The Custom Tower

When I was a child in the early 1940’s I lived on West Fifth St. a far distance from Boston Harbor. In those days we had only one tall building in Boston and that was the Custom House. From my bedroom on the third floor I had a clear view of the top of the tower. At night I would look out of my window and see the sweeping light it emitted presumably to prevent aircraft from hitting it as they approached the Municipal Airport in East Boston. I got so used to seeing the light before going to sleep that I kind of needed it to help me nod off. Funny that after all these years I can still picture that scene.

Years later when I worked at the JFK building in Boston I had heard that you could get to the top of the tower. You took an elevator to nearly the top then squeezed yourself in a much smaller elevator (that could fit no more than two people) for the remainder of the trip. The view from the top was spectacular. You could see Logan and all kinds of aircraft taking off and landing. You had all of Boston Harbor at your disposal. I was late getting back to work that day because I just couldn’t leave the tower. I am glad I made the effort because soon thereafter they declared the smaller elevator too dangerous. For all I know I may have been the last person to use it.

The Custom Tower has a special place in my memory bank. Every time I pass it I think back to a much simpler time of my youth.

PEARL HARBOR

Seventy three years ago on Dec7, 1941 the Japanese attacked the military naval and airfield bases in Pearl Harbor in what was then an American Territory. I was 6 at the time and didn’t quite realize the significance of the event. What I did notice was the anguish looks of my father and mother and my uncle and aunt when we heard of it on the radio newscast. It was obvious something horrible had occurred. Where was Pearl Harbor? Why did they attack us? These were questions that first ran in my young mind. Then we learned that Germany declared war on us as well.

On West Fifth St. where I lived the reaction among the teenagers on the street was quite different. They all were excited by the news…all anxious to join in the fight. “We’ll beat those Japs…They’ll be sorry they attacked us” was the refrain heard along the street.

I was confused. Should I be anxious like my elders or excited like my older friends. Many of course joined up as soon as they were eligible. Some earlier if they got permission from their parents. Soon after, in the windows were hung banners with blue stars indicating the number of children engaged in the conflict. I did my part by learning the silhouette of all Japanese and German planes. It would be my duty to report to the authorities if I spotted any flying overhead.

I purchased 25 cent “War Stamps” which were converted to “War Bonds” when my book was full. I joined with others and we collected pots and pans..all for the war effort. We cheered at the Saturday movie news at the Strand and Broadway Theaters when the announcer showed the progress being made against the Japs and Germans. Our games involved shooting down enemy planes and enemy soldiers. As youngsters we were doing our best to support our military.

The excitement waned quickly when many of the blue stars were changed to gold. The war took its toll on our street. The faces of my friends are no longer visible in my memory. I know they died in a just cause but I really wonder if wars are the solution .Today our closest ally in Europe is Germany and we certainly have a close relationship with Japan. I don’t have the answer …maybe someone out there does.

HAWKERS AND SHILLS

I never took a class in Psychology in High School or College, and yet I learned a very important psychological lesson early in life. The odd thing is that I learned it first at the Old Howard Burlesque Theater in Scollay Square. Between the strippers and the comedy acts a Hawker would appear on stage and announce that vendors would be passing among us in the aisles selling boxes of salt water taffy candies. “In each in every box was a guaranteed prize. Please stand up and reveal your prize when you open your box…. you sir in the balcony.” Someone would stand and reveal a beautiful gold watch. You in the back, what did you find….a beautiful gold ring, you on the left…a beautiful gold bracelet etc.

The boxes of candy sold out immediately. Of course when everyone opened their box.. there was a prize… a cheap plastic toy with a made in Japan label. By time everyone realized they had been taken the lights had been dimmed for the next act and the Hawker and his Shills were long gone.

That psychological technique for selling products is in use every day on television. Hawker: “Caller… you bought our product.” Caller: “Yes for myself, my daughter, my sister and my aunts.” Hawker:” Today’s Special Value, Hot Pick, Never again at this price is selling out. Only 200 left..don’t be left out.” I know the callers are not Shills but in a way they are.

I bring this up today because this is “Black Friday” ..the day when frenzied shopping occurs. There are some real savings to be had but then again there are some that are not. The Psychology for selling and shilling are very much in practice today as when I first learned it 60 years ago. I leave you with this final thought “Buyer Beware”

Mother Teresa

Earlier this year the Vatican sainted two popes, Pope John Paul II and John XXIII. In the case of Pope John II the normal process of canonization was shortened to hasten his Sainthood. No one question that both Popes were deserving of the honor…. but what of Mother Teresa. Pope John II recognized her charitable works and started the process to Sainthood in 2003. Now in 2014 she is in some sort of limbo, somewhat close but not close enough according to Catholic rules and regulations.

