Christmas rapping

A mother of two young children rolled her eyes recently when I asked if she was almost ready for Christmas.  She seemed stressed at the thought of what still needed to be done to make the holiday special for her family.  I said to her that these Christmases with her starry-eyed children should be the best of her life, and that one day she would actually miss all the craziness leading up to the holiday.

The young mother smiled, possibly thinking about her beautiful children's happy faces on Christmas morning, perhaps also about her own childhood and mom, and didn't seem stressed any longer.  It's interesting how the cycle of life plays out in front of our open eyes, open minds, and open hearts at Christmastime.

***

It must have been hard for my mom to get the gifts that my brother and I wanted most when we were growing up in New York City. But she somehow always managed to do so, sometimes traveling a good distance around town get a particular toy that was on sale or hard to find.  Come Christmas morning, those gifts awaited my brother and me under the silver artificial Christmas tree that lit up the living room of our apartment every December.

Gracias, madre.

* * *

Christmastime is one of the things I miss most about working in New York.  It truly is the most wonderful time of the year around midtown Manhattan.  While some people complained about the crowds, I found it fascinating to see people from all around the world enjoying the sights and patronizing the stores of the city in December.  I remember lots of smiles on happy faces and gloved hands holding many shopping bags on and around Fifth Avenue.

For a few years, I was lucky to be able to see part of the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree from my office window.  I constantly looked over at it, I guess just to make sure it was indeed the famous tree.  A couple of times the company I worked for held a party on the night of the tree lighting ceremony, and we would go to the roof of our building and look down at the huge crowd just as the lights went on.  I never took the tree for granted, and knew that one day I would miss having it such a part of my life.  Indeed, I do.

* * *

During the holiday season, I enjoy indulging in a glass or two, perhaps three, of egg nog.  Since I lived in the Trenton area for 18 years, however, I now hesitate to settle for anything less than the Halo Farm brand of egg nog.  To my tastebuds, it really is a cut above the others, tasting like the world's greatest milk shake.  Spice it up with a little rum and I'm ready to drive around with Santa Claus and help him deliver toys to homes with chimneys.   

Now that I don't work in New York and frequent its Latin cafes, the holidays are usually also the only time I indulge in stewed salted cod, a.k.a. "bacalao."  A sure sign of the season in our home is when the dead fish sits in a bowl filled with water on our kitchen counter for days leading up to Christmas.  When it's sufficiently softened and desalinated, my wife will season it with onions, peppers and garlic, and cook it in a light tomato sauce with potatoes, celery and Spanish olives.  It goes great on a plate with white rice and black beans, or alone in a soup bowl!  

* * *

One of my favorite Christmas pop songs is "Christmas Wrapping" by the Waitresses.  It was recorded in 1981, when my wife and I celebrated our first Christmas together while living in an apartment in Clifton, NJ.  I often think of those days when hearing that song -- although I try to forget my frustration with trying to put up a real Christmas tree for the last time in my life.  

Many people may not recall the Waitresses had another popular song, "I Know What Boys Like," that did not at all evoke the holidays or the spirit of giving, for that matter.

* * *

I'll always remember when we drove through the streets of Philadelphia to take the interim pastor of our Lawrence, NJ church to his home when he missed the last train from Trenton after preaching on Christmas Eve.

My wife and I and our two sons, who were 15 and 11 years old at the time, were exhausted after hosting almost two dozen family members at our Robbinsville home for Christmas Eve dinner, cleaning up while saying our good-byes, and then dashing off to church.  We couldn't, however, just leave our pastor to sit at the train station for hours or pay a king's ransom for a taxi ride home.  So, without thinking twice, we extended our night a few more hours and took him home to his family in our minivan.

We were quite tired that Christmas morning after just a handful of hours of sleep.  But, at the same time, we were energized by helping someone who traveled a long distance to remind a group of Christians about the true meaning of Christmas.

Normalizing Cuba-US relations

The following was written in response to inquiries from family and friends immediately after it was announced that the US and Cuban governments were taking steps to normalize relations. 

Thanks for thinking of me and caring about Cuba and Cuban-Americans. I have positive, albeit mixed, feelings about today's announcement.

The Castros have a lot of blood and theft on their hands. Their oppression of countrymen during the past 55 years is unforgivable. Ultimately, however, it is the Cuban people who will benefit from normalization of relations with the U.S. -- as will the American people.

As long as today's announcement will not exonerate the Castros -- history should place them along Stalin, Hitler and other tyrants -- I agree the time has come for a change. While I sympathize with Cuban-Americans who lost loved ones to firing squads, or knew of people who rotted in jails for daring to speak out for values that Americans take for granted, or had what was rightfully theirs confiscated by a one-party government, I laud President Obama for making the courageous decision to put the welfare of everyday Cubans above politics.

It is these everyday Cubans, most of whom have never lived under a leader not named Castro, that we should think of and hope for today.

Again, thanks for caring.

Bootlegger Bob

Back in 1967, while recording new music that would eventually be referred to as The Basement Tapes, Bob Dylan sang, "too much of nothing can make a man feel ill at ease." With the release this month of The Bootleg Series Vol. 11, The Basement Tapes Raw, some Dylan fans are wondering if those lyrics apply to old recordings of his that remain in the vaults of Columbia Records.

