas.

Road games!

Bobby Hull Hockey was really 3 games as the game had 3 different pucks which offered 3 very different playing styles.

-A hard plastic puck with a ball bearing center which enabled slap shots…just like Bobby Hull!

-A magnetic puck which stayed stuck to the stick of the hockey player thus enabling stick-handling and flinging backhands.

-A wooden puck which knuckle-balled across the linoleum ice and sometimes turned into a shot on one’s own goal.

Of course there was a double-sticked center, “Le Gross Bill/Big Bill” for when you pull your goalie to replace with “Stubby.”

Bobby Hull left a mark on this life.

Bit by byte childhood recedes.

HAIKU 5*7*5* Sock monkey

Bluish sock monkey

Close to 60 years old now

Sentimental me

HAIKU 5*7*5: Beer

I sold my first beer

1977

It was cold and clear

At this time of year in 1977 I served my first adult beverage at Nassau Coliseum while working for Harry M. Stevens, the concession provider at that time.

Harry M. Stevens was bought by Aramark, the concessionaire and minority owner of the Red Sox, for whom I worked in 2002.

In 1977 Nassau Coliseum was home to the NHL N.Y. Islanders and the NBA Nets in the Nets’ sole Nassau Coliseum season in the NBA.

Being a beer vendor was about as good a gig as I was going to get at that point in my life. I was attending Nassau Community College as a Liberal Arts major. After my classes I would do my homework in the ‘stack’ room of the library where Mrs. McCarthy allowed me to work. Following the completion of my day’s work I would go to the cafeteria where leftover chef’s salads were sold for $1.50 and then stride over the parking lot to the Coliseum for the evenings’ game.

After the game I would hitchhike back to my home of Port Washington.

Bartending vs. Serving: Taste and compare.

How to get the job

–Bartender: Apply for management

–Server: Apply for bartender

Social status

-Bartender: Impresses friends under 30

–Server: Impresses guests over 30

Work status

-Bartender: Token

–Server: Token

Nickname

–Bartender: Joe Genius

–Server: Steve

Kicks

–Bartender: Adidas Dual Threat

–Server: Dr. Scholl ‘s Work with cushion heel

Socks

–Bartender: Thick

–Server: Thicker

Walking

–Bartender: Side-to-side like zone defense in basketball

-Server: Heel to toe race walking

Terra firma

–Bartender: Perforated rubber mat

–Server: Stone floor

Pants

Bartender: Tactical cargo shorts

-Server: Polyester dress slacks

Top

–Bartender: Muscle, theme and promo T’s

–Server: Company issued

Hair care products

–Bartender: TRESemmes spray gel

–Server: Water

Hydration

–Bartender: Iced tea with club soda and 4 lime wedges

–Server: Iced tea with club soda and 4 lime wedges

Nutrition

–Bartender: 16 oz. milk with CVS whey protein

–Server: 16 oz. milk with CVS whey protein

CVS

–Bartender: Across the street

–Server: Around the corner

Local attraction

–Bartender: Fenway Park

–Server: Theater District plays and shows

Sports metaphor

–Bartender: Bar/MLB, dance club/NFL

–Server: NBA

Weight

–Bartender: 176ish

–Server: 168ish

Aches and pains

–Bartender: Broken fingers, bruised knees

–Server: Callused insteps, sore arches

Job security

–Bartender: “Job security of an ice cube.”

–Server: Always understaffed so relatively secure for servers with 5+ shift availability

Sex

–Bartender: Yes

–Server: Overhear 2nd. dates and date nights chit-chat at tables

Music

–Bartender: Every genre imaginable

–Server: J. Trap; 45 minute loop

Career move

–Bartender: Management

–Server: Bartender

Income

–Bartender: $$$ now

–Server: Next day deposit to debit card

Guest payments

–Bartender: $$$ now

–Server: $$$, credit cards, Up n Go via phone, credit cards

Guests’ bad habits

–Bartender: “Make it strong.”

–Server: “Is there a charge for extra meat?”

Co-worker bad habits

–Bartender: Barback sitting down playing Candy Crush while you stock beer

–Server: Servers sitting down texting while you stock ice

Alcohol

–Bartender: Lots

–Server: Specialty cocktails

Food

–Bartender: $1 Honey cashews from vending machine

–Server: Pan-Asian cuisine with entrees up to $36

Management style

–Bartender: Personal and direct from G.M. and Asst. Mgr.

–Server: Corporate from as many as 4 managers

Future?

–Bartender: 2+ years ago in the rear view mirror

–Server: Bring on 2023

Woo Sox! Woo Sox vs. Syracuse Chiefs(N.Y. Mets AAA affiliate), Polar Park, 9/23/2022

AAA baseball is the bestest!

I had been wanting to visit the Woo Sox at Polar Park in Worcester, MA since the facility opened in 2021 replacing the Paw Sox at McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket, R.I.

Worcester is a scenic 70 minute trip from Back Bay Station to the historic, turreted Union Station rail/bus station for $24 round trip. There were quite a few Woo Sox fans who got off for the game, likewise the buses. It is a circuitous 10 minute walk from Union Station to Polar Park.

Game time was 6:45 which enables screaming 10 year-olds with mitts to see games. MLB take note.

Polar Park is a 2 tier facility with a relatively large foot print compared to MCU, the home of the short season A ball Mets affiliate Brooklyn Cyclones on Coney Island

Admission were mostly via smartphone but your retrograde correspondent’s $39.99 Obid Voyage doesn’t read or generate QRs so my downloaded hard copy entitled me to a $22 Upper Box seat which featured a ledge for my Polar Diet Orange Dry and 2 bags of cashews.

The entrance to Polar Park has a kids’ playground with swings made of baseball gloves and a t-ball set-up where boys, and more than a few girls, hacked away amidst the Polar bears.

Lots of 50+ folks, screaming 10 year olds with mitts and more than a little Spanish being spoken on the Concourse.

Beauty is the word that describes the thrill of walking up the ramp and seeing the crescent of green and brown, calling to mind racing ahead of my parents on the boardwalk from the Port Washington line of the L.I.R.R. and entering Shea Stadium better than 50 years ago.

This alone justifies the price of admission.

I immediately bought a 16 oz. Polar Diet Orange Dry and began my sugar free slaking. I paired my diet Orange Dry with 2 bags of Planter’s Cashews which were $6 for a 3 oz. bag that sells for $2. at my 7-11.

Ouch!

For yeast lovers the Worcester micro-brew Wormtown is available at all concession stands and has a dedicated beer bar which I did not partake of.

It is interesting to note that here in the 21st. century independent brewers have proliferated while independent soda companies are an endangered species.

Polar Park is in its 2nd year of operation and still has that new ballpark smell. 330′ to RF, 405′ to CF and 330′ LF. CF is straight across and the power alleys are curvilinear.

There is about 20′ from home plate to the backstop but there is virtually no outfield foul territory.

Polar Park’s infield dirt is considerably browner than that of MLB as MLB has put more crushed brick into the infield since 2003 for the optics of HD television.

The wind blew from LF to RF.

The lighting was bright, without shadows and the bright green batter’s eye enables hitting.

Polar Park resembles PNC Park in Pittsburgh although it does not have the 21′ high Clemente wall in RF.

Additionally, the interior is similar to PNC in that concessions, bathrooms and the team store are equidistant and boast monitors so there is no need to miss any action. Everything is still pretty squeaky cleany and not yet marred by graffiti. I made a point of visiting 2 of the Men’s Rooms and both of the facilities had an attendant with a squeegee for the floor and mirrors.

The concourse is wide enough to accommodate 6 folks across and is a far cry better than that of McCoy Stadium in Pawtucket.

One of the better features of McCoy Stadium was the outfield berm where a family can bring a blanket and spread out. Polar Park has kept this feature. Lots of Moms and Dads encircled by screaming 10 year-olds with mitts. Some things never change.