She established The Missionaries of Charity, providing help to the poor, the sick, and the homeless around the world. Mother Teresa won the Nobel prize in 1979 for her work with the poor. In addition she won the 1971 Pope John XXIII Peace Prize and the 1971 Nehru Prize. Pope John Paul II was an avid supporter of her work.

In Calcutta marking Mother Teresa's birth anniversary, Hindu, Sikh and Muslim admirers joined in common prayers for her speedy canonization. How many today could make that claim? Social media has been known to make changes where change is overdue. I suggest we here on Facebook start that process.

Please click “Like” and share this post. Perhaps this will be the catalyst that hastens a long overdue Honor for a real Saint.

JOE AND NEMO

Next To the “Old Howard “burlesque theater in Scollay Square was a restaurant known as Joe and Nemo. It was famous for its hot dogs. This was the original location. It would later branch out to other locations when it was torn down during the 1960’s Urban Removal frenzied period. It was then that all of the remaining establishments in the Square were torn down to make room for the new City Hall and the vast wasteland in front of it.

It was here where I ordered and got my first alcoholic drink. I felt so grown up. I was still in my teen years and wondered if I would be carded and refused. No worry—they were willing to serve anyone whose chin could reach the bar.

The square had become seedy and run down by the 1960’s. However it was teeming with life and vitality. You could always tell when the fleet was in. The sailors dominated the landscape. Many a sailor left with a tattoo as a remembrance of Boston.

City Hall won all kinds of architectural awards, but I have never been in a more cold and concrete walled fortress. Even the late mayor Tom Menino wanted to tear it down and move to the waterfront.  He had the right idea.

SCOLLAY SQUARE

The area we now know as Government Center was originally Scollay Square. In its heyday it was bustling with hotels, restaurants, tattoo parlors, small commercial establishments and two burlesque theaters—the Casino and the Old Howard. The acts at the theaters were primarily vaudeville in nature. The strippers would “bump and grind” their bodies across the stage and the comedians would cause great laughter with their double entendre jokes. If you saw “The Nance” with Nathan Lane recently on TV you will know what I mean.

As a rite of passage a young teenager had to visit the theaters before he could call himself a man, so I did. Honestly, by today standards the stripers were tame in comparison with what you can see on cable TV these days. The comedians were a riot and many of them made successful careers in the early days of live television--- Jackie Gleason, Fred Allen, Milton Berle, Jimmy Durante, to name a few. The strippers became famous in their own right---Ann Corio, Sally Rand, Gypsy Rose Lee, come to mind. My favorite of all was a performer who called herself Rose La Rose. She wasn’t a bump and grind stripper but rather had an act that could raise the emotions of a young teenager—if you know what I mean—enough said.

Unfortunately there was an organization in Boston called the “Watch and Ward Society” that was hell bent in closing down the theaters. “They corrupted the minds of our youth” they explained. J.F.K was a frequent visitor and he turned out all right. They did succeed in closing down the Old Howard. The Boston Police filmed a show in 1953 and a judge was convinced enough to shut it down. It never reopened. The ironic thing about the Society it had the reverse affect that it intended. When they banned a book from sale in Boston the publishers were ecstatic, it guaranteed a complete sellout. They advertised it nationwide as a book “Banned in Boston”.

There was strong sentiment to save the Old Howard from demolition in the Urban Renewal frenzy of the 1960’s. Before it was a burlesque theater legitimate drama was featured. John Wilkes Booth, Lincoln’s assassin performed there. Someone set fire to it. While discussions were held to restore it the wrecking crew came in and leveled it to the ground. End of discussion.

Today there is a vast wasteland in front of City Hall Plaza. No one knows what to do. I have a suggestion for the City. Erect a new burlesque theater and bring back the vaudeville acts. It would be a good use of the space.

 

EPA JOURNAL 1977

A friend of mine was throwing out some boxes when he discovered an old EPA Journal from 1977 when I was acting Director of the Water Management Division at the Regional Office in Boston. The subject matter was “Would you spend more to make your drinking water safe?” A recent program on WGBH showed how we have clean water to drink today, but explained that was not the case 150 years ago. Catch the rerun. It is most interesting. This is what I had to say in 1977. Hope it is legible.

THE RIDE FROM HELL

My father never owned a car. Why would he. He could walk to any place in Southie and if he had to go farther afield there was a wonderful bus and subway system that could take him there. In the 1950’s I worked the night shift with my Father at Joe’s Spa. After closing the restaurant we would head for home. My Father was 39 years older than me. He was in his mid fifties and I was a teenager at the time. Up East Broadway we would head at a pace I couldn’t maintain. I’d fall behind then race to catch up, time and time again. When we got home at 2:00 A.M in City Point near the L St. Bathhouse he would stop and tell me to take in deep breaths of the wonderful sea air. All I wanted to do was to get into my bed. He loved to walk. No wonder he lived to be almost 103.