To be sure, much of The Bootleg Series deserved to be dusted off and released to the public.  The first three volumes, packaged as a triple CD set in 1991, contain numerous gems that somehow didn't make it onto albums during the previous 30 years. Seven years later, Volume 4 treated Dylan fans to the famous 1966 Royal Albert Hall concert in which Dylan plugged in his guitar, turned up the volume, and heard someone in the audience call him "Judas."

Another fine set of live recordings of Dylan with the Rolling Thunder Revue from late 1975 were released in 2002 in Vol. 5.  Since then, however, the vaults have yielded some material that has hardly been worthy of release.

Last year, Dylan fans had the opportunity to hear Another Self Portrait, released in Vol. 10.  It contains alternate versions of songs from what many fans regard as his weakest album, Self Portrait, and other unreleased recordings from that period between 1969-71.  In 2010, The Witmark Demos, containing recordings Dylan made for his music publisher between 1962-64, was released in Vol. 9.  

Both of these CD sets left few fans wondering why they weren't issued years earlier.  The same could be said about Vol. 11, with its alternate and restored versions and unreleased songs from a famous bootleg album that was officially released by Columbia Records in 1975. 

The irony is that, as the quality of The Bootleg Series has deteriorated, some of Dylan's finest new recordings have been released in recent years.  Between Time Out of Mind in 1997 and Tempest in 2012, Dylan has put out new music that many fans believe has surpassed the quality of any five-album series in his career.  The other CDs during this renaissance in Dylan's career include Love and Theft (2001), Modern Times (2006) and Together Through Life (2009).  (Yes, there is also a bootleg release, Vol. 8, Tell Tale Signs, with many recordings from this period.)

The Bootleg Series Vol. 11 did contain some good news for Dylan fans: a small advertisement that a new album, Shadows in the Night, is coming in 2015. 

Charley looks forward to hearing many of Dylan's most recent songs in concert in later this month. 

A special cup

Up before 5 o'clock for a day of work on the road, I started the two-part process of awakening my senses by stepping into the hotel room shower. That was easy.

The second part was more difficult.  Normally, I make a strong, tasty cafe con leche at home to complete the waking up process. That proved difficult in this hotel, however, with its pedestrian pouch coffee, artificial dairy powder, and small packets of sugar awaiting me. But, I gave it my best shot by squeezing a pair of pouches into the little coffee maker basket and, when the cup below was filled, pouring two packets each of dairy powder and sugar into the brew.

It almost tasted like drinkable coffee. And, it almost succeeded in fully awakening me.

Shortly before 6 a.m., on my way out of the hotel, I stopped by the front desk with a question about my bill.  The young gentleman at this Courtyard by Marriott in Oneonta, NY was particularly helpful. He quickly answered my question, apologizing for a charge on what should have been a complimentary breakfast the previous morning. He asked if everything else about my stay at the hotel was fine.

"Everything was fine," I assured him. "I just regret that I needed to leave early today, before your cafe opened and I could get a Starbucks latte."

Without hesitation, he asked, "You want a latte?  I can make that for you."

"You can make me a latte?" I responded, just to make sure I heard him correctly. After all, he was the front desk man, possibly the only employee inside the hotel at that moment. The cafe wouldn't open for another 45 minutes, and there was no sign of its employees across the lobby.

"Sure, I can make you a latte," he assured me.  "Do you want a flavor in it? What size would you like?"

I responded, then, a few moments later, while standing by as he made the complimentary latte that I sensed would be one of the best cups of coffee I've had in a long, long time, I said:

"I can't thank you enough for going through the trouble of making this coffee for me. You're making me feel like a king. You've done your good deed for the day. Now, I've got to make sure I do mine."

During a couple of training sessions I was leading later in the morning, I told participants of my experience at the hotel. I cited it as a great example of outstanding customer service, of going beyond the duties in a job description to make a positive difference for a customer.

I certainly look forward to returning to that Courtyard by Marriott later this autumn.  I plan to enjoy a Starbucks latte -- after the cafe opens -- and thank that young gentleman behind the desk again for going out of his way to make a special cup that helped make my long day that much better.

Ultras, metropolitan New York style

In cities across Europe and South America, they're sometimes trouble -- occasionally terrorizing players and administrators and keeping police on edge.  In the U.S., however, players warmly acknowledge them from the field, officials embrace their support and security personnel largely ignore their presence.

I'm referring to groups of hardcore fans, those loyal bands of supporters also known as "ultras."

New York City/New Jersey-area sports fans first took notice of them in 1996, when the Empire Supporters Club began sitting behind a goal during MetroStars soccer matches at Giants Stadium. Actually, "sitting" isn't accurate. These fans of the new Major League Soccer team rarely sat during matches. They typically stood most of the time, singing and chanting their support for the home team as many supporters of overseas soccer clubs have done over the years.

When the MetroStars were purchased and rebranded by the Red Bull energy drink company 10 years later and moved to Harrison in 2010, the ultras followed them. Team management essentially made three sections in the "south ward" behind a goal available for members of the Empire Supporters Club and other fan groups each match, negotiating an understanding to tone down some of their salty language. During the first match at the new stadium in 2010, however, a new chant from the ultras was heard: "You can't say f**k in Red Bull Arena!"

After the Mets moved from Shea Stadium to Citi Field in 2009, a group of fans dressed in identical t-shirts began making their presence known in seats behind center field a few times a year.  Known as the The 7 Line Army after the subway line that stops by the ballpark, these fans would loudly root-root-root for the home team all game long. Eventually, they would make a few trips to road games each season while increasing the number of games in which they would assemble next to the big apple at Citi Field.

