Morning Commuters

1.   The car commuter 

Start the new day with a quick coffee and bite.

Weather and traffic reports seem okay,

drive out of the neighborhood and to the highway.

From the car radio sounds “King of the Road.” 

The blank face smiles and then frowns,

wheels roll ever slowly and stop the commuter.

2.   The train commuter

The alarm sounds, the body rolls and rises.

The day’s preparations begin in a trance;

head to the station in a numb state.

A seat on the train, the voice of a conductor.

The whistle blows as the train rolls forward,

and back to sleep goes the commuter.

Copyright 2019, Charles A. Bruns

The Friendly City: No Vacancy

a poem by Charley Bruns,

featuring lyrics by David Castaño of Eastbourne

Don’t try to impress me 

by saying George Washington slept there.

We had seven presidents stay here

on vacation away from Washington.

Their names were Grant, Hayes, Harrison, 

Garfield, Arthur, McKinley and Wilson.

These presidents put Long Branch on the map,

and the crowds from New York did come.

Soon so did others in their carriages,

four-legged and iron horses to soak up the sun,

enjoy the summer breezes, walk the bluffs and just have fun.

Did I mention the Atlantic Ocean?

Not too many cities 

can call an ocean their backyard.

Among the visitors were the wealthy 

industrialists and bankers and the Bohemians.

They gambled, they drank, they ate,

and eventually most found their way home late.

But many never returned.

Others who came in their wake did decide to stay,

and formed a year-round community 

that included a main street called Broadway,

complete with stores and theaters.

Long Branch got so big and diverse

with Jewish folk, African-Americans and Catholics,

even the Ku Klux Klan came to march downtown.

Fortunately, the door hit their asses on the way out.

The Mafia treated the city like a playground and more,

playing in the Surf Lounge and paying for

the construction of the Harbour Towers high-rise.

One little pussy of a mobster bragged

on the pages of Life magazine,

“What we got in Long Branch is everything.

Police we got. Councilmen we got, too.

We’re gonna make millions.”

Pussy Russo was eventually found dead

with three bullets in his head 

in a Long Branch spa while on furlough from prison,

because his bosses feared he would talk too much

in order to stay and enjoy the friendly city.

We had a native son and LBHS grad

who was named poet laureate

of the entire U.S. of A.

You can read his poem “Long Branch, New Jersey,”

on a plaque in Pinsky Park on Broadway.

The pier beckoned more visitors with its

amusement rides, arcades, bars.

There were hot dogs and other kinds of matter to put down,

which many people from across the state in fact did

as other shore towns south lured pleasure seekers

with their siren song of more, newer, better attractions.

The city eventually became symbolized by the Haunted Mansion,

with fake ghouls and real rats on its aging pier.

It continued creating memories for more locals

but fewer visitors before finally feeding the appetite

of a hungry fire that left behind charred splinters.

“My city is burning down down down,

and you’re not around.

You’re paying attention to some other town,

you missed us burn to the ground.”*

From the ashes rose the entirely new Pier Village,

with its fine restaurants, cafes, boutiques,

to attract people from all around,

but not the nostalgia of many locals, once again proving:

“You can please some of the people all of the time, 

you can please all of the people some of the time, 

but you can’t please all the people all of the time.”

Did Abraham Lincoln say that

while Mary Ann Todd was staying in Long Branch?

In any case, enough local citizens welcomed the change

and re-elected Mayor Schneider six times.

Today we have Brazilians and Mexicans 

and lots of other Latinos

calling the city home, with their restaurants 

and various businesses on Broadway,

which still has a performing arts theater

and now even a microbrewery.

“We’ve been made by these broken streets,

and now we make all these broken beats.

But we just dig it and we just dig it,

but a keep on moving on.

That’s why we’re fighting, that’s why we’re fighting,

for where we belong.”*

We still have Jewish folk a-courting 

on the boardwalk Thursdays and Sundays,

and Italians and African-Americans like always.

The city even has a Sicilian-born poet laureate, 

whose voice rises above the tongues of people 

from all around the world on our boardwalk

and promenade every Fourth of July.

The ghosts of writers and artists past

smile at names like di Pasquale, Castaño and Delima now.

What can they say, except

“Wow, how cool is this Long Branch?”

“Come with the stylee if you want 

to come find Long Branch rhythm.

You gotta love the way the sky looks,

when everyone lets it bring them down.