Sometimes we would get an offer for a ride home. If the bakery delivery guy ended his route at the Spa then he would make the offer. I should describe the van he drove. Basically it was a large high box on wheels. It had no seats except for a stool like seat for the driver. But get this, it had no doors. That way he could make his deliveries without wasting time opening and closing doors. He thought of himself as an Indianapolis race driver. The major difference was the van’s center of gravity was much higher than an Indy race car. As he drove at break neck speeds around the corners his van would barely keep all of its wheels on the ground. My father and I held on for dear life. It was a white knuckle ride from hell. He literally got us home in minutes.

I often had nightmares of being thrown from the door less van. Even today I get chills talking about it. I wish my father had refused those rides.

HOT FUDGE SUNDAE

Before I was old enough to work behind the counter at Joe’s Spa I was put to work in the back near the walk in cold storage area. My job was to make the hot fudge topping that the Spa was famous for. My uncle Jim was the expert and it was he that put in the various ingredients. My job was to stir the “pot” (really a huge pickle barrel type container). He would show up at certain intervals and add huge blocks of chocolate, sugars, vanilla and God knows what else. I would start in the early morning hours and finish sometime in mid afternoon. When the product was complete there was enough hot fudge topping to last most of the summer season.

When I graduated to behind the counter I took pride in the various sundaes I dished out to the adults and children that came into the Spa . The banana split was my specialty. A banana split down the middle placed in an elongated dish with two scoops of vanilla ice cream surrounding a scoop of strawberry in the middle. Topping it off was whipped cream , strawberry sauce, chopped nuts and a cherry on top. But back to the hot fudge topping I had labored over in the back.

It was a Sunday when a gentleman had come in and asked a special favor. His wife was quite ill and was lying in a hospital bed in the Carney Hospital just down the street. He just had come from there and his wife felt she couldn’t leave this planet without having one last hot fudge sundae from Joe’s Spa. Could I make up a special container and add an extra layer of hot fudge. Of course I would.

The banana split may have been my specialty but for at least one day it took back seat to the hot fudge sundae I had prepared.

ROSE

I marveled how good the waitresses were at Joe’s Spa where I worked to earn money for college in the 1950’s. They were an elite group that formed a close bonded relationship among themselves. One waitress in particular stands out in my mind these many years later. We knew her as “Rose”. Rose had an uncanny ability to remember orders like I had never seen before or since. On those Saturday nights when all of Southie descended on the Spa after the bars closed the waitresses had to be on their toes because of the demands for food orders.

Most of the waitresses used note pads to record the orders but not Rose. She would take orders from 2 tables with 6 seated at both without any notes whatsoever. When she approached me I knew I had to be ready with my notepad because she rattled off the orders with no hesitation. “Liverwurst with wheat bread hold the mayo, club sandwich with an extra slice of bacon, turkey on white without lettuce, ham and swiss cheese on white ,etc.”

God forbid if you got her order wrong. She was of the no nonsense class of waitresses that didn’t suffer fools. If she could remember all of her orders then she expected you to do likewise. She was my favorite waitress and has a special place in my memory bank of good people I have known.

HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY

Honesty is the Best Policy

I worked as many hours as I could at Joe’s Spa during my summers between semesters at college. I needed spending money for the winter months. Therefore it wasn’t unusual that I would work the Saturday evening shift with my Father then return on Sunday morning with my Uncle Jim. I should tell you that Saturday evening was the most hectic time at Joe’s Spa. In those days in the 1950’s the Blue laws were in effect..that meant all the bars in Southie closed at 12:00 A.M. At 12:15 A.M. anybody who was anybody ended up at the Spa for a midnight snack. It was standing room only. It was the only time the Spa opened the back part of the restaurant.

“Freddie” from the Czechoslovakian Club on Columbia Rd. was a regular Saturday night customer. After he closed his Club he would come in to the Spa and order the strangest drink. It was a strawberry frappe made with strawberry ice cream, half milk and half hot water. As much bedlam as there was, he only needed to raise his hand and I would have it on the counter for him. He was a big tipper and I learned early on you never neglect a big tipper.

When “Freddie” would show up he obviously would have had his fill of alcohol. One Saturday night he plopped down a $10 bill, drank his concoction and left without his change. I knew I would see him mid morning on Sunday so I put it aside for him until then. When he showed up Sunday much sober then when I saw him the night before, I handed him his change. His face dropped a mile. He couldn’t believe I just didn’t pocket the money. He went on and on how he appreciated my honesty. Needless to say he left me big tip.

The tips were even larger than before when I saw him on those following Saturday nights. More important than the money I had made a lifelong friend.”Freddie” taught me a lesson I have never forgotten. The adage that ‘honesty is the best policy” is true.