Today, tickets for the three sections occupied by The 7 Line Army each month sell out quickly. At the season finale last month, over 400 of the faithful took only about an hour to devour a whole 70-pound pig that was roasted overnight in the parking lot by the elevated subway. Proving how considerate true Mets fans can be, they left the head of the pig for latecomers to gnaw at before the game. After cheering the Mets to a win, many of the The 7 Line Army met for a very happy two-hour open bar at McFadden's by the center field entrance to Citi Field.

High-definition televisions and rising ticket prices may make watching your favorite teams from the comfort of your home more attractive than ever.  Ultras, however, help make the in-stadium experience more interesting and fun for their members and everyone else around them who want to express passion for their favorite team.

Of Apple and other faves

A friend and former coworker, upon learning I acquired an iPhone 6 on the day of its release, remarked, "You were an Apple fan before Apple was cool."  She was right -- I've been an advocate of many Apple products since 1984, when I purchased an Apple 2c computer and began playing with it at home.

"What can you do with it?" another colleague asked me back then. Well, right away it proved a great writing and editing tool. Within a year, after I got a telephone modem and email address, it also proved a good way for me to connect with other techies who shared my interests in soccer and cars.

By 1989, my boss asked me to bring our department into the computer age. Happily, I obliged. To the dismay of the information technology department, which to that point had only provided work stations to secretaries (and still considered Apple computers a hobbyist toy), I specified and arranged the purchase of a network of Macintosh computers for our team. To this day, my former boss considers it my legacy.

In the early 1990s, the prospect of working with Macintosh rather than IBM computers was a factor in my decision to choose one new employer over another. When that company eventually decided to standardize on computers running Windows, I answered many of my colleagues' questions about them.  As I snidely pointed out, "Windows is just an imitation of the Macintosh operating system -- and I know how it's done on a Mac."

In early 2002, I bought an original click wheel iPod. My eldest son, a high school sophomore at the time, asked, "What can you do with it?" Within a few months,  the iPod was more often in his hands than mine -- I had to ask him for it when I went away on business trips.

Of course, not all my favorite brands and products have caught on over the years. I've been a loyal customer of Puma athletic shoes since my high school days, though they've never subsequently approached the popularity of Adidas or Nike shoes. I was a big advocate of People Express in the 1980s before financial problems led to its integration with Continental Airlines in 1987.  Dent- and rust-free plastic bodies on cars and minivans like those in a couple of Pontiacs I owned never did catch on, despite General Motors' efforts between the mid-1980s and '90s.

I think the Raveonettes are one of the best rock bands of the century, but they are so little known in this country that their U.S. "tour" this year consists of eight shows in nine nights (including two in Brooklyn next week).  I remain a loyal New York Mets fan, but it's been several years since they were considered a "cool" baseball team. And, I still can't find my favorite brand of expresso coffee, El Pico, in my local supermarket.

I can, however, quickly compose an entire blog post on my new iPhone 6. Next year, perhaps I'll know when it's time to call it a day with a simple glance at my Apple Watch.

Mom, a Bloomfield pioneer

A conversation with a friend about Milbank Park and the southern part of Bloomfield, New Jersey, recently brought back some fond memories of my mom, whose birthday it is today.

When I was in sixth grade, my mom and her new husband and three children, one of whom was just two months old, moved from our apartment in the Amsterdam Houses neighborhood of New York City to a two-family house in the southern part of Bloomfield, "the country" as I inaccurately described it to my Manhattan classmates.  Leaving our friends and familiar environment was challenging for my older brother and me, but was even more difficult for my mother.

After over a dozen years of living in in New York, where she was able to walk to Spanish grocery stores, ride a bus or subway to visit her mother who lived just a few miles uptown, go to Spanish-language theaters and interact regularly with Cubans, Puerto Ricans and other Hispanics, my mom found herself in a completely different  environment.  While her husband worked a few miles away in Newark and her two oldest children attended schools in Bloomfield, my mom stayed home during the day with her infant son, missing her mother--frequent toll calls were beyond our economic means--and many of the things she took for granted in New York.

The neighborhood in southern Bloomfield's Carteret School district was predominantly Italian-American, and there were no Spanish grocery stores or other evidence of Hispanic culture to be found within walking distance for my mother, who didn't drive at the time although she was already bilingual.

One day in 1968, anxious to step out of the house, my mother placed her youngest son in a baby carriage and walked to Milbank Park, which had a small playground.  While there, to her surprise and delight, she heard a woman speaking Spanish with two young children. My mom approached the woman, and a friendship that lasted the remaining 44 years of my mother's life was born.

It turned out my mom's new friend, Herminia, was a Venezuelan who lived with her husband and their two children across Bloomfield Avenue from Milbank Park.  Elena and Herminia would meet often at the playground, speaking their native tongue and finding comfort with a kindred spirit far away from their homes, figuratively, near their homes, literally.

A year later, our family moved to a house off of Broughton Avenue in Bloomfield. Lo and behold, a Spanish family moved in across the street shortly afterwards, and my mother had yet more Spanish-speaking friends.

By the time I was a college freshman, there were just enough Hispanics in Bloomfield for the public library to host a Latin heritage event. My mom proudly brought a pot of arroz con pollo (yellow rice and chicken, a staple in Cuba) to the affair, and enjoyed speaking Spanish to some of the dozen or so other people there.