And though the sun ain’t coming out,

I see light around my home town.”**

The Ink Well and Brighton Bar,

home of original music,

stand alongside the Celtic Cottage

and some new Brazilian businesses,

as a synagogue is built in West End,  

which isn’t actually in the west end.

Did I mention the Atlantic Ocean?

Not too many cities 

can call an ocean their backyard.

Long Branch is indeed a friendly city, 

with no vacancy for those 

who want to bring it back down

from where it rose.

“So when these ashes turn to gold,

and when these pages start to unfold,

I have seen the best of my city, 

because I’ve seen the worst of my city.”*

—

*Copyright 2016 by David Castaño, “Burning City” as recorded and performed by Eastbourne

**Copyright 2016 by David Castaño, “LB Stylee” as recorded and performed by Eastbourne

Poem copyright 2019 by Charles A. Bruns

España: 8 days in the past and present

I walked past them on the streets of Madrid, Barcelona and other cities in Spain. Many of them had my complexion, my eyes, my hair. Several of the faces bore the look my wife had become familiar with over the years. For sure, I was among my people. At the very least, I was among people whose distant ancestry I shared. No doubt, there were lots of them who had the same Lopez, Suarez, Castro and possibly Valdés surnames as my parents, grandparents and those in the previous generations of our family who migrated from Spain to Cuba 150-250 years ago. I never felt so comfortable, so at home, in a foreign land.

It took me over 60 years to visit Spain, but the eight-day trip I enjoyed there this spring made the wait worthwhile. My wife and I had an enlightening journey through the past and present in Madrid, Toledo, Cordoba, Sevilla, Granada, Valencia, Montserrat and Barcelona, surrounded by wonderful people, fascinating sights and plenty of great coffee and food.

When my wife and I arrived in Madrid, we stretched our legs with a walk past the Puerta de Alcalá and Palacio de Communicaciones, just in time to see a parade of police officers marching from the Puerta del Sol to demand higher wages. We followed them to the Plaza de Neptuno, then continued past some government buildings (but not, apparently, the offices of El Ministerio del Tiempo) into the Parque del Buen Retiro. We got happily lost in the maze of the big park before eventually finding our way to the Monumento al rey Alfonso XII by the lake.

The next day, we joined our fellow Globus tourists on a ride past the Palacio Real, walk in the Plaza de España with its monument to the author of Don Quixote, Miguel de Cervantes, and then spent a few -- too few -- hours at the Museo Nacional del Prado, where we were awed by original artworks from Diego Velazquez, Francisco de Goya, El Greco (Domenikos Theotokopoulos) and others. The highlight of the day, however, was an excursion to the old but well preserved city of Toledo, with its Catedral Primada Santa María and ancient concentration of Arab, Gothic, Mudéjar, Renaissance and Baroque architecture.

In Cordoba the following day, we visited the Mezquita-Catedral (also known as the Mosque of the Caliphs) and were struck again by the mix of Muslim and Christian architecture, including the city's Roman bridge. It was reassuring to know that at one time centuries ago Jews, Christians and Muslims actually lived together peacefully.

In Sevilla the next day, we visited its expansive Plaza de España, the Casa de Pilatos, and spent time at Santa Iglesia Catedral, the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. My wife and I enjoyed walking around the neighborhood by the hotel and drinking another great cafe con leche (they seem readily available throughout the country). In the evening, we had dinner before watching a magnificent flamenco dance show at the El Palacio Andaluz.

La Alhambra, built in the 13th century as a city within the city of present-day Granada, was the highlight of the next day. It afforded us fabulous views of the  rest of Granada, where we saw the first of many caves in which some Spaniards continue living today with modern conveniences such as electricity and wi-fi.

The Mediterranean Sea city of Valencia was our next stop. Once again, we observed how well the Roman, Moorish and Spanish past of the city has been preserved. We were equally impressed, however, with the very modern Ciudad De Las Artes y Las Ciencias and its futuristic architecture. A major highlight of the visit to Valencia, no doubt, was dinner at a seaside restaurant in which three different paella dishes were served.

Our last stop in Spain was Barcelona, a city which words -- English, Spanish or local Catalan -- and pictures can't fully describe. We strolled around the El Gotic neighborhood and, in the evening, walked down the Gran Via Corts de les Catalans to join thousands of others at the Font Magico. We took in the site of the 1992 Olympics and La Barceloneta and waterfront areas that have been revitalized in recent decades, as well as Santa-Montjuic.