 

CONGRESSIONAL HEARING

CONGRESSIONAL HEARING

 I once testified before a Congressional Subcommittee Hearing. The subcommittee was headed by congressman Gerry Studds. The subject matter was the impact of the Boston Harbor wastewater outfall planned to discharge nine and one half miles into Massachusetts Bay. As EPA’S Chief Engineer on the project I was chosen to testify. Somehow the representatives on Cape Cod got it into their heads that the proposed outfall was going to shut down all of the Cape beaches. The Hearing was held at the JFK library and was packed with Cape Cod Officials. An aid to the Congressman asked if I would like to meet with the Congressman before the Hearing. Of course I would. As I shook hands it was obvious to me by his body language he was not pleased to meet me. Sure enough the questions were hostile.” Wasn’t the outfall going to disrupt the Right Whales migration and wasn’t it going to affect the beaches on the Cape” were among the many questions he asked. I stood my ground and replied that our scientists concluded there would be negligible impacts. After the hearing several members from the MWRA asked why he was so hostile. I said it was possibly to show his constituents from the Cape his concern for their issues.

When I got back to my office I looked up who else the Congressman represented in his district. Lo and behold it included the City of Quincy whose Wollastan beach would benefit from a cleaner harbor. Since the population of Quincy and its surroundings far exceeded the year round population of the Cape wouldn’t the Mayor want to know what his Congressman was up to. I thought he might. I called the consulting engineer for the City and relayed what had happened at the Hearing. Now I can’t tell you what transpired between the Mayor and the Congressman. I can tell you I never heard from the Congressman on this issue again.

THE TUTOR

THE TUTOR 

I was not prepared for college. What you say…you went to the premier high school in Boston, Boston Latin and you were not prepared. Let me qualify my statement. Had I gone to Harvard or Yale or any of the liberal arts colleges I would have been more than prepared. The curriculum at Boston Latin in the 1950’s was very liberal arts. I studied German, French, Latin, English Literature Ancient History, Current History etc. What I didn’t study was any of the sciences.

At the time of my graduation From Latin in 1952 I had to make a choice as to what college I would attend. Most of my classmates were heading to Harvard because that is where their fathers and grandfathers went after graduating. Coming from humble parents in South Boston I knew I wouldn’t fit in. Luckily at this time the country was facing a major shortage of engineers. How was I going to get in an engineering school with such a poor background in the sciences.

At this critical moment in my decision making process I became aware of a situation that was going to change my life forever. The president of M.I.T., Mr. James R. Killian, was unhappy that his graduates were super Scientists and Engineers but not grounded in the humanities…graduates that today we would  call ”geeks.”He was going to change that and what better way than to invite high school graduates like us Latin scholars that had a liberal arts background. And to make it even easier he would grant the top 15 percent of the Graduating Class at Latin special status. Since I was in that group I applied and got in.

Several of my classmates also joined me. The first two years were brutal. The freshman class had students from two of the foremost Science based High Schools in NYC…the Brooklyn Technical High School and the Bronx School of Science. Their curriculum was just the opposite of ours… four years of pure science studies. Unfortunately 50 percent of my fellow Latin classmates dropped out after the second year. How did I survive?

I was fortunate to have my cousin George, really I consider him my brother since we lived in the same household together for 30 plus years, to tutor me. He had already graduated from Tufts University with an Electrical Engineering degree. There is no question I would not have survived without that tutoring. I graduated from M.I.T. with a Bachelor of Science degree In Civil Engineering and later a Master of Science degree in Environmental Engineering from Northeastern University. None of this could have happened without my Tutor. I will forever be in debt to my brother George.

HATCH ACT

THE HATCH ACT

 

I never discuss politics with my friends. I learned a long time ago that people have entrenched feelings that are seldom changed by honest discussions. As a Federal employee I was protected from politics by the Hatch Act. Prior to its passage politicians took advantage of employers by requiring them to campaign and raise funds on their behalf. I felt safe from politicians, or so I thought.

In 1984 I was charged by the Regional Administrator (RA) of the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) to be the Chief engineer overseeing the Federal role in the cleanup of Boston Harbor. As was required I had to report on occasion on the progress toward that end. In 1988 the RA ask me for a report on the water quality of the harbor. We had barely begun the project so partially treated wastewater was still being discharged by both the Nut and Deer island plants. And on rainy days the overflow of stormwater and wastewater was entering the harbor with no treatment at all. The conditions were deplorable to say the least. So that is what I reported.

1988 happened to be a Presidential election year. Then Vice President H.W. Bush was running a tough no holds barred campaign against his political opponent Mass. Governor Michael Dukakis. I was watching the evening news one night and there was the Vice President in a boat cruising around Boston Harbor saying things that sounded quite familiar to me. “These waters are in deplorable conditions” and he quoted other parts of my report as well. At the press conference that followed he put the blame entirely at the feet of Governor Dukakis. It was totally unfair since the Governor had taken action to create a new Agency to address the problem and significant progress was being made toward the planning, design and construction of new treatment facilities. But what politician plays fair in the heat of a campaign.