Times have changed.  According to the 2010 census, a quarter of Bloomfield's approximately 47,000 inhabitants are Hispanic. Many of them live in the southern part of town, in the area between Grove Street and the Newark border in which Milbank Park is located. A current town councilman is named Joseph Lopez, my surname before moving to Bloomfield and taking on my stepfather's last name.

I imagine Spanish is often heard in Milbank Park these days.  As I think of my mom on her birthday, I can almost hear her there excitedly speaking her native language, a pioneer of sorts in her new Bloomfield neighborhood.

Photo by Billy Mathias, a friend who inspired this writeup.

Legacy of the Fiero

A 1985 Pontiac Fiero heard it all during the annual West End Cruise Night in Long Branch, NJ yesterday.  While proudly parked alongside classics and other eye-catching cars as bands played music from the 1950s and 1960s, the black plastic-body, five-speed mid-engine coupe overheard the following comments from passersby:

"I had an '88 six-cylinder with the Lotus suspension. Best car I ever had. Absolutely loved it. My ex-wife took it and left it running in Spanish Harlem and jumped on a subway. The NYPD called me 29 days later and told me they found it, in pretty bad shape. Yours is one of my top four cars in this show."

"Frank had a Fiero."

"They came in four cylinders and six cylinders. They came and went. The six cylinders were fast."

"Look -- a Fiero. I didn't think there was any of them left around."

"How many years have you had it?  Twenty-nine?  Wow, most people here have only had their cars three years or so.  Is that the original paint?  Looks good!  Is it automatic?  Oh wow, it's a stick shift!

"Look, a Fiero. It's so cute."

"Five speed!"

"Remember those?"

"I had this exact car, an '85 Fiero."

"I worked on these cars.  It was my first job."

"Someone had one of these. A neighbor."

"I was told they run hot."

"Look, Mary, here's your car. I had an Indy."

"You can take off all the panels and completely customize it."

"It has the vents in the back because it gets hot."

"I've had an '87 for eight years. I've been changing it a lot, but now I wish I kept it all original. Take it to more shows."

"What is this car?"

"Oh, a Fiero! 1985."

"2m4! I had an 86 with a six-cylinder. I am a Fiero conneseur."

"I worked at a Pontiac dealer when they came out. They had a lot of recalls. Yours looks really good."

"That is so cool."

"Remember when you had a Fiero, Steve? You tried to trade it in at Reedman's."

"When we were teenagers. Yeah, that's when they came out."

"That was her first car."

"Look, a Pontiac Fiero."

"I had one of these. It was the worst car ever made. It had a lot of problems and was recalled a lot."

"Is this yours? I love sports cars. I always loved this car."

"A Pontiac Fiero. Wow!"

"A death trap. My sister had one. Had an accident, plastic shattered all over the place."

"It's amazing. These cars don't exist any more. A Fiero."

"Look at that, a Fiero."

Feel free to add your comments about the legacy of the Pontiac Fiero.

“Everyone knows it’s…”

Hearing "Windy" on the radio reminds me of the rhyme about a former mayor of New York that some of us would sing as schoolboys:

"Who's walking down the streets of the city
Smilin' at everybody he sees
Who's reachin' out to capture a moment
Everyone knows it's Lindsay"

John Lindsay was New York's John Kennedy, bringing a sense of optimism and charisma to a city that was in desperate need of it by the mid-1960s.  He weathered the worst of changing times in urban America, experiencing both victory and defeat during two stormy terms, but ultimately leaving City Hall with his head high.

Hearing the Association's 1967 hit on the radio also reminds me of the interesting book edited by Sam Roberts, "America's Mayor: John V. Lindsay and the Reinvention of New York."  If the city's history fascinates you, I highly recommend you read this book.  It’s comprised of a series of write-ups by people who were there, and includes lots of great photos.  The book is available from Columbia University Press and Amazon.

If you just have an ear worm for the song, check out the video on YouTube.

The Beetle

"Well, Mr. Bruns, I can offer you a Chrysler minivan or a Volkswagen Beetle," the rental car agent said.

"Hmm, can I see the Beetle?" was my reply.  I just wanted to see if it was punch buggy yellow or orange. It was an industrial silver.

"Okay, I'll take the Beetle."

In a few moments, I was behind the wheel of a Beetle for the first time in, well, 40 years.  But, this was not a vintage '60s or '70s Beetle. It was a New Beetle, a 2013 model to be precise.

I first drove a Beetle as a delivery boy while a senior in high school. The pharmacy I worked at had two of them, one light blue and the other orange. They were fun to motor around town in, but I guess any car is when you first get your driver's license.

One of the pharmacists, a young guy with long dark hair and a beard, had a red convertible Beetle.  Boy, did he look cool when he pulled in or out of the parking lot with his roof down.

A college friend of mine also had a light blue Beetle. While I poured loads of money into a different used car and repairs every year, he drove his Beetle with few expenses for repairs or gas the whole time we were undergraduates. The only issue the little Bug had was a permanent stain on the passenger door after someone threw up on it.

Over 20 million Beetles have been manufactured by Volkswagen since 1938 in factories across the world, including in Europe, Mexico, Brazil, Asia and Africa. Yet, it seems each Bug has its own personality -- and owners that are fond of them for years afterwards.