The Woo Sox were playing the Syracuse Chiefs the AAA team of the New York Mets which made for a certain comedic element as folks wearing Syracuse Chiefs and N.Y. Mets gear wandered about.

Ironically enough Syracuse was the Yankees AAA franchise during my long ago youth. Go figure.

The biggest difference between MLB and AAA is that not all of the players are known to casual fans. Some years I follow AAA but 2022 flew under my radar.

The Woo Sox starter was Nathan Eovaldi on a rehab stint from the BoSox; a sentence that was also served by erstwhile ace Chris Sales who succeeded in breaking his hand while “rehabbing.”

Other familiar Woo Sox included 2B. prospect Jeter Downs; a tough name for Sox buffs, and Jaren Duran whose nonchalant chase-down of a fly ball lost in the bog enabled the Blue Jays’ Raimel Tapia to hit an inside-the-park grand slam.

Yes, I booed Duran.

The Chiefs had the suddenly svelte Dominic Smith who lost his Mets role with the fine recent play of Mark Canha and perennial backup backstop Mike Perez, still wearing a Pirate cap on his Jumbotron pic, and former Sox backup backstop Deven Marrero who was playing 2B for no apparent reason.

Gotta love AAA!

Eovaldi gave up a towering blast to Dominic Smith faster than my butt could warm my Upper Box seat.

I was seated next to 2 women who chatted through the game about the game itself.

After the 1st. inning I intruded a little and offered that they knew the game.

“Oh yeah, we played high school softball together and I played park league ball for years.”

One of the true measures of live sports is meeting someone you have something in common with and nothing in common with at one and the same time.

Yes, they did know the game.

I lent them my binoculars for 2 innings.

In the 2nd. inning with Mike Perez of the Chiefs on 3rd Perez took too much of a lead and got caught in a rundown. Woo Sox catcher Ronaldo Hernandez chased Perez back to 3rd.

In the 2nd. inning with Mike Perez of the Chiefs got caught in a rundown between 3rd. and home with Woo Sox backstop Roberto Hernandez correctly chasing Perez back to 3rd; when Jake Mangrum began doing a little dance around 2B...

No!!!

…both of the women screamed as Hernandez has now left home plate abandoned while looking down Mangum which gave Perez the window of an unguarded home to slide into.

Hernandez hung his head in shame, not just for his mental gaffe, but for the fact that his 1st. inning HR had been nullified.

“Gratifying” comes to mind to see that my sister fans, and many others in the park, saw what was happening and it makes me smile to know that there are fans who know what they are watching.

The bestest part of the AAA is seeing players jet out of the batter’s box every single time.

Large player salaries do not bother me. It does bother me when players do not play hard…that means you, Ronald Acuna.

Baseball is a game defined by failure, If Lebron James or Giannis Antetokounmpo shot for a .333 percentage they would be at the Y in a “shoot to play” game.

In baseball if you can go 1 for 3 long enough you will be in the Hall of Fame.

Baseball truly is like life.

Pitch clocks will be coming to MLB in 2023 and have been used in AAA for 2 years. I never thought I would write this but the 9 seconds for pitches with the bases empty and 15 seconds for runners on base works for me. I am looking forward to the implementation at the MLB level next year.

MLB’s problem is more with the pace of the game, rather than the length of the game. My game took 2 hours and 20 minute, ending at 9:05, thus enabling working parents to bring their kids.

The current MLB game time is 3:04:

https:///mlb.nbcsports.com>mlb-average

Hurlers intimidated by the frequency of HRs spend all too much time stepping off, spitting and rubbing up baseballs.

This pacing problem is compounded by the batters, I’m looking at you David Ortiz, who walk all the way to Newton between pitches while grabbing themselves and spitting.

The pitch clock needs to be accompanied by a regulation limiting batters to stepping out once per appearance unless the umpire permits it.

No, I do not want an official game clock.

It is worth mentioning that AAA does not have the endless commercial “time outs” of MLB. Yes, I am looking at you MLB Network.

Ks at Polar park are accompanied by a PA of “Woo” that many of the fans, 8,913 in 9,500 seat Polar Park; and all of the screaming 10 year-olds take part in.

Fans stuck it out to the end of the Chiefs 5-4 win as the Woo Sox had runners on base in each of the last 3 innings to no avail, leaving 13 stranded for the game.

Friday night is Fireworks Night at Polar Park but with the next train back to Boston at 10:42 and the mercury sliding to 50 F I trotted over to the station as the detonation of fireworks commenced.

A good time. A cool home run, a major boo-boo, screaming 10 year-olds and smart fans sitting next to me.

Polar Park is a fine venue.

I am looking forward to 2023.

AAA is the bestest!

HAIKU 5*7*5* Dying baseball cards

Farewell, Bob Locker

My baseball cards are dying

It is no shocker

RULES OF THE GAME: #3 ?..Forgive..?

?…Why..?

Forgive and forget

when

You

can

Blame and remember

PASSING: Jack Hague, 1949-2022

On Saturday, June 18th; I attended the memorial reception for my boss at Our House and Our House East, Jack Hague.

I first met Jack at Our House in July of 1982…!?!…

I was working at the Landmark Cafe in Quincy Market 2-3 days and 2-3 nights as a waiter, before the current coinage of “server,” and then jumping on the B Line to 1277 Comm. Ave. Allston. This worked for me as the late wait shift at Our House began at 6 P.M.

It was my 2nd or 3rd shift…

Jack was a short guy cooking in short shorts.

This is how we met….

The late waiter’s shift involved taking the chafing dish which contained the buffet from Table 10 into the kitchen, emptying any leftovers and dismantling it for the dishwasher.

“Hey..uh..you.”

“My name is Steve.”

Jack inspected the remnants of the meatballs.

“Steve, you can eat these if you like.”

“I ate at work.”

“You can wrap these up to take home.”

“Actually, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Vegetarians can eat these meatballs.”

I laughed so hard snot bubbled from my nose.

…Jack Hague…

CHANGE 2022: 10 Signs of Aging

1) Your age is 448 in dog years.

2) The toenail of the big toe on your left foot that broke a year ago will not grow back…ever.

3) You understand the Federal budget deficit and the national debt and the difference between the two.

4) You are about to become a ‘great uncle’, at least in the chronological sense.

5) Ibuprofen before a shift is a sound strategy.

6) Cash is your preferred medium of exchange.

7) You remember when the Hynes stop on the Green Line was Auditorium.

8) You are proud of your earnings in the biz.

9) You don’t curse.

10) Let’s Go Mets!

SPORTS: Steven Gallanter: Superstar

Tetherball

Box ball

Kickball

Punchball

Self-hitting baseball

Wiffle ball

Stickball

Softball

Pitching baseball

Nerf baseball

Tennis racquet baseball

Driveway basketball

Nerf basketball

Horse basketball

Around-the-world-basketball

Touch football on concrete/blacktop

Touch football on grass

Flag football

Backyard tackle football

Indoor tackle football

Indoor Olympics

Soccer

Indoor soccer

Tennis

Handball

Chinese handball

Bicycle races

Foot races

Badminton

Volleyball

Sneaker hockey

Street hockey

Floor hockey

Golf

Croquet

Paddle ball

Wrestling

Slap boxing

Boxing

—————————————————————————————————————

All of the above were played prior to my turning 13 and without the benefit of adult blessing or supervision.

TIPS FOR SERVERS #1

“Since you’re not yelling at me or for me I am going to say that everything is okay.”

Thank you to the readers of https://stevegallanter.wordpress.com in 2021

It is with an absurd amount of both pride and humility that I am posting that stevegallanter.wordpress.com had 1694 visitors with a total of 2080 views om 2021.

I thank you all.

President John F. Kennedy killed, November 22, 1963.

60 years ago President John F. Kennedy was killed in Dallas.

For many, many, many years the anniversary of this horrible event was memorialized by the media.