Of course that wasn’t the reason Gov. Dukakis lost but it sure didn’t help. I was kind of miffed for a while but I got over it. Actually in the end it actually helped the cause in the cleanup. The President after making such a deal about the pollution of Boston Harbor felt he had to do something. He sent the Administrator of the EPA William K. Reilly to Boston in 1990 to get a first hand report on what progress was being made. The RA and I accompanied Mr. Reilly on a Coast Guard helicopter to tour the harbor from the air. Dodging both incoming and outgoing air traffic from Logan, I pointed out to Mr. Reilly the beaches impacted by the polluted waters. Among the beaches were Carson and City Point beaches where I swam in my youth. Thanks to the President and the Speaker of the House “Tip” O’Neill sufficient Federal Monies were made available to complete the project.

Today we have a state of the art treatment plant on Deer Island with an outfall discharging 9 miles into Mass. Bay. Boston Harbor today is one of the cleanest harbors in the country. I am proud to have played a part in its cleanup.

THE PROM

One of the perks in attending the Mass at the St. George Albanian Cathedral on East Broadway was attending the coffee hour after the service. It was a chance to socialize with your fellow parishioners. It was there that my cousin George and I were asked by two lovely young girls if we would escort them to their High School Prom at Somerville High. We were flattered to be asked and said yes. I should tell you that chronologically speaking my Cousin George was one year older than I. Although still a teenager he was much older in terms of knowledge in the ways of the world. He lived in the fast lane where I lived a sheltered life, a hermit like existence. He was already driving and doing things I wouldn’t do until years later. I was excited enough in just attending the prom, but that wasn’t enough for George. “We have to go some place special after the prom” So what did he choose…..the Latin Quarter in downtown Boston. The Club once owned by Lou Walters, Barbara Walters father.

Are you kidding! How could we possibly get in? The day of the prom he picked me up and we drove to the Latin Quarter to seek out a waiter that would be working that night. He slipped him $10(a lot of money in the 1950’s) and said we would be arriving later that evening. Would he be so kind as to escort us to a table close to the stage. Now most of the kids going to the prom were wearing traditional tuxedos. That wasn’t good enough for George. We had to be different. We wore light blue matching outfits. So off to the prom we went escorting our dates through the crowd that lined the entrance to the High School Gymnasium. The girls dressed in their lovely gowns and us in our blue tuxedos. It was a fantastic evening but the best was yet to come.

“We have a special treat for you girls” George announced. “It is a surprise” At the Latin Quarter he slipped the valet a couple of bucks to park his car and on cue the waiter appeared to announce “we have your table waiting for you sir” We were seated right at the elevated stage. We had dinner and sipped “ginger ale cocktails” as we saw Gypsy Rose Lee perform her famous strip tease act. We couldn’t have impressed the girls more.

It is funny I barely remember my own prom but the Somerville High School Prom is indelibly etched in my brain

WALTER, JR.

MEMORIAL DAY

As we all remember our loved ones this Memorial Day Weekend I would like to pay tribute to someone my wife and I never met. He was her Father’s brother…Walter Lundgren, Jr. An uncle that died long before my wife was born. The year was 1928. It was just after Christmas when as an eight year he wandered down to Buchanan Bridge Pond in Lynn to play with a friend. A ball they were throwing to one another rolled onto the ice. His friend pleaded with him not to retrieve the ball. Walter felt the ice was thick enough to hold his weight and it was after all only forty feet from shore. When he reached the ball he crashed through the ice. His friend cried for help. The police arrived and with a grappling hook retrieved the lifeless body. They raced him to the hospital but it was too late. Walter was no more.

This all came to light this week when my wife was curious about an Uncle she had heard about and the tragedy that ended his life. It all started when her brother sent the only known picture of Walter to her. When she saw the picture it tugged at her heartstrings and she had to know more about his drowning. This past Friday with the help of our son she spent the afternoon at the Lynn Public Library to search the Microfiche records of Dec. 1928. She visited Walter’s grave and placed a Memorial Tribute befitting a child of eight.

A life unfulfilled. The hopes and ambitions that we take for granted never to be realized. A life lost at eight…a tragedy indeed. He was buried New Year’s Eve 1929 at the beginning of a new decade…the 1930’s. We remember Walter Jr. this Memorial Weekend along with all our lost love ones. Walter may you rest in peace.

 

 

DECLAMATION

At the Bigelow School which I attended in the 1940’s we were required to address the class once a week in a period called declamation. People have reported they fear public speaking more than death itself. So you can imagine the fear as a pre teenager I had in getting up in front of my classmates and speaking. The only saving grace is that we could pick our own subject matter. Now as a young child my experience level was nonexistent so it was a struggle to think of subjects. Since my main escape from my humdrum life was the movies and Danny Kay was my Cinema idol I often used his movies as a subject for my declamation.