While visiting Barcelona, we also took an excursion to Montserrat, whose Royal Basilica houses the Virgin Morenita, a Romaneque carving whose hand can be touched by pilgrims. Montserrat, like other places we visited in Spain, offers breathtaking views.

What I'll remember most about Barcelona, however, is the one-of-a-kind Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, designed by Antoni Gaudi in the late 19th century and still under construction today. It is scheduled to be completed in 2026, on the 100th anniversary of Gaudi's death. Since I hope it won't be another 60-plus years before I return to Spain, I look forward to seeing the finished basilica with millions of Spaniards, people of Spanish ancestry, and others fascinated by the country's past and present history and culture!


To see some pictures from my journey through Spain, check out my Instagram page at: https://www.instagram.com/charleybruns/.

Born Charles Lopez to Cuban immigrants in New York City, Charley began using his stepfather's surname when he moved to New Jersey at 11 years of age. Charley also hopes to visit Cuba, where he spent a couple of his pre-school years, when the time is right.

Lonely thoughts on a beach

When I last saw you

I thought I’d be back.

I didn’t think my good-bye

was so-long forever.

But here I sit on the beach,

looking beyond the cold ocean,

wondering where you are, 

how you’re doing,

if you still remember me.

I’m okay if you’re curious.

My studies were followed by jobs

and before you know it

I was practically American.

But I’m not quite all-American.

There’s no house with a white picket fence

or dogs running around a yard 

or a spouse with kids in my home.

Instead there are nights on WhatsApp,

Instagram, Facebook, Twitter,

with the TV on and bed unmade.

There are weekend days on the beach,

cold days, warm days, lonely days.

Yes, I got the education and career I wanted,

but I still don’t have you.

Will you be coming over any time soon?

Or should I came back for you?

Anyway, where are you?

copyright Charles A. Bruns, 2019

City of Champions, by Hank Gola

You don't write a book like City of Champions simply because you're an experienced sportswriter who majored in history at college and now have some time on your hands. You write such a great book because you have a passion for the subject and you're on a mission to share it like no one else can. And, that's exactly what Hank Gola did in his very well written and thoroughly researched book about the 1939 Garfield High School football team and the events leading up to their national championship game in Miami that Christmas Day. 

Hank has been promoting his book in New Jersey and Florida and parts in between this winter. His schedule included a presentation at the Morristown and Morris Township library in Morristown, NJ this afternoon during which he shared stories from his book and displayed some very well-preserved varsity sportswear from 1939 (above). I was happy to see my former Herald-News colleague for the first time in nearly 40 years there. A friend of mine and, like Hank, a fellow Garfield H.S. graduate, Roy Pelcher, was also glad to be there and learn more about the legendary football team and their hometown's history.

In my review of City of Champions on Amazon earlier this winter, I wrote, "If it were possible to give City of Champions six stars, I would. If you are a sports fan and history buff interested in reading about a high school football team from a working class town that went undefeated and laid claim to the national championship, you might, too. (And if you're not, you might just give it five stars.)

"Hank Gola's research of the people and events leading up to Garfield High School's Christmas Day 1939 title game in the newly-built Orange Bowl is as comprehensive as that of any history book I've read. His writing skills make the personalities involved in the big game jump out of the book's pages. As you might expect from a distinguished journalist, Hank's descriptions of the teams' suburban New Jersey and Miami hometowns and life during the Great Depression, before World War II, is fascinating. I almost felt like I was reading a movie script. The people were real, however, as were the forces that brought them together and then apart.

"A story like the one chronicled in City of Champions could never happen again. Too much has changed in the United States and scholastic sports during the past 80 years. Thankfully, Hank Gola made it a labor of love to capture it like it happened with his thorough research and strong writing so we can all enjoy reading it."

Among my favorite parts of the book were the references to Garfield's fierce rivalry with my alma mater, Bloomfield High School. From Hank's book I learned just how powerful and important to the community those Bengals teams coached by Bill Foley were during the 1930s.

Thank you and congratulations, Hank, for authoring such a great book! 

Below: Hank Gola flanked by fellow Garfield H.S. graduate, Roy Pelcher (left) and former Herald-News colleague, Charley Bruns (right)