No more.

As those who remember this grim day age and pass there will be fewer and fewer media mentions.

The rise of social media will not commemorate this sadly historic event.

Bit by byte, history recedes.

WORDS OF OTHERS #2: Stealing

“No one has ever stolen 1000 dollars from me; but I have had 1 dollar stolen from me 1000 times.”

STEVEN GALLANTER: BARTENDER RESUME’

Steven Gallanter

15 Edgerly Rd, Apt. 8

Boston, MA 02115

617-835-2373

stevegallanter@yahoo.com

BARTENDER

Summary of Qualifications

BEVERAGE SKILLS

-Remixologist

-Unsupervised bartender with access to premise

-Uncork wine and champagne with appropriate protocol

-Formulate drink specials

-Tend bar for African, Brazilian, EDM, Eurohaus, Greek, International, Latin, alternative lifestyle, rock, swing, Broadway, Country & Western, disco, karaoke, house, hip-hop, oldies, reggae, R & B, classical and Top 40

FOOD SERVICE SKILLS

-serve pan-Asian cuisine

-Arm and tray service at bar and tables

-Plating and garnishing

-Inform guests of specials

-Food service with appropriate protocol

GUEST SERVICE SKILLS

-Guest list privileges and table reservations

-Provide guest with personal care items

-Suggest dining, tourism and entertainment options

-Assist challenged guests

PROMOTIONAL AND MARKETING SKILLS

-Collect contact information for promotional purposes

-Obtain complimentary bar supplies from salespeople

-Decorate premises for seasonal events

-Distribute promotional material to authorized outlets

PLANT, EQUIPMENT AND LEGAL SKILLS

-Troubleshooting of soda, refrigeration and HVAC systems

-Diagnosed need for water filtration system for soda and ice systems

-Reconfigured storage to conform to requirements

-Photographed grounds to successfully appeal violations to Boston Board of Inspectional Services

INFORMATION TECHNOLOGY

-Aloha, Micros, PosiTouch 6.36 POS systems

CERTIFICATION

-CPR, First Aid and Emergency Oxygen, American Safety & Health Institute, 2015

CERTIFICATION

MA Dept. of Fire Services, Crowd Manager Training, 2018

COMMUNITY

Boston Board of Elections, Warden and Clerk,

2002-2008, 2010-2024

BAR EXPERIENCE

P.F. CHANG’S

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Bar/server

2022-current

MACHINE

2010-2020

DURGIN-PARK

2012

NEWS BOSTON

2008-2009

RED FEZ

2007

EUROPA

2001-2006

FENWAY/ARAMARK

2002

RITZ-CARLTON, ARLINGTON ST.

2001

HAIKU 5*7*5* One to win: 30 years ago, Curtis Hall, Jamaica Plain, Boston.

Needing 1 to win

Awkward shooting mechanics

Heaving rattles in

WORDS OF OTHERS: “Validation.”

“If you want validation, go to a parking garage.”

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY! Shelly Gallanter, 1927-1984

1. ‘Contradictory’ is the word that sums up Dad’s life, thoughts, actions and relationships.

2. Dad’s given birth name was ‘Shelly.’ It was not a nickname or diminutive for ‘Sheldon.’

3. Dad was a ‘Daddy’s boy’ who told me that his father, Edward Gallanter, was “the finest man who ever lived.” Dad was estranged from his mother for much of his adult life.

4. Dad was allergic to cats. When Lovey adopted my brother Peter Dad began taking medication.

5. Dad’s favorite expletive was “crap,” an all-purpose synonym for ineptitude, feces, people he didn’t like and excuses; whether justifiable or not. Dad was very capable of using this versatile condemnation 5 times in 3 sentences. I know, I counted.

6. Dad’s favorite song was the very schmaltzy “Bluebirds of Happiness” as sung by Jan Peerce. I once chanced upon Dad listening to an LP version of this on the Gallanter family’s Harmon Kardon Slimline Turntable, AM-FM Stereo receiver and Cassette Recorder stereo.

Dad had tears in his eyes.

“Dad, are you crying?”

“No!

Now get out of here!”

7. “Don’t tell Peter.”

8. Dad’s hair was Asian black.

9. Dad was not athletic. Except…

In 1980 I visited Dad after not seeing him in the flesh after his move to Michigan from Forest Hills, New York City in 1976. I was struck by the expansion of his chest.

“Well I usually swim 5 or 6 times weekly. The complex has a great pool. We’ll go swimming.”

The very next day we went to the spacious, well kept pool.

“Steve, have you swam lately?”

“I swam 2 or 3 times last year at the Northeastern pool. I haven’t swam much since leaving Port.”

I climbed into the pool and began thrashing noisily in an imitation of a dog paddle; producing more splash than progress.

Dad was nice, he didn’t laugh.

Perched on the end of the pool, centered exactly in the middle of the lane Dad dove…

…precisely when Dad’s dive momentum ended he flipped on to his right side and began long noiseless sidestrokes. Every 8 strokes his head would turn counter clockwise for a gulp of air that did not impede his smooth sailing.

Stopping briefly, “Australian crawl.”

Except for the mechanics the swimming was the same but Dad seemed to pick up speed during the last 25 yards.

I became aware of some 20-something guys watching this low key spectacle with puzzled admiration.

“Backstroke.”

Dad would never cop to the double backstroke but alternated arms with the ease of Roland Matthes, look it up; and completed 100 yards while maintaining the very same pace throughout.

Dad finally climbed out of the water and the onlookers stopped gazing.

Dad was smiling.

So was I.

10. 1984 never had a Happy Father’s Day greeting from me to Dad.

2021 CHANGE: 10 Signs of Aging

1) One is 441 years of age in dog years.

2) Thelma Allera’s passing on December 16, 2020 , my aunt who is my Mom’s first cousin, means that all of my older relatives are no longer of this world.

3) “Steve knows all of that old time music. Was Eminem a thing right away?”

4) One remembers when security were bouncers and servers were waiters/waitresses.

5) One’s higher tolerance for pain is something of a compensation for decreased mobility.

6) Some things change, some don’t. 42 years and 3 months of ovo-lacto veggieism!

7) One’s after work ritual is not recreational substance use or romantic mishaps but the filing down of foot calluses.

8) One’s pride in being able to perform manual labor is both morally justifiable and useful on a practical level.

9) One’s lips do not move when one is talking to oneself.

10) “A man has gotta know his limitations.”

HAIKU 5*7*5* Fruit flies and baseball.

Red Sox hit pop flies

A sign of Opening Day

Sugar brings fruit flies

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Baseball and fruit flies both have the lifespan of the equinox.

COVID-19 Tres Stella Uno, Dos,Tres

Stella Uno, Boyhood: Civil rights

Stella Dos, Adulthood: Internet

Stella Tres, Maturehood: COVID-19

SHAMELESS SELF PROMOTION

Greetings to all of readers of stevegallanter.wordpress.com!

I am happy and more than a little proud that 2020 is the most read year of my blogs since the brain candy began in 2012.

I endeavor to improve the writing.

‘Gratitude’ is the only word that comes to mind knowing that folks are taking the time to read what is written.

November, 22nd.

November 22nd. marks the 57th. anniversary of the killing of President Kennedy. Once the mainstream media made note of this. No more.

COVID-19 Stella Quattro

1. You have washed your hands so often your fingers are webbed.

2. The Dirt Devil Scorpion Max purchased for $37.99 at Mass. Ave. is my new best friend; just behind my Black & Decker Toast R Oven and just ahead of my Farberware 10 Speed Master blender. The extension empowers me to thin the herd of dust cattle residing behind this monitor and the brush attachment sucks up the dusty felt from the blinds and ceiling fan. The detritus swirling within the transparent collection cup is more entertaining than the 2020 Red Sox.