One movie I particularly enjoyed and so I decided to talk about it. It was the original Danny Kay movie “Secret Life of Walter Mitty”. It was recently remade with Ben Stiller. The plot was of a daydreamer whose life was also humdrum but he would have fantasies of being a hero. So why not use the same story line.

As I stood before the class my knees rattled and my voice faltered to the point my teacher would have to ask me “to speak up”. I rambled on about my fantasies as a fighter pilot and other comic heroes like Superman and Batman and cowboys shooting the bad guys, all nonsense of course. The important thing was not the content of our declamation but overcoming the fear of public speaking.

Now that I look back it may have been the most important of all the classes I took. Years later in my professional career I had to make many speeches in front of audiences that numbered in the hundreds. The lessons learned way back in my elementary classes at the Bigelow School gave me that confidence.

 

 

PAVLOV'S DOGS

In school we learned about Pavlov’s Dog experiments. Ivan Pavlov could train dogs to respond to certain stimuli. If he fed a dog soon after ringing a bell he determined that the dog would associate the bell with being fed. The recess monitors at the Bigelow School where I attended in the 1940’s used the same principle. At recess we boys could yell and scream and carry on as only young boys can, but what we could not do was run…. for some unknown reason that was forbidden in the school yard.

So with all the bedlam occurring during recess it would all come to a screeching halt with the ringing of the school monitors bell. All of us froze in our place without movement and sound. Who knew the power of a ringing bell.

The monitor would then admonish the running boys with a stern “There will be no running during recess” There was a moment of silence while we all gathered our thoughts. Then as if nothing happened, the bell would be rung again and we resumed the bedlam until we had to return to the classrooms.

Sometimes, when I hear a bell ringing now I automatically stop for a moment. I, like Pavlov’s dogs have been totally conditioned.

PARENTS

Why is it that we don’t fully appreciate our parents until they are long gone. Only now can I get the full measure of their devotion to their children. My parents, like a lot of others, migrated from a foreign land. My father left Albania at sixteen to avoid conscription in the Turkish Army. He arrived in America with very little except what he could carry with him. He loved the United States and was quick to adopt its ways. He felt patriotic so he enlisted in the Army during the First World War. Once established he returned to Albania to find himself a soul mate. My mother married my father and followed him back to America as a young bride. Imagine how scared she must have been to leave her family and homeland to travel far away not knowing if she would ever see them again.

My parents had 4 children, I being the youngest. There was 10 years between myself and my sister…. in between two twin boys. I have the deepest respect and love for my father but in my opinion it was my mother who was the heroic member of the two. Early in his life my brother Anthony developed Muscular Dystrophy. It is a terrible debilitating disease for which even today there is no known cure. Most of our child growing years were during the depression of the 1930’s. Like all families there was a struggle to keep our heads above water.

My parents brought Anthony to the Long Island Hospital for incurable diseases. Given their financial situation it would have been the prudent thing to leave him there. But once they assessed the deplorable hospital conditions, they could not bring themselves to do that…. they brought him back home. This meant my mother, in addition to attending to the needs of the family would now be on duty 24/7 tending to the needs of a child incapable of taking care of himself. Most children die young from the disease. Because of the love and attention my mother gave Anthony he lived well into his early twenties.

If it was a burden to my mother and I know it was, she never showed it. Not once did I ever hear her complain. As I said at the beginning, it is only these many years later that I fully appreciate my parent’s devotion to their children and the heroic efforts of my father and particularly of my mother.

SCHOOL BOY PARADE

When I went to Boston Latin High School in the early 1950’s I was required to take military drilling once a week. We marched in the gym if the weather was bad but otherwise in the large courtyard outside. Originally as a freshman I was given the rank of private but by the time I was a senior I became an officer. In May there was a competition among all of the classes to determine which of the officers would become majors and as a result lead a battalion. The purpose of all this drilling and competition was to ready ourselves for the Annual Schoolboy Parade.

The parade was an annual event that drew thousands of people throughout the heart of downtown Boston. The Governor, the Mayor and other city officials reviewed the troops from all the schools and would present awards to the best regiments. The event rivaled the opening day at Fenway Park, the Marathon and even the Fourth of July in terms of importance.

After the competition in May in the courtyard I found out I one of the officers who excelled and I was awarded the rank of major and would lead one of Boston Latin’s Battalions. I should tell you that I was not very tall, never exceeding 66 inches in height. So there I was in the front of the battalion followed by the flag bearers  and all of the captains in a line behind me. Now everyone else was closer to six feet tall so the shortest person (me) was out in front of the entire troop of schoolboy soldiers,… made quite a sight for sure. Our school won the event that year and I couldn’t have been prouder.