I remember when the New Beetle was first introduced in 1997, 17 years after the original Beetle was no longer available in the US. My six-year-old son was so excited to see a red one in a neighbor's driveway, he went over and got a ride in it. Shortly afterwards, he and I made a blue Beetle for a Cub Scouts Pinewood Derby race. (Alas, we were reminded that the Beetle was never a speed demon.)

My Beetle rental car and I did well together for the 50 hours I had its keys this week.  Unlike the '70s models I first drove, this one had power windows -- and cruise control.   Whoooo, take it easy there, little Bug.

It only snarled at me once, after I parked it overnight behind a huge Ford pickup truck.  "Don't you ever leave me behind one of those again!" I think I heard it say.

Oh, and one morning it wouldn't open its trunk, despite my repeated attempts to unlock it.  I can't imagine what the Beetle thought I was going to do back there, especially since it no longer has an engine in the rear.

After fueling it up, I returned it to the rental car lot, took a picture and said goodbye, and hoped it would delight another customer with a trip down memory lane.

In praise of the intelligence of young artists

Following is a conversation that took place between a a young rental car agent and middle-age man at the Albany-Rensselaer train station today.

Agent:  Where are you going today, sir?

Man: Oneonta.

Agent: Oh, wow.  I'm very familiar with it.  That's where I went to school.

Man:  Really?  Where did you go, Hartwick College or the SUNY school?

Agent:  I went to the SUNY school, fortunately.

Man:  That's interesting.  My son and daughter went to a SUNY school.

Agent:  Really?  Which one?

Man:  They went to Purchase.

Agent:  Oh, wow.  Are they artists?  What did they study?

Man:  My son studied music.  His wife studied dance.

Agent:  That's cool.  You've gotta be smart to go to that school.  What are they doing now?

Man:  He's a CPA.  She's going to medical school.

Agent:  Oh, wow!  Like I said, artists are real smart people.   

Father and son

They boarded a crowded double decker New Jersey Transit train at New York's Penn Station. With few open seats in the main cabin left, the two sat down in the open area by the doors, under the arm pits of weary commuters nearing the end of a long day.

The boy could barely sit still. He looked around at the people on the train, few who resembled his dad. Sometimes he looked out the window, pointing something out to his father or asking him a question.  Sometimes the man had an answer, other times not, but he always paid attention to what his son had to say.

The train thinned out as it headed south, enabling the boy to spread out a bit across two seats. The man sat still next to him, moving little except to pick up a pack of cigarettes that dropped from his pants packet. Eventually tiring a bit after an hour, the boy leaned against his father's shoulder, and eyed a small mark by a tattoo that read, "Nick."

"Dad, what's that?" the boy asked, pointing to the mark on his father's arm. In a low voice audible only to his son, he answered. The boy looked up for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the  mark on his father's arm. The man smiled at his son, then looked across the aisle and smiled at another man who observed the touching scene.

The man and boy got off the train at the Little Silver station, heading to their final destination, but certainly not the end of their journey through life as father and son.

Attila the Hun

One of my favorite parts of being aboard a cruise ship is seeing the different countries on the name badges of the crew.  Jamaica and the Philippines seem to be the most popular home countries of crew members aboard Caribbean Sea cruises, but dozens of other countries (including the United States) can be spotted.

One evening this week, as we approached a juice and soda dispenser, my wife and I stopped a young Hispanic-looking crew member to ask a question.  To my surprise, his name badge read "Attila Peto / Romania."  Attila answered our query and, for the next 15 minutes, chatted to us about his life and work on the ship.

He told us that he and a twin brother were born 25 years ago in a section of Romania that was formerly part of Hungary.  His explained that his parents named him after the fifth century leader of the Hunnic Empire, Attila.  He said he learned to speak English working for an American hotel chain in his home country, and learned Spanish from a Mexican girlfriend on the crew.

We saw Attila again the next morning during breakfast, manning the coffee station.  He made us lattes, which my wife and I agreed were our best coffees of the cruise.  He was too busy to talk much more with us, but we thanked him for the java and wished him well.

My wife and I are back in our New Jersey home now.  Attila and the hundreds of other crew members from Europe, Asia, Africa, North and South America and parts in between are already working their next cruise, far from their homes and trying to make the world even smaller. 

Dylan Charles

It's a wonderful name. Dylan is the moniker of my favorite music personality, Bob Dylan. Charles is the title my Cuban immigrant parents gave their second US-born son. 

Dylan Charles is also the name my brother and his wife bestowed on their second son, who entered the world on February 4, 1987.  He passed away exactly five years ago tomorrow, at age 22.

Time has not yet healed the pain of Dylan's parents.  It probably never will, although I can never fully comprehend how deep the hurt and sense of loss must be from losing a child handicapped by muscular dystrophy.  No one, however, would dare refer to Dylan as crippled during his short time on this earth.

He had more love from his parents than any child could wish.  My brother and his wife were determined to make sure Dylan got every bit of quality that could be squeezed from life without spoiling  him. He lived in a comfortable home, made lots of friends, enjoyed toys and technology, and got a good education.  Along the way, Dylan developed an unselfish perspective of the world he wasn't reluctant to share with anyone who would listen.

Dylan had lots of feist in him.  He experienced what it was like to hit a baseball, he more than held his own in computer games, and maneuvered a wheelchair with agility and some creativity. The love and, when needed, the muscles of his parents and brother helped keep him moving forward through life with steely determination.  