3. Van Halen binge.

4. A FALSE SPRING is a great read…and re-read. This autobiography by Pat Jordan details the rise, frustration and ultimate failure of an 18 year-old who had signed for a $35,000 bonus, a princely sum in 1959; with the Milwaukee Braves of the National League of MLB. A FALSE SPRING details Mr. Jordan’s circuitous route through small town minor league baseball in towns such as Davenport, Iowa and Eau Claire, Wisconsin with less success at every juncture. Ultimately, Mr. Jordan finds himself washed-up at 22 with his dreams eroded by the very real fact that his “talent” has deserted him permanently. Mr. Jordan had a wife and 3 children when his baseball “career” ended. Pat Jordan eventually became a respected journalist writing for THE NEW YORK SUNDAY TIMES MAGAZINE, G.Q, ESQUIRE and SPORTS ILLUSTRATED. Most sports books are the story of triumph. A FALSE SPRING is unique in that it looks upon athletic failure from the vantage of adult journalistic success. Intense and distant at the same time. A FALSE SPRING is a worthwhile read and re-read…and at my age re-reading is a luxury.

ISBN 1-886913-22-6

COVID-19: the new normal. Quint Stella

1) COVID-19 has replaced ‘coronavirus’ as the ‘nom du pandemic’ in our new normal. A certain brewery is doubtless relieved as part of the new normal.

2) Baseball and bartending are both MIA this summer as part of the new normal.

3) Mall walking at the Prudential Center at 2-steps-a-second is always accompanied by a loungy version of George Michael’s “Careless Whisper.” If any reader knows why this is, please advise. Anyway, 2 steps-a-second for 60+ minutes walking as part of the new normal.

3) Mall walking at 2-steps-per-second at the Prudential Center is part of the new normal. Why is it that a loungy version of George Michael’s “Careless Whisper” plays every time I walk? If there is anyone with knowledge of the Prudential Center’s music policy who might offer enlightenment it would be appreciated as part of the new normal.

4) Smelling one’s own breath isn’t just for nervous first dates and that additional slice of pepperoni pizza with onions. Smelling one’s breath is the most frequent effect as part of the new normal.

5) Repeating cliches often means turning a blind eye to everyday stuff but the “new normal” cliche as part of the new normal.

WORDS OF OTHERS

“This life’s hard, man, but it’s harder if you’re stupid.”

CORONAVIRUS 6.0 Quarantine Trey Stella

1) Bad hair days are no longer a threat to income.

2) Love is the only word that can describe the loving relationship with your Black & Decker Toast-R-Oven.

3) RING OF BRIGHT WATER was once called a ‘nature’ film at the Port Washington Public Library. I saw the movie as one of the free films shown to occupy the evenings of bored, alienated teenagers such as your humble correspondent. I loved the movie which of course I did not admit to the few folks I conversed with.

(It is conceded that my fondness for Harry Nilsson’s SON OF SCHMILLSON would have confused the issue.)

Last year I discovered a copy of RING OF BRIGHT WATER lying in the lobby of my building where harried residents donate/dump possessions that are not being brought to presumably greener pastures.

Sadly, I am past the point in life where there is limitless time to indulge in flights of literary fancy. However, on this occasion the under used right side of my brain reminded me that very little warm and fuzzy had entered within the last fiscal year. So…

I couldn’t put RING OF BRIGHT WATER down even with the paperback version’s glaucoma inducing 50 lines a page at 10 words a sentence.

Gavin Maxwell is an English author and naturalist who spends his summers in the rustic Scottish Highlands town of Camusfearna which translates as “ring of bright water.”

Mr. Maxwell brings an otter named ‘Mij’ on a treacherous journey from Iraq to become domesticated in Maxwell’s London flat.

An apartment is no place for an otter so Mr. Maxwell decamps for Scotland.

Mr. Maxwell details the joys and inevitable challenges of living with what is, after all, a wild animal.

Mij is quite the comedian and warms to Mr. Maxwell’s love but also very capable of destroying floorboards and furniture.

As charming as this story is, and “charm” is a word rarely spoken or evoked these days it is the literary grace that captured this mind.

To wit:

“Later, marbles became Mij’s favorite toys for this pastime-for pastime it is, without any anthropomorphizing-and he would lie on his back rolling two or more of them up and down his wide, flat belly without ever dropping one to the floor, or with forepaws upstretched, rolling them between his palms for minutes on end.”

In a time of 280 character Twitter blasts the elegant, albeit florid, literacy of RING OF BRIGHT WATER is almost shocking.

RING OF BRIGHT WATER is profusely illustrated with whimsical pen and ink drawings of otters cavorting adding a visual analog to the tale of otters.

RING OF BRIGHT WATER was a book I couldn’t put down, even as I acknowledge the ethical conflict of making a pet of a wild animal.

RING OF BRIGHT WATER is an ideal quarantine read. Recommended.

RING OF BRIGHT WATER, E.P. Dutton & Co, Inc. 1961

ISBN-978-095625404

stevegallanter@yahoo.com

617-835-2373

15 Edgerly Rd.

Apt. 8

Boston, MA 02115

HAIKI 5*7*5* Frozen pineapple juice

Thinking of my Mom

The frozen pineapple juice

Still the July bomb

HAIKU 5*7*5* Coronavirus bus

The 39 bus

Has only 2 passengers

Where’s the rest of us?

BARTENDER’S TIPS #2 “The customer is always right…especially when they are wrong.”

“The customer is always right,” is truly one of the requisite cliches of any and all forms of customer service.

“And we’ll be right back to the NorthGarden where the Celtics are leading the Cleveland Cavaliers 72-61, after this word from our sponsor.”

“Hey, you know Kevin Love is the son of one of the Beach Boys.  Someone said that his uncle played in the NBA.  You know everything about basketball..,”

“Well, I don’t know everything but Love’s uncle played for the Baltimore Bullets..,”

“Huh?”

“The Baltimore Bullets became the Capitol Bullets, who became the Washington Bullets and are now the Washington Wizards.”

“How did that happen?”

“Well the NBA thought that ‘Bullets’ was too violent so they changed..,”

“And now they are named after the Klan!?”

“Well..but… yeah, Kevin Love is the son of Mike Love of the Beach Boys.”

https://en.wikipedia.org › wiki › Kevin_Love

Actually Kevin Love is the nephew of Mike Love of the Beach boys and the son of ex NBA player Stan Love…but let’s just move on.

“The customer is always right,”…

As an adult beverage distribution engineer my experience is that customers often offer this bromide to evade payment, leave with cocktails and initiate conflicts with security staff.

There ARE some things that aren’t right, refusing to pay for a drink is actually the crime of “defrauding an innkeeper,”

Section 12C. (a) An innkeeper may refuse to admit or refuse service or accommodation in the hotel to a person who: while on the premises of the hotel acts in an obviously intoxicated or disorderly manner, destroys or threatens to destroy hotel property, or causes or threatens to cause a public disturbance, or refuses or is unable to pay for the accommodations or services.

I will spare you, gentle reader, further links to MA law.

“The customer is always right …especially when they are wrong!”

In 1985 I was tending bar at Our House East under the supervision of Henry Vara III.  I had already worked at Our House(West), Cornwalls and Narcissus so I was well versed in the policies and folklore of Kenmore Management as headed by Henry Vara Jr; indeed, this was one of the reasons I was hired.

Board games, in this pre-smartphone era were offered in many of the pubs of 1985, Cornwalls among them.  Trivial Pursuit was the best of these for bar sales as Trivial Pursuit tended to prompt interaction among the players who often invited the bartender to join in.

It was a warm Monday spring evening without the blessing of Monday Night Football, a thing at the time.

I was trying to keep my guests at the bar so passers by would see folks at the bar and wander in without feeling a tad of guilt about entering an empty Our House East.

So I hauled out Trivial Pursuit and performed a cursory examination of the contents to make sure there were sufficient cards so that all 3 of us could play.