The parade continued into the 1960’s but fell out of favor when the Vietnam War turned the country against everything military.

 

EMPIRE STATE BLDG.

As children grow older they don’t want to vacation with their parents. That was our situation in April, 1986. Our oldest son was 18 and he didn’t think it cool to be with his parents no matter where we went. Our youngest son was 14 and too young to leave home, so we dragged him along against his will. We travelled to Manhatten to take in the sights.

We did all the things tourists do in the Big Apple including taking in a musical “42^nd Street.” My son couldn’t believe we made him sit through it. Although we had been to the observation deck on the 86^th floor before , no trip would be complete if we didn’t visit the Empire State Building. As we climbed upward in the elevator my wife and I noticed two men in long raincoats next to us. Since it hadn’t rained they looked out of place.

While on the observation deck we heard someone on the speakers yell “get off the fence, get off the fence” I looked toward the commotion and saw two men on the parapets outside of the steel curved fence meant to prevent anyone from climbing over them. They were the two men who had come up the elevator with us.

What was their intention? My first thought was that they had made a suicide pact and were about to jump together to their deaths. Sure enough they jumped head first off the building. My heart stopped for a second and I was reluctant to look over to see their descent. However two large “phrummps” made me look. Two parachutes on opening caused the noise. Two daredevils were now floating toward Fifth Ave.

We learned later one was arrested and the other grabbed a cab and got away. We have been to New York City many times before and after but that was our most memorable trip.

BIBBI LUSHI THE CAT

When I was a young boy living on West Fifth St. our family had a cat that had unusual markings around his face, His fur there was all white as compared to the rest of his body which was black. It looked like a beard and reminded my mother of a person she knew in Albania named Bibbi Lushi. So that is the name she gave the cat. Now Bibbi Lushi fancied himself as the Van Cliburn of the family and would love to play the piano. He would jump up on the seat, then the piano and walk the length of the keyboard  back and forth for ten minutes or so until he was satisfied that the family was fully entertained.

Of course we were quite amused that the cat had this unique talent. We always closed the lid on the keyboard before retiring for the night… that is most of the time. When we didn’t we would be entertained as early as at 3:00 o’clock in the morning. Bibbi  Lushi had to get his practice in before the main performance during the day.

The sound of the piano from low octaves to high and back still resonant in my mind. Bibbi Lushi has a special place in my memory bank.

RED SOX

RED SOX

I love sports. In fact some have called me a sport nut. In my bachelor days I had season tickets to the Boston Patriots (that is what they called themselves before they moved to Foxboro), and for the Boston Bruins. I also got free tickets to the Boston Celtics. Why you may ask, because my friend’s father was an Executive with the B & M Railroad whose offices were conveniently located next to the Celtics Headquarters at 150 Causeway St.

During the summer when I was real young I attended both the Boston Braves and Boston Red sox baseball games. I attended more Braves games because tickets were easier to get. When the Yankees came to town I went hours early to get tickets to Fenway Park. I thrilled at seeing the 2 best players in baseball. Imagine Ted Williams and Joe DiMaggio being in the same ballpark at the same time..unbelievable.

Eventually my allegiance shifted from the Braves to the Boston Red Sox. Let me explain why. My downstairs neighbor Frank Odenweller was a dyed in the wool true Red Sox fan. Unfortunately he had a plumbing business to run so he couldn’t attend as many games as he liked.

When Night baseball was introduced to Fenway Park in 1947, this all changed. His daughter Gerry would get him season tickets for all the night games as a gift every Christmas. Only she didn’t buy one ticket she bought two. Her reasoning being that he could invite a customer along as a perk to his business.

Many times either a customer would beg out or he couldn’t get anyone to go with him. The call came at the last minute. “Interested in a game tonight” Are you kidding, “Of course I am.” Here is the best part. Gerry insisted on driving her father right to the gate and then meeting him after the game at the Howard Johnson hotel on Boylston St. Naturally I was included in the transportation.

What a lineup. Johnny Pesky at short ,Dom DiMaggio in center ,Bobby Doerr at second ,Rudy York at first and the great Ted Williams in left. I was hooked a Red Sox fan for life.

 

ST. BERNARD

When I was a young teenager we got a new neighbor that moved in next door with a large St. Bernard dog. For some unknown reason the dog took a liking to me. We had adjoining yards and when I was in mine the St. Bernard would join me. If I was standing he would rush to me and stand on his two back feet, put his front paws on my chest and slobber all over me. Now I should tell you I was not very tall nor weighed very much in those early years. In fact I am sure the St. Bernard weighed as much as me and was just as tall.