Everyone realized, however, it was just a matter of time before MD would do in his body.  It eventually did on May 31, 2009.  But, no amount of time will cause him to be forgotten by those who knew him and felt fortunate to be part of his life.

Tumbling Dice

I've been keeping as busy with pictures as I have with words during the past month.  Many of my photos have been shared on Tumblr.  If you've missed some of them, click on the subheadings below to see the photos which accompany my short write-ups.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

Is there anything more American in springtime than Opening Day in major league ballparks across the United States?  When the teams are from Washington DC and New York City and the pre-game ceremonies include a huge American flag, probably not!  

Back to campus on a gorgeous spring day

If you return to visit the college you attended a generation ago, it’s bound to confirm that “the more things change, the more they stay the same.”  At Seton Hall University, that means a statue of the Pirates mascot appears outside the Richie Regan Recreational and Athletic Center ready to charge the Walsh Library.  The sun continues to set on President’s Hall and the Immaculate Conception Chapel as it has since the 19th century.  And, students still enjoy a break from studies by playing wiffle ball on the University Green.

Cosmos Country, 2014

It’s NASL soccer on turf with an eclectic roster featuring Brazilian-born former Spanish international Marcos Senna, but today’s Cosmos is not the club your father may have seen a generation ago.  The 2014 edition plays second-division soccer in front of a few thousand fans at Hofstra University, not 40,000-70,000 as it did at the New Jersey Meadowlands, although it continues the winning tradition established in the 1970s and ’80s when it was among the world’s most famous soccer clubs.

Today’s New York Cosmos, however, features some things not seen many years ago — ultras standing and chanting for 90+ minutes behind a goal and a sponsor prominently displayed on banners and uniforms.  At yesterday’s home opener, Pele was even on hand to pose (sort of) for pictures with fans old and new.

Yesterday’s Coney Island, today

The Parachute Jump stands as tall as ever, its colors probably blinding the ghosts of yesterday’s thrill seekers.  Wonder Wheel cars slide through their circles, the sounds of the Cyclone and its shrieking riders a background soundtrack. An antique car sits by Nathan’s, like a picture from a vintage postcard or book. 

On a pleasant spring weekend day, Coney Island remains as vibrant as ever, attracting the tired, the poor, the huddled masses and many others, just as it did over a century ago.  Signs of new investments hint at possibilities of even greater summertime memories ahead.

Behind Wilson Hall

Many Monmouth County residents and vacationers have seen Wilson Hall as they peek to the south while passing through Monmouth University. Erlanger Gardens, situated just west of Wilson Hall’s back rooms, is another of the university’s architectural gems.  The garden occasionally hosts students and events, but often sits peacefully at sunset.

The Frenchman

He won’t be appearing in the World Cup for the first time in 20 years this summer, but Thierry Henry is expected to continue being in top form as the New York Red Bulls attempt to capture their first MLS Cup this season.

After scoring 51 goals in 123 internationals for the French national team, Henry has notched 45 goals in 106 matches for New York, including one in last night’s 4-0 win against Houston.  He remains difficult to mark as he roams around the pitch, and still gets past defenders who challenge him, always to the joy of Red Bull Arena ultras grateful for his skills and leadership.  

On the subject of Tumbling Dice, don't the Rolling Stones -- all officially senior citizens -- still sound great in concert?  (Thank you, Wang Lynn, for sharing your video of them performing the song in Shanghai last month.)   

Jim Cummins, distinguished photographer and teacher, on exhibit in New York

There are people who pass quickly through your life, but leave a long-lasting mark.  Jim Cummins, a distinguished photographer and formerly an adjunct professor at Seton Hall University, is one of those people. Soon, his work will leave an impression on many other people.

I saw Jim just over a dozen times during the spring semester of my sophomore year, during my weekly still photography class.  I had never used a camera before taking his class, but I've rarely not had one handy since then. He taught me how to compose a frame, set the right exposure, and time a shot. He explained why the ASA/ISO setting, f-stop and shutter speed matter. 

Cummins told his students not to bother getting a pricey camera, but instead showed us how to master any camera in order to freeze an image.  He also instructed us how to use chemicals, dark room equipment and special film processing techniques to enhance pictures.

The photography skills he taught me have served me very well through life as a chronicler of family and friends, special moments, and interesting sights.  Whether it's an event, vacation, business trip or simply a day in a city or countryside, I've almost always been there with an inexpensive camera, often taking priceless pictures. My two sons are major beneficiaries of what Cummins taught me, with many photo albums of memorable and forgotten times theirs for the taking.

I don't remember Cummins saying anything about the famous people he captured on film during his career.  He knew the class was for the benefit of his students, not his ego.  It wasn't until many years later, in fact, that I learned he had photographed Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and many other stars and garnered numerous accolades for his great work.

An exhibit, "Jim Cummins / Photos From The Golden Age of Rock," displaying some of his restored and preserved photos of 1960s and '70s music legends, will be held at the Baboo Gallery in the Flatiron district of New York City this spring.  For more information on this exhibit, which opens with a reception on April 10 at which Cummins will be present, go to CumminsCollection.ImageFortress.com or write to BabooGalleryEvents@gmail.com or call 212.727.2727.

Photo of Jim Cummins used with permission of Image Fortess Corp.