I timed my introduction of the game 1/2 way through their 1st. pints of Rolling Rock which was $1.50 a pint at the time.

Obviously, this was a long time ago!

“Hey, we’ll play.  Wanna join in?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” I replied with the usual mix of camaraderie and con that characterizes a good deal of bar side bull.

Job #1 was easily accomplished with 2 more beers being ordered and change piling up alongside the board.

These guys were actually pretty good and U.S. History and Movies were strong categories for the 2 of them.  After a while it became apparent that they were pretty good friends who did not have plans that involved anything later in the evening, or for that matter, early the next morning.

However, they were competing with each other and with myself.  I did well in U.S. History and O.K. in Movies but got whipped badly in Television and Fashion when in walked Henry, I always called his son and my supervisor HV 3; the major domo of Our House East.

Unlike many of my co-workers I wasn’t petrified by the presence of my owner.  Indeed, I had been on Henry’s more or less good side since he had witnessed me grabbing money from guests with a degree of intensity that crossed the line into abrupt.

“Hi, Steve G.”

“Hello God.”

A 3rd. round of Rocks were served as the 2 gents broke into an animated conversation about the glory of GILLIGAN’S ISLAND, which I didn’t know much about.

Henry gave a bemused smile to my guests and your narrator and ordered a screwdriver with precisely a 1.25 oz. shot of Vodka City bar liquor and puffed on his cigar.

Obviously, this was a long time ago!

Trivial Pursuit regained my attention once the next 2 categories turned out to be Alcoholic Beverages and Baseball; 2 subjects that were and are close to my heart.

I decided to win.

“A Brandy Alexander is made of..?

“1 part brandy, 1 part white creme de cacao, 1 part milk, shake and strain,” I proclaimed to the slack-jawed gaze of my contestants.

“Who was the very first baseball Rookie of the Year?”

“Jackie Robinson when there was only 1 Rookie of the Year for both leagues,” I yelped.

“How do you remember all of this stuff, Why remember all of this stuff?” one of my opponents asked while staring into the dregs of his Rolling Rock.

“Wanna play again?”

“Nah, that’s O.K;” the more talkative of the 2 said while standing up and pushing an Honest Abe to me.

“How much did you get?” Henry asked with a conspiratorial glint in his eye.

“5 bucks.”

“I would have gotten 10!”

“Huh?”

“I would have thrown the last question and let them win,” Henry said with a devilish grin.

“Huh..but I’m right!”

“THE CUSTOMER IS ALWAYS RIGHT…ESPECIALLY WHEN THEY ARE WRONG!”

Henry proclaimed with a vehemence that I didn’t know was part of him.

Henry seemed taken aback by his own intensity.  He put his cigar back into his mouth and chewed upon it reflectively.

“It’s good to be smart but nobody likes a smart ass.

Who do you think you are?

“JOE GENIUS”

I have learned much in the 7600+ bar shifts I have worked but this may be the most important thing I have learned from my most frequent employer.

!!!”Joe Genius”!!!

Indeed.

DEFINITION: Swole

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swOl/  To be visibly muscular.  This is to be distinguished from “swollen” which would be in the past tense and usually refers to some sort of malady or affliction.

Swole is the 21st. century description that has now succeeded:

‘Pumped’ as popularized by the 1977 movie Pumping Iron and referenced in 1997’s Boogie Nights, was the calling card for pneumatic muscular development in the late 70s and early 80s.  The tire reference was telling as that era of bodybuilding and weight training, which are NOT the same at all, was characterized by the intake of massive amounts of whole diary products lending their users a somewhat bloated appearance.

Jacked’ took over at about the time I started tending bar.  ‘Jacked’ had multiple meanings in conversation when referring to appearance.  ‘Jacked’ as in acquired illegitimately, “Dude, that guy must be jacked, he’s so big.”

(This meaning of illegitimate acquisition is still used in hip-hop in reference to illegal and unacknowledged samples).

‘Decked’ came into fruition in the 90s as weightlifting and bodybuilding became chic among Generation X.

‘Decked’ is a nickname for DecaDrol, a trade name for Dexamethasone, a popular anabolic steroid easily obtained through scrip doctors who charged cash for prescriptions that rarely if ever required an examination or bonafide therapeutic issue.

(It is worth mentioning that Decadrol was used by AIDS patients to combat the wasting precipitated by a variety of AOOIs).

Decked’ also came to refer to the use of DecaDrol as a party drug, in spite of the very real danger of alcohol interactions.

Women seeking a tad more fiber to enhance their sleeveless tops began to emulate Linda Hamilton in Terminator II with her display of ‘femceps/sheceps’.

Eventually, enough bad interactions prompted authorities to crack down on the number of prescriptions and DecaDrol became just another drug by the time President George W. Bush was elected.

Swole’ entered the lingua franca around the time of President Obama’s second term.  By this time an almost obese silhouette had become acceptable and indeed de rigueur for hip hop fashion.

Smartphones enabled the instant constant communication of physiques to all interested…and even those who were uninterested.  Massiveness that filled a  screen superseded aesthetic elevation.

This new standard inspired a new definition of fitness which emphasized an inflated midsection that sat in stark contrast to the cut, defined look of 90s fitness practitioners.  Whole milk, refined sugar and sugared sodas returned to the menus of many.  Bulging bellies and bulging biceps formed a kind of symmetrical symphony which came to be called ‘swole.’

It is telling, at least to this aspiring journalist, that ‘swole’ is always in the present tense.  Although the ‘pumped,’ ‘jacked’ and ‘decked’ eras all had contradictions there was at least the pretense of looking to be healthy.

And while the morality of chemically enhanced strength is a matter of continual debate in gyms and professional sports the ‘swole’ era is primarily about appearance.

‘Swole’ is the current nomenclature but a new generation will press another term.  Stay tuned…

LIBERALISM 2023

As a newly minted senior citizen it has dawned upon me that I have a different concept of what it means to be liberal than does much of what American society adheres to. 

This liberalism is not grounded in sensitivity, which is the determination to say or do nothing which might give offense,

rather, it is grounded in tolerance which is the determination not to take offense.

First night in Boston: September 19, 1978, 45 years ago

First night in Boston

September 19, 1978

First night in Boston was something that had been foremost in my mind for better than a year.  I had spent the previous 2 days pacing a hole in the living room carpet while debating my leave taking for Boston.

I was enrolled in Northeastern University but the apartment I had secured had been rented out from under me leaving me to hitchhike, again, to Boston to find housing for the upcoming semester.

Boston Common Realty rented me a spacious, albeit dilapidated, studio on Huntington Ave. for $160 a month directly across the street from the N.U. quad.

I hitchhiked back home to Port Washington, N.Y. and packed the trusty foot locker which had seen me through a 12 year-old’s rustic New Hampshire summer camp, 2 summers of sports camp and 4 summers of Massachusetts religious camp, with underwear and the clock radio my parents had bought me for Christmas 1970.  I was undecided as to what else to bring.

As the departure day loomed my feet got cold as I contemplated moving to a city where I had no employment lined up, formidable academic challenges and less than $100 in liquid cash after having a summer camp counselor-in-training position defunded.

I did have a ride from a friend however…if only to the Throgs Neck Bridge.

My friend called.

“Hey Steve, you pussy.  Have you pulled the panties out of your crack?” offered my friend.

“Thanks for the reminder,” I wittily replied.

“Steve, you’ve hitched 200 miles at midnight with $10 in your pocket and you’re afraid of college?  You even said you wanted out of Port; like y’know, yesterday.”

I replied, “Yeah, I know what I said but it just seems that I’ll be moving into a new place without having a job or money.”

My friend was a good guy.

He answered, “You moved into that place on Main St. with only a little more..”

I interrupted and said, “But that was only a few hundred yards away and I moved back at the end of the summer.  This is a much bigger move in more ways than one.”

My friend answered, “I can give you a ride tomorrow but after that I have to get back to work.”