 

 

This happened without fail whenever I ventured out back to my yard. It was amusing and I kind of enjoyed having so much affection showered on me even if it was only an animal. Despite his size he was a very gentle animal that you could trust with your youngest child. I can understand in some societies that St. Bernard’ are used as rescue dogs. Their disposition lends itself for that kind of work

 

One day I was heading to a wedding and got dressed in my best go to church Sunday suit. My brother was waiting for me in his car at the curb. I descended the stairs when I heard the very loud clopping of feet. I looked over and you guessed it my friend the St Bernard had spotted me. It was about 30 feet to the car. Could I make it? I ran as fast as I could but to no avail. Up on his back feet he went and then two muddy paws on my recently dry cleaned suit.

I am sure there is a lesson to be learned here but I don’t know what it is. Despite that incident I really truly loved that dog.

BLINSTRUBS REVISITED

BLINSTRUBS

 In the 1950‘s Blinstrubs was the premier nightclub In Boston and it was located on West Broadway at D street right in South Boston. It was in its heyday one of the largest clubs in America.

 

The Blinstrub brothers never purchased fire insurance for their Nightclub. Instead they hired a night watchman to watch over the premises. Unfortunately the night of the fire in 1968 the watchman was sound asleep. When he awoke the club was too far gone to prevent its complete destruction. By this time more entertainment clubs in Boston had opened and Blinstrubs popularity was waning. They never rebuilt the Nightclub. Many celebrity entertainers performed at Blinstrubs but the one that Stanley loved the most was Patti Page. How do I know? Read on.

 

After Blinstrubs burned, Stanley Blinstrub opened a small cafeteria style restaurant near the site of his old Nightclub. Several doors away  was the Odenweller Plumbing and Supply business. Frank Odenweller was my downstairs neighbor. Although there was a big age difference between us, we became very close. When Frank was at his West Broadway business during lunch he would eat at the cafeteria. He and Stanley became very good friends.

 

 

 

Several times I met Frank and that is where we went for lunch. Stanley would join us and I got a great deal of enjoyment listening to him reminisce about the Acts the Nightclub booked over the years. It was Frank that got my brother his bartender job at Blinstrubs. When I would sneak in my brother had the waitresses seat me in the "Inner Circle" where I saw the acts close up. It was my brother who told me how Stanley gushed in the presence of Patti Page.

WEST FIFTH ST. REVISITED

It is funny as you get older you have trouble remembering what happened yesterday but events that occurred 75 years ago during your youth remain vivid in your mind. I grew up in a wonderful neighborhood on West Fifth St. near the corner of Dorchester St. I remember distinctly the sound of the old electric trolleys (the ones with center doors) clanging their way toward Andrew Station or the other way to City Point.

Often the sounds of the Rag man on his horse drawn wagon yelling…”Rags ,rags… bring me you rags.”His horse was so old I often wondered how he had the strength to pull his load up our street. The affection the horse had for his owner and the owner for his horse was a sight to be seen.

The Ice man who drove his truck looking for signs in the window for people needing ice for their “ice boxes”. Not many of our neighbors could afford that new fangled appliance known as a refrigerator. It was not uncommon for the ice man to chop out 50 pounds from his ice block, heft in on his shoulders over a rubberized apron then walk up three flights to deliver his goods. While he was gone we kids would eat the shavings off the back of his truck. How sanitary was that.

The knife and scissor truck that offered to put a sharp edge on your tableware. I still see the sparks flying off the back of his truck while the women on the street got a chance to get caught up in each others’ lives.

The truck I remember most was the one that brought freshly cooked crabs to the street .I think they cost a nickel. I remember devouring them on the last step of our stairs. My mouth is watering thinking of them now.

What I would give to hear those sounds today.

 

BABE RUTH RETOLD 5

Babe Ruth started his baseball career in Boston with the Boston Red Sox and ended his career in Boston with the Boston Braves. His life has been chronicled in hundreds of books and articles. His glory years were with the NY Yankees where old Yankee Stadium was known as the “House that Ruth Built.” His life was filled with wild parties and debauchery and didn’t settle down until his girlfriend and later wife Claire Hodgson took control. He became a family man in 1929 with his new wife and 2 daughters. Dorothy was a biological child and Julia an adopted daughter that was Claire’s child.

Claire was partial to her own daughter and treated her with better clothing and schooling. Lou Gherig’s mother noticed the difference and commented to people about it. It caused a rift between the two players that lasted until Gherig retired after contracting ALS disease. Ruth died from throat cancer in 1948 at the age of 53 just 13 years from leaving baseball. His second wife Claire died in 1976 defending Ruth against slandering references to his life until her death.

 Dorothy married twice and had several children. She died in 1989 at 67. Julia is still alive approaching the age of 100. She is a Red Sox fan and spends half the year in Sun City, Arizona and the other in North Conway, NH.

That is Dorothy on the left and julia on the right.