Advice to any professional, aspiring or experienced

During a career event last week at Monmouth University, where I'm an adjunct professor, I shared the following advice to a group of aspiring communication professionals:
1. Write well and often.
2. Be a creative problem solver.
3. Embrace emerging technologies.

I subsequently posted this advice on the discussion boards of LinkedIn's Corporate Communication, Communication Professionals and NJ Corporate Communicators groups, and asked, "What would you add to this list?"

The responses from around the world are quite interesting.  When reading them, I realize the advice is applicable for aspiring or experienced professionals.  Considering how important effective communication is for professionals in any field, nearly all the advice is useful to anybody!
 
Following are excerpts from the responses to my question on the LinkedIn discussion boards:

“4. Be organized and proactive 5. Listen, listen, listen”
—Lene Kruger

“listening to understand before responding is most definitely important”
—Koketso Molebale

“Carry paper and a pen everywhere and take notes... lots of them.”
—Stephanie Jones

“Be a team Player and have a inquiring mind.”
—Eunice Asantewaa Ankmah

“Strive to build great working relationships with people.”
—Dean Askin

“Put yourself in the shoes of your audience/target.”
—Shelly Smith

“Read! Read anything and everything.”
—Annabella A. Simbulan

“Be an authority on grammar and the use of punctuation. Seek first to understand the audience”
—Kaamini Reddy

“Have enough knowledge of what you're writing about. Do some research on the subject.”
—Mtanga Noor

“Volunteer to help small local nonprofits or professional association chapters with their communications needs.”
—Richard Buse

“Don't try to communicate to others what you don't understand yourself.”
—Mandy Vavrinak

“we need to stop thinking about what we want to communicate and first think about what we want to accomplish”
—Kathleen Baumgardner

“Get a strong background in business.”
—Jim Shaffer

“Never forget that what you say, show, write, do or communicate by any mean is not necessarily what everyone else hears, sees, needs, feels or understands.”
—Francine Bernier

“Take hints and learn good writing techniques from well written material whatever the subject or context.”
—Helen Jebson

“Understand your target audience and be specific on what you would like to communicate to them.”
—Megha Puri

“Develop empathy. Walk in the shoes of your audience.”
—Angela Mohtashemi

“Know who the stakeholders are and what their issues are.”
—Stephen J. Kasser

“Ask questions, think critically, identify the big picture, and word messages clearly.”
—Judy O’Brien

“Write well and often is a lifelong practice”
—Annemarie Russoniello

Ray Davies versus the autobiography, part 2

Leave it to Ray Davies to take on an autobiography as a creative challenge.  Twice.

Rather than give his fans a chronological account of facts and anecdotes about his life, the former singer and songwriter of the Kinks has twice chosen a different approach.  Almost 20 years ago, he authored X-Ray, which can be described as a semi-fictional autobiography.  Late last year, he released Americana, which presents the British star's experience in the United States.  Of course, they are both great reads.

In Americana, Davies explains the influence US music and films had on his artistic development as a child in suburban London.  He goes on to describe the Kinks first US tour in 1965, on the heels of the British Invasion, and their comeback tour in the fall of 1969.  Comeback from what, you might ask, since the Kinks continued recording and releasing good music in the intervening years?

Davies' mind, now almost 70 years old, isn't quite so sharp on this point.  At various points in Americana, he writes he doesn't know why the Kinks were banned from performing in the US for four years in the late 1960s.  Near the end of the book, however, he indicates it was probably because of an issue with a concert promoter.

Davies goes on to describe how important the US music market was for the Kinks as the band continued evolving during the 1970s, switching labels and management and, by the 1980s, playing venues as large as Madison Square Garden.  He recalls forcing Bill Graham to keep his word when the Kinks took the stage in front of hundreds of thousands of people at the US Festival in San Bernardino in 1982.

Davies also writes with pride about being inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and playing at its inaugural concert at Cleveland Stadium in 1995 -- which turned out to be the final Kinks concert in the US.  Davies did return as a solo performer 10 years later, reading excerpts from his X-Ray autobiography and playing stripped-down versions of Kinks songs.  I was fortunate to catch him at the McCarter Theater in Princeton in 1997.

A significant part of Americana, however, centers around New Orleans.  Specifically, Davies writes much about his experiences in this unique US city, including the shooting which almost ended his life in January of 2004.  It's these passages about New Orleans, which break up the chronological order in which he presents his American experience, which are the most telling.  They're a ray of light into his mind and soul, with a poignancy about his life, the muse he followed, the ambitions he harbored, the relationships he valued, not stated elsewhere in his writings, but understood and appreciated by Davies' fans.  He also provides new insights into the unique lure of New Orleans.

Reading Americana had me thinking about the times I saw the Kinks in concert.  In late July of 1979, they played a great show at the Asbury Park Convention Hall, a venue for a 1977 performance Davies describes "like playing Southend-on-Sea at an English seaside resort.  Great audience; say no more.”

In July of 1987, the Kinks played one of the last concerts at the Capitol Theatre in Passaic, New Jersey, located in a part of town in which one or two old movie theaters screened pornography, which was also accessible from surrounding shops.  Davies introduced a new Kinks song, "Welcome to Sleazy Town," by alluding to these facts.