“I will call you tomorrow,” I answered and hung up.

I knew that it was now or never.

I bounced my foot locker down the 13 stairs to the dining room.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

I stuffed my foot locker with shirts and more underwear.

I grabbed my green Army surplus duffle bag from the drying line in the basement and stuffed it with the books and records that I deemed worthy of sustaining me through whatever might transpire in my soon-to-be home.

And then anxiety, as evidenced by my sweating soles, overcame me.

I turned on our 12″ black and white TV to see the reassuring ineptitude of my N.Y. Mets.

Lindsay Nelson’s calm baritone spoke through the speakers, “And the Yankees will be fending off the Brewers tomorrow night at Yankee Stadium as Dick Tidrow and Mike Caldwell face off.”

Being a Mets fan I loathed the Yankees and relished the chance to root against them.

I stepped to our side porch where my brother Peter and his friends were puzzled by my mixed emotions.

“Hey Steve, we can’t miss you if you don’t leave,” offered a friend of my brother Peter.

I now knew I had to leave.

I called my friend.

“What time can you drive me to the Throgs Neck?”

“I work until 6, so around 7.  So you finally made up your mind?” my friend asked in a question that was the answer.

The next day I was packed early and spent the afternoon bemoaning the defunding of my counselor-in-training earnings while taking in the sights of Port Washington’s Main St. and gazing at the apartment I had occupied for 90 days earlier in the summer.

I went to my bedroom and attempted to sleep.

I laid on my back.

I laid on my left side.

I laid on my right side.

I touched myself.

I turned on my clock radio, which I had retrieved from my foot locker and listened to WBLS…

“…Frankie Crocker with the world’s best looking sound…”

…eventually falling into a fitful sleep and awakening on a very warm afternoon.  I putzed around the house before bouncing my foot locker down the 13 stairs of 42 North Bayles Avenue, Port Washington, New York.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

At the bottom of the stairs I opened my foot locker to make sure that my clock radio was wrapped in clothing so as not to be damaged on my trip.

I was too nervous to eat.  7 P.M. loomed and I wrestled in my mind whether to call my friend.  I wanted to push without being pushy.  My brother Peter’s friends came by and toasted me with a bong.

“Aw, you’re not going to go,” said one.

“Wanna bet?” I replied.

It was 7:30, dark, yet still very warm.  I tucked my Sweet-Orr work shirt into my Uncle Sam fatigues.

The phone rang.  It was my friend.

“Sorry I’m late.  Ready to go?”

“Yup,” I stammered as my heart hammered.

In 15 minutes my friend’s red VW squareback pulled up.  I had met my friend while hitchhiking 2 years ago and now that very same vehicle was to be my way out.

My Mom came out of the house and gave me a loaf of banana bread and told me that I could call collect when I made my arrival in Boston.  Mom’s eyes were wet.

My friend dragged my foot locker to the rear of the red VW squareback.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

My friend shifted gears and we were off to the access road leading from the L.I.E. to the Grand Central Parkway.

“…this is Tony Pigg rocking ’til 10 PM tonight…”

“Hey, could change the station?” I asked.

“Please don’t tell me you want to listen to disco again.  Didn’t you get your fill at work?” my friend wondered.

“The Yanks are playing the Brewers and as a Mets fan the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

My friend smiled and dialed in WINS AM as the throaty tones of Frank Messer intoned. “Going for the Brewers tonight is Mike Caldwell who has been a great surprise for the Brewers thus far this year having won 20 games already with the Yankees sending Dick Tidrow to the hill.”

All the windows were open.  Traffic was light as Tuesday night wasn’t a going out night and rush hour was over.

My friend pulled over on the shoulder of the access road.  E.J. Korvettes’ discount department store’s parking lot lights shone across the L.I.E.

I took the foot locker out of the VW squareback.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

Ker plunk.

“Well, I guess you are really going.  What time do you think your arrival in Boston will be?” my friend asked.

“I dunno…about 3 A.M. I guess.”

“For Christsakes be careful,” my friend offered.

And then, abruptly, “How much money do you have?”

“$37,” I answered.

My friend rolled his eyes and pressed a $20 bill into my hand, gave me a hug, and honked the horn while he drove to the next exit to return to Port Washington.

I put my thumb out being careful to stand under the Grand Central Parkway sign’s lights while glancing towards the Eastbound lane of the L.I.E. in the hope I could see the red VW squareback returning to Port Washington.

No such luck.

I wondered if the Brewers were beating the Yankees.

Up the road was my first night in Boston…

Christopher Columbus Day 2023

Christopher Columbus Day will pass with nary a notice this Monday, October 9, 2023, with about as much official attention as that garnered by Thanksgiving in Canada.

Columbus Day was a celebrated holiday during my boyhood.  I remember very well standing in front of the 1/2 bathroom of 269 Lincoln Blvd. Merrick, New York that stood at the cusp of our kitchen and screened porch looking at the Meadowbrook Bank calendar affixed to the door and seeing the caricature of Christopher Columbus wearing what appeared to be a round crowned sombrero.

My 2nd. Grade teacher Miss Glugatch at the Merrick Ave. school, had us make little models of the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria by tracing around construction paper forms to make little flat models of Columbus’ ships from the very same construction paper forms that would make little flat models of Thanksgiving turkeys.

Brown for the boats, yellow for the sails and red dots for the sailors with all of the hues available from the Crayola 64 crayon box, you know the one with the sharpener that stripped off the paper and got jammed with 1/2 of the silver crayon. 

You do know, don’t you? 

Coloring within the lines was even at that age a challenge for your narrator but my “art” passed enough muster to be displayed on the refrigerator of 269 Lincoln Blvd.

57 years ago!

Columbus Day here in the Boston of 20-25 years ago found me selling pretzels from a “truck,” actually a 3-wheeled pushcart, in the then still Italian-American neighborhood of East Boston.  As the 21st. century progressed the crowds thinned and aged and it was no longer profitable to pay the permit fee for an event that was sliding into irrelevance.

It was around this time that the historical worth of Christopher Columbus’ “discovery” of America became an increasingly contentious issue.  During my elementary school days my well thumbed copy of the SBS/Lucky Book Club THE INDIANS KNEW by Tillie Pine with art by Ezra Jack Keats disavowed me of any notion that European settlers were the end-all and be-all of knowledge.

However, I was impressed that Columbus had sailed across the Atlantic piloting 3 ships and returning safely by means of dead reckoning without the benefit of celestial navigation.

(The fact that the Spanish Inquisition played no small role in Ferdinand and Isabella commissioning Columbus would come into my consciousness during my Junior High North Shore Unitarian Universalist congregation religious education).

Having been interested and active in the cause of statehood for Puerto Rico I am very aware of the rightfully disputed nature of Columbus’  exploration/exploitation of that island.

However, as a beneficiary of Christopher Columbus I know that my life would be very different, if it existed at all, without Christopher Columbus.

Columbus Day festivities are not covered by NECN(New England Cable News) and the October 9, 2022 BOSTON GLOBE offered an article on the official “Indigenous Peoples’ Day” holiday to be celebrated.

I have no objection to an “Indigenous Peoples’ Day”.  Indeed the mainstreaming of the varieties of Native American history and culture into formal education is still all too under-served and long overdue.

Still, I miss the visage of Christopher Columbus gazing at me from the 1/2 bathroom door framed by the 10/10/65 Meadowbrook Bank calendar and memorialized by the Nina, the Pinta and the Santa Maria hanging on the refrigerator door.

Bit by byte, childhood recedes.

 

BLACK FRIDAY 2023 has changed both the meaning and practice of Black Friday by accelerating the changes endemic to the pandemic.

BLACK FRIDAY, kicks off the Christmas shopping season in spite of the fact that “my” 231 Mass. Ave, Boston CVS has had Christmas thingys since Halloween, and don’t give me any of that ‘Happy Holidays’ stuff,  as surely as the Detroit Lions vs. whoever in the N.F.L. has been played since 1934.

http://www.sportscasting.com

Even “cultural” retailers such as the Guitar Center on Boylston St. offer 15% off!

Ker chang!

  Target; or perhaps ‘Tar Jhay’ for the holiday..? offers a Samsung 65″ Smart 4K Crystal HDR UHD TV TV7000 for only $499!  In Titan Gray of course.

As a server I work mostly at night.  So after making my list, and checking it twice, I will awake in the A.M;  ingest a dash of caffeine and spend, spend, spend!

Such was not always the case.

Indeed, methinks that the emergence of Black Friday as a retail holiday…

… prompts thoughts of my parents both of whom are no longer and…

…the passing of what Tom Brokaw called “the Greatest Generation,” who lived through the Great Depression and WWII, which is to say my parents.

My mother, Doris was born in 1925, and my father, Shelly was born in 1927. 

On occasion I would want some kind of mild extravagance, such as a 1st. baseman’s mitt.  My cost-effective father would reply by lecturing me with stories of playing kick-the-can and being grateful that his father, Edward Gallanter, who worked 3 jobs, was not among the legions of unemployed men in the Brooklyn of the 1930’s.

When I became a bartender Dad was all too willing to tell the tale of walking to the local tavern to buy a “bag of ice,” for .02 a bag in the days before refrigerators became standard. 

Mom hailed from New Kensington, PA, a manufacturing city 19 miles NW of Pittsburgh.  Her father, Wiley O. Jack, was a partner in a local Ford dealership.  During WWII very few cars were manufactured for retail sale as the auto makers of that era, Packard and Studebaker among them, retooled their assembly lines for the war effort.  My maternal grandfather made his living by servicing the cars he had already sold.

On occasion Mom would educate my brother Peter and I about the rationing of sugar, flour and eggs during the Great Depression.

I am on very safe ground when I ponder the thought that neither of my parents would ever think of ‘Black Friday‘ as retail therapy.

  http://investopedia.com tells us that the Black Friday that formed my parents’ hearts and minds occurred on October 25, 1929 when the stock market lost 11% of its net worth.

This pre-nuclear money meltdown turned into panic as the technology of analog telephone systems couldn’t keep up with panicked investors dumping their holdings.  Banks, being substantial institutional investors, lost their worth in the pre-F.D.I.C. era and throngs flocked to banks to withdraw their cash savings while there was still cash to meet their demands.

Black Friday had made a previous appearance in the financial lexicon in the 19th. century on September 24, 1869 when financiers Jay Gould and Jim Fisk sought to corner and privatize the gold supply.  When this scheme collapsed it was dubbed ‘Black Friday.’ 

It is certainly a viable concept that those with an education in the economic history of our country knew of the 1869 scandal when the stock market crash of 1929 occurred.

www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/…/grant-black-friday

The contemporary usage of Black Friday’s earliest mention seems to have been in January of 1966 when the Philadelphia Police Dept(PPD) used the term to describe the crowds in downtown Philadelphia on the day after Thanksgiving.

http://www.sensationalcolor.com

In a more casual way the term Black Friday was bandied about by retailers to refer to the final month of the year which would pull the given retailer into the ‘black’ of profitability.  Research did not reveal any specific date or author for this phrase but it certainly has been in usage since the beginning of my business awareness.

The 21st. century brought the coinage of ‘Cyber Monday’ referring to the huge volume of online shopping that begins the week after Thanksgiving as those put off by the stampedes of shoppers at brick and mortar locations and with conflicting obligations click on to innumerable web sites to let their cursors do the shopping.

Cyber Monday was coined in 2005, just after Boston became a DSL city in 2003, by the National Retail Federation’s Shop.org to encourage and promote virtual shopping.

COVID-19 has made Cyber Monday the ‘new normal’ that has become this decade’s most tiresome, albeit accurate, cliche’.  And while I am more than tired of the phrase the description is numbingly accurate.

…Sigh…

Black Friday didn’t become the catch phrase it is now until the mid-1990s when the World War II generation, which was born in the 1920s as my parents were, began to pass.

My aunt Thelma Allera, born 1925, was the last of my older relatives to live in this world of ours.

Contemporary usage of Black Friday no longer carries the baggage it did during my long-ago youth.

Black Friday became the brightest of Fridays…until 2020.

COVID-19  closed many retail venues outright and shortened the hours of many.  “My” CVS at 231 Mass. Ave, Boston cut its hours from a 12 midnight closing to a 10 P.M. closing.

Indeed, the stressful, joyful shopping of Downtown Crossing, Boylston Sta. and Charles st. can now be accomplished with the touch of a smartphone.

Cyber Monday was once a promotional gambit to entice the early adapters of technology.  In 2023 virtually all Christmas oriented retail businesses have adapted by necessity en masse in the post COVID era rather than in the slow migration of the Digital Decade of 2010-2019.

Black Friday may well be measured by sites clicked on to and Amazon orders placed and the always increasing number of FedEx and UPS trucks navigating the narrow streets of the East Fens.

COVID-19 transformed Black Friday.

 

 

 

 

 

HAIKU 5*7*5* Spring’s curtain is going up…

My eye focuses

Spring’s curtain is going up

Yellow crocuses

APRIL’s Greatest Hits!

1) Baseball!

2) 53 Fahrenheit at 2 P.M. 3/30/2024

3) Dietary change to spring feeding which features lots of raw spinach.

4) NBA and NHL getting interesting.

5) Rabbits in the East Fens neighborhood of Boston.

6) “April showers bring May flowers…” Well… we have definitely gotten the showers.

7) Women wearing shorts and mini skirts.

8) Mallard ducks bobbing about in the Muddy River.

9) Kayakers bobbing about in the Charles River.

10) Touching the window of one’s home doesn’t cause a chilly finger.

PASSING: Bud Harrelson, January 11, 2024

Derrel McKinley “Bud” Harrelson passed on January 11, 2024 in his home in East Northport, N.Y. of Alzheimer’s disease. Harrelson was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s in 2016 and went public with his malady in 2018.

At the time of his passing Harrelson was a partner in the Long Island Ducks North Atlantic Independent League, Islip, Long Island based team team he helped to found in 2000. The link below tells the story:

https://youtu.be/RgyBDfVRask

One of my earliest trivia questions for my confounded schoolmates was:

Q: What is Bud Harrelson’s real name?

A: Derrel McKinley Harrelson!

No, Bud Harrelson was not related to Ken “Hawk” Harrelson.

Bud Harrelson was signed by the Mets as a free agent in 1963, before the free agent amateur draft which began in 1965, after a year at San Francisco State.

Bud’s professional career began in 1963 with the Salinas Mets in California League A ball.  Bud was called up to The Show in September 1965 where he caddied for Roy McMillan.

That very same year Bud began his 5 year hitch in the National Guard for 1 weekend a month which partially accounts for Bud’s relatively low number of games played.

Fielding statistics give Bud short shrift. During his Gold Glove campaign of 1971 his % of chances to league average was a pretty good but not great. However it must be factored in that during his career Harrelson played behind Tom Seaver, Nolan Ryan, Jon Matlack, Jerry Koosman and Tug McGraw all of whom were fastball/K/fly out pitchers.

https://www.baseball-reference.com

Harrelson had a cannon for an arm and could hurl overhand from deep in the hole, whip sidearm from a set position and “shovel,” as Mets broadcaster Lindsey Nelson would put it to the 2nd. bagger for a 6-4-3 twin killing.

Harrelson had offensive value. After the success of Maury Wills, who finally made it to the Dodgers after 1100 minor league games by embracing switch hitting, speedy infielders such as Harrelson and his contemporary Don Kessinger were made into switch hitters during their minor league apprenticeships. Bud drew a good number of walks long before OBA became obsessional.

I recall a neighbor chortling with delight when Bud, hitting lefty, beat out a push bunt.