Having played at the Capitol Theatre at least five other times since 1972, I'm sure Davies was familiar with Passaic, where I also saw Elvis Costello, the Ramones, Patti Smith Group, the Who, Joe Jackson, the Clash, Pretenders, Adam and the Ants, Missing Persons, the Thompson Twins, REM and others.  British or American, it's questionable if anyone from these acts can write about their experiences on these shores like Ray Davies -- who has inspired many of them in the nearly 50 years since the Kinks first landed at Kennedy Airport.

Will Davies ever pen a conventional autobiography?  If so, would it be as interesting as X-Ray or Americana?  A definite maybe...you really got me...he's one to give the people what they want...not just a face in the crowd...but already a well respected man...one of the survivors...a 20th century man...killing time...hoping for better things...as his life goes on.

A businessman as an artist and scientist

When he was a graduate student at the University of Pennsylvania Wharton School, Herman Mihalich wrote a business plan for a microbrewery.  After graduating, he embarked on a successful career in the specialty chemicals industry.  Over the years, he observed the rise in popularity of craft beers and sometimes wondered: What would have happened if I implemented my business plan for a microbrewery?

Three years ago, Herman wrote a business plan for a small batch whiskey distillery.  He found a business partner, lined up a group of investors, and located a site in Bristol, Pennsylvania, to base the operation. Today, Dad's Hat Pennsylvania Rye Whiskey can be purchased in liquor stores and taverns.  

When I last saw Herman before this winter, he was an executive at the U.S. headquarters of a large global specialty chemicals company.  His Ivy League education, strong work ethic and direct approach to meeting challenges served him well.  His considerable skills and future potential had been recognized early in his career, and he spent five years at the company's Paris headquarters before returning to New Jersey to assume a series of increasingly important positions.

Herman seized an opportunity to join another major specialty chemicals company in an executive role in 2006. After three years, however, organizational changes there put him in a situation familiar to many middle-aged corporate executives in the U.S. today.  At a crossroad, he weighed his options and decided the time was right to pursue opening a craft whiskey distillery in Pennsylvania, the state where he was born and spent his childhood living above his family's tavern in Monessen.

"Making whiskey is part art and part science," Herman explained when I visited him at the Bristol distillery on a cold late January afternoon. "My experience as a chemical engineer has come in quite handy."

Herman and his business partner, John Cooper, roll up their sleeves to handle every aspect of their operation each week, from obtaining the raw ingredients, barrels and other supplies, to mixing and controlling the quality of each batch and marketing the bottles to distributors. In less than two years, the business became cash positive. Favorable reviews of the distillery's whiskey products have poured in from trade publications and other liquor experts.

Dad's Hat Pennsylvania Rye Whiskey is mostly sold in Pennsylvania, New Jersey and New York.  Herman is practicing his fluent French language skills, however, to try to expand the brand into the European country he lived in 20 years ago as a fledgling specialty chemicals industry executive.

On the Dad's Hat Pennsylvania Rye Whiskey web site and inside the Bristol distillery, there are vintage photos of Herman's parents and grandparents.  Perhaps it's indicative of the American spirit that the son of tavern owners can obtain a great education, work hard, see the world and return to his home state to open a business that supplies premium products to people like those in his family.

Meeting Broadway Joe

On the 45th anniversary of the greatest day in New York Jets history, I'm reminiscing about the time my youngest son and I met one of my all-time heroes, Joe Namath.  It happened on the Sunday morning of November 26, 2006 in the Meadowlands complex, just a few hours before a Jets-Texans game.

An autobiography of Namath had just been published, and he was scheduled to sign copies of it inside a large tent in the parking lot.  A 10-year Jets season ticket holder by this point, I asked my teenage son if he wanted to get to the Meadowlands early, skip our traditional tailgate party, and wait on a long line to meet Namath that day.  Thankfully, he did.

The line outside the tent was longer than we expected.  Eventually, we made it inside "the pearly gates" as another fan dubbed it.  Some of us were beginning to worry that Namath would be done signing before we could meet him.  We should have known better.  As the line moved slowly, very slowly, towards Namath, I decided we should buy two books, one for my son to keep.

We eventually made our way to the front of the line, and I snapped a few pictures of Namath -- I didn't want to be fumbling with a camera when it was our turn, especially since it was requested people not pose with Namath in order to keep the line moving.  Finally, we walked up to a grinning Namath, wearing tinted glasses and looking as cool as he did 30-40 years earlier.

"Thanks for making us proud to be Jets fans," I said to Namath.  He asked us where we wanted him to sign the books and, as he autographed the first, I whispered to my son Kevin that Namath was wearing his Super Bowl ring.  Namath must have heard me because he looked up at Kevin and said, "Here, try it on."

Awestruck, I watched as my son Kevin took the ring from Namath and put it on his hand.  We both stared at it as Namath autographed our second book.  After what seemed like a minute but was most likely just 15-20 seconds, Kevin handed Namath back the ring and they both smiled at each other.

"Thanks, Joe," I said as we prepared to walk away with our autographed books.  "We love you."

I took a couple more pictures as Namath prepared to sign the next person's book, and then we left the tent, beaming.  We beamed throughout the game, which the Jets won to seal a wonderful day.

When I recounted our meeting with Namath and showed our pictures to my grandmother shortly afterwards, she also began to beam.  She confided something to me that she probably would not have if my grandfather, a Jets fan, was still alive:  She understood why women were attracted to Namath -- she herself always found him very charismatic.

On this 45th anniversary of the New York Jets huge upset win over the mighty Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III, I again thank Joe Namath for making us proud to be Jets fans.