The 1973 Mets vs. Reds NLCS saw Harrelson gain national attention when the 160 lb. Harrelson clashed with the 200 lb. Pete Rose. The fracas had been precipitated by some verbal jousting following the Mets Game 2 9-2 victory lead by Jon Matlack’s 9 K complete game and Rusty Staub’s 2 HRs.

My brother and I were watching the game on a 12″ black and white TV perched precariously on the counter of Mr. Washington’s Sherwin Williams Main St, Port Washington paint store on a sunny afternoon…back when an NLCS game was still played in the afternoon!

On a double play ball Harrelson and Rose collided and Harrelson and Rose began throwing punches.

To my surprise and delight Harrelson did not back down and the Shea crowd cheered Bud even as the imbroglio was broken up by umpires.

Interestingly enough, neither player was ejected. This is hard to imagine happening in today’s MLB!

https://youtu.be/K8xKLbn04h)s?si=FbSHUy98PFLGb3Ar

What did happen was that Reds skipper Sparky Anderson pulled his team from the field for 20 minutes.

Meanwhile, the Shea loyalists began shouting that Rose was ingesting fecal material and did not cease until manager Yogi Berra, Cleon Jones, Rusty Staub, Tom Seaver and Willie Mays calmed the crowd.

The ‘Ya Gotta Believe’ Mets shocked the Reds and wound up pushing the mighty 1973 A’s to 7 games before going down swinging…just like Bud!

From 1965 until 1975 the Mets were New York’s team, especially on the North Shore of Long Island where a train from my home burg of Port Washington could travel to Shea Stadium in 22 minutes.

As the 70’s stumbled on my interest in baseball cards, street baseball and live games was supplanted by televised games, SPORTS ILLUSTRATED and Steely Dan’s PRETZEL LOGIC. Embarrassment too played a role as I recall an LRY girl telling me that baseball was “so 6th. grade” so I kept my fandom to myself even while rooting for Bud Harrelson and the diminishing number of players who had played for the Miracle Mets and the Ya Gotta Believe Mets.

By 1977 the residue of the Miracle Mets and Ya Gotta Believe had been washed away by the dispatching of Dave Kingman, the auctioning off of Tom Seaver, the passing of Mets’ matriarch and majority owner Joan Payson and the resurgent Yankees who had returned to the Bronx and the 1976 World Series.

From 1977 on the Mets would remain mired in the sub .500 mire of the old N.L. East; absorbing countless pummelings from the Pirates and Phillies until re-emerging as contenders in 1984 under the ownership of Nelson Doubleday.

Fans were few and hostile.

A brief digression…

Anyone who thinks that Joe Torre is a great manager should look at the winning %s of the Mets during his reign. And while this is not entirely Torre’s fault, the dis-invested ownership of Linda DeRoulet, Joan Payson’s sister, surely played a major role, Torre’s management of the careers of Dave Kingman, Joel Youngblood and especially Lee Mazzilli says nothing good about Torre’s talent judgement.

In 1977 my brother and I jumped into a packed Port Washington LIRR car for Tom Seaver’s return to Shea as a Red. It was not lost on me that Harrelson had been Tom Seaver’s roommate and that Bud and Pete Rose had been combatants.

When Seaver took the mound an ovation erupted such as nothing I have heard before or since. Seaver stepped off the mound and tipped his cap, which only lengthened the ovation.

Jerry Koosman toed the slab for the Mets. Harrelson, Ed Kranepool and Jerry Grote were penciled into the lineup by Brooklynite Joe Torre.

Of course Harrelson got a hit, of course Ed Kranepool launched a sacrifice fly that proved to be the only run tallied by the Amazins’ and of course Jerry Koosman took the loss.

…but you already knew that…

During spring training in 1978 Harrelson was dispatched to the Phillies for “prospect” Fred Andrews. Harrelson spent 1978 and 1979 with the Phillies spelling the defensively challenged Dave Cash.

In 1980 the Phillies released Harrelson making him a free agent who wound up playing out the string with the Texas Rangers.

As a Ranger Harrelson returned to short where he platooned with the immortal Pepe Frias and played alongside fellow Flushing refugees Rust Staub and Jon Matlack before retiring…but not before hitting his 7th. HR in 5515 PAs!

Harrelson was far from done with baseball and re-emerged as the Mets 1st. base coach and occasional TV commentator for WWOR 9.

In 1984 Bud piloted the short season, 75 games, Little Falls Mets, to 1st. place with a squad featuring future Mets Kevin Elster, Shawn Abner and David West, to a 44-31 record and being named New York-Penn League Manager of the Year.

Harrelson at this point was still on my radar screen as Bud morphed into a company man for the Flushing fiefdom.

1985 found Harrelson at the helm of the of the South Atlantic A ball Columbia Mets which featured future phenom Gregg Jefferies while earning a 79-57 record. During the season Bud bounced to Flushing where he replaced Bobby Valentine who moved to Texas on Davey Johnson’s coaching staff.

1986 saw Harrelson as the 3rd. base coach chasing Ray Knight to home plate in Shea Stadium in the epochal Game 6 of the 1986 World Series.

…Please go to the home page for this blog enter ‘A Night to Remember’ in the Search function for my account of Game 6 while managing Our House in Allston, MA…

Q: Who is the only Met to be in uniform for both the 1969 and 1986 World Series champions?

A: Bud Harrelson!

Sure it is a bit of a trick question but I was still in my 20s!

In 1990 Harrelson replaced Davey Johnson who had gone 20-22 42 games into that season and got the Mets to 91 wins, their 7th. consecutive winning season, although not enough to catch the pre-wild card Bonds, Bonilla, Drabek Buccos of the Jim Leyland era.

1991 saw a near total collapse as Darryl Strawberry went to the Dodgers while Frank Viola and Dwight Gooden failed to repeat their respective 20 and 19 win seasons of 1990 respectively.

As loyal readers of the NEW YORK POST knew there was a significant public dust-up with David Cone that accompanied this plunge. With 2 weeks left in the season and a 74-80 record Harrelson was relieved of his duties and replaced by Mike Cubbage.

At that point Harrelson fell from my radar screen although he was a partner in the Wilmington Blue Rocks, an affiliate of the Kansas City Royals.

Harrelson began blipping again when USA TODAY announced that the Atlantic League of Professional Baseball had placed a team in Islip, Long Island on the footprint of the old Islip Speedway whose Figure 8 track Demolition Derby was featured frequently ABC’s Wide World of Sports. to be called the Long Island Ducks; not to be confused with the Long Island Ducks of the American Hockey league who played for many years in Commack at the Island Arena. Harrelson was the manager as well as an owner for the Ducks maiden voyage.

Harrelson was a Vice President, owner as well as the manager in the Ducks’ 2000 inaugural season and remained as a coach until his 2016 diagnosis of Alzheimer’s Disease. Harrelson retired from baseball in 2018.

Many times Harrelson referred to the founding of the Long Island Ducks as his proudest accomplishment. During his time with the Ducks Harrelson resided in East Northport in Long Island’s Suffolk County where he was well know for being neighborly and his many charitable doings.

Bud Harrelson’s passing effected me far more severely than the passing of Tom Seaver via dementia although both passings were sadly foreseeable.

Bud Harrelson’s saga almost perfectly matched mine…

Baseball cards…getting to The Show…the Miracle Mets…the Ya Gotta Believe Mets…baseball is so 6th. grade…the decline of the Mets franchise from ’77 through ’83…the triumph of Harrelson chasing Ray Knight home with the winning run in game 6 of the 1986 World Series…the maddening ’90’s…minor league management…founding and owning the Long Island Ducks…and passing from Alzheimer’s.

…Bud Harrelson will missed by this narrator for as long as I have left to go...

Woo!

BASEBALL: Los Wepas(Woo Sox) vs. Scranton Railriders, 8/18/2023