Father’s Day self-portrait

Being a father has helped me become a much better person. For this, I want to thank my children.

It was only after the birth of my first son 24 years ago that I learned patience. When my second son entered the world four years later, I enhanced my multi-tasking skills so that each of my boys could feel how important they were to me.

Through raising my two sons, I’ve been reacquainted with appreciating the simple pleasures of life, like waiting for fish to bite a worm on a hook. I’ve experienced joys and other feelings I nearly forget about after growing up.

Fatherhood has taught me the nuances of baseball and soccer that can be passed on to young children, and how much fun it can be to get soaking wet running around a field with them. I’ve learned every rule of soccer, a knowledge that has enabled me to appreciate a match at any level more than ever.

By being a dad, I’ve learned to appreciate different kinds of music, be it jazz or classical or pop. I’ve learned how important a drummer is to the sound of a small band or big ensemble. I’ve even learned what it takes to pack, assemble and break down a drum set.

Being a father has enabled me to appreciate the value of trying different things, like wrestling or playing lacrosse, acoustic or bass guitar, blackjack, or performing in a school musical. I’ve also learned that it’s fine to move on from one activity to another after giving it an honest try, even after a significant investment in equipment or time.

I've learned to be less selfish by being a father because, when I looked around, I realized I was not the center of my universe. There were children who needed my time, my attention, my energy, and whatever else I could willingly share with them, day after day, in blocks of hours or, at least, minutes.

I’ve become less materialistic by being a father and seeing my children borrow my clothes and cars. I’ve learned that I actually own nothing in life. I’m merely in temporary possession of various items, a very liberating feeling, as is the knowledge that money has little value if you don’t have loved ones to share it with.

Love? I’ve felt a fuller, more meaningful sense of love by being a father, be it by changing a diaper, sitting through a late game or performance on a weeknight, providing comfort while watching a doctor stitch a cut, listening and providing support as a hope is born or vanishes...or, more often than not, simply by being in the same room with them.

More than anything, I’ve wanted to help my children in life by being a good father to them. I had no idea, however, that being a father would be so helpful in my own life. For this, I will always remain grateful to my children.



(photo) Kevin, Charley and Steven on Memorial Day weekend 2011

Neighbors

If you’re in New York City for any period of time, you’re bound to come across some interesting characters. If you live in the city, like I did for much of my childhood, some of these people will even be neighbors.

When I lived in the Amsterdam Houses neighborhood for much of the 1960s, Fermin and Carmen lived in the apartment next door with five children, the two youngest of which were theirs, the oldest three hers from a previous marriage. I’m not sure how Fermin made his livelihood, but I did see him walk on Amsterdam Avenue more than once with a parrot perched on his shoulder. He also boxed, which together with his goatee and penetrating eyes and sly smile, made him seem both a cool and tough Puerto Rican.

Carmen and my mother conspired on Christmas Eves to help keep my brother and me believing Santa Claus would arrive at out apartment only after we fell asleep. As we approached our apartment door after dinner at my Abuela’s, Carmen would open her door and say that Santa Claus had not yet arrived, so we needed to get to bed as soon as possible. She was right – there were no gifts under our Christmas tree that night, but they were there the next morning.

Carmen’s oldest three kids were called Papo, Moosie, and Choocho. At least, that’s what everyone called them. Papo’s real name was Cristobal, and he had the best baseball glove, a Maury Wills model, of anyone I knew. He was nice enough to let me use it sometimes.

On the opposite side of our apartment lived the Harts, an African-American family whose members I never recall smiling. I rarely talked to them; they seemed very serious all the time. Mr. Hart and one or both of his sons sometimes stared out the hallway window with what seemed like tan-colored stockings on their skulls. It seemed unusual to me, so I once out of curiosity asked them about it. They explained it helped relieve their headaches.

I can only recall speaking to Mrs. Hart once. She rang our doorbell one afternoon collecting donations for the March of Dimes. I quickly looked around our apartment for all the dimes I could find, and I gave her a few. She still didn’t smile, but I’m sure she said “thank you.”

I don’t know who lived directly upstairs from me, but I know they loved Latin music. Many times, when my brother and I laid down to sleep, we would hear the sounds of Tito Puente and other Latin artists blare from the record player above our bedroom. It sounded good, and we often fell asleep with those beats in our head.

In those days well before Facebook and inexpensive phone calls, our family lost touch with these neighbors shortly after moving to New Jersey. But, they’re not forgotten.

Garland Jeffreys, Coney Island and me

Perhaps it’s no coincidence that I heard the first song, “Coney Island Winter,” from Garland Jeffreys' upcoming disc on WXPN-FM only days after reading the news that Coney Island’s new Scream Zone was opening to the public. The Brooklyn-based musician and amusement park have intersected with my life at many points. Why not with each other this time, as they introduce something new?

Just two months ago, I saw Garland Jeffreys entertain his fans at a concert in Moorestown, NJ (that’s a picture of Garland and me after the show). He sounded great as he sang from his heart. We left appreciating what a kind and giving guy he is, and what a talented musician he remains.

Garland Jeffreys’ album, Escape Artist, was one of my soundtracks for the summer of 1981. My wife and I were newly wed, and his record spun on our turntable dozens of times those hot months. I can still almost hear “Modern Lovers,” “96 Tears,” “R.O.C.K.” and others songs from that album in the two-family house we shared with another newly wed couple. In fact, that music helped facilitate the formation of a great friendship.

Almost 25 years later, one of those friends mentioned to me that Garland Jeffreys had played a “house concert” in northern New Jersey. It introduced us to the concept of house concerts, where a few dozen fans see an artist perform in someone’s living room for a very reasonable price and have the chance to meet them.

Garland Jeffreys grew up in Brooklyn, NY, which he still calls home. The Sheepshead Bay neighborhood of his youth was only a short distance from Coney Island, which also was a significant part of my New York City childhood. After sunny summer days at nearby Brighton Beach, our family would often go over to Coney Island to eat at Nathan’s, ride the Wonder Wheel, the carousel where I could lean over and grab some token rings and, when I was a bit older, ride the Cyclone.

I remember going to Coney Island for my 10th birthday. As seedy as the place had gotten by the mid-1960s, it was still special to me and other New Yorkers. Even after moving to New Jersey, I never went too long without returning to Coney Island.

In the mid-1980s, driving back from business meetings in Long Island, I talked a couple of co-workers into going there just to ride the Cyclone. After my cousin’s high school graduation party -- in Sheepshead Bay – in 2002, my wife and parents walked around there with me for old-time’s sake. Five years later, my youngest son and I enjoyed ourselves there for a few hours before a Brooklyn Cyclones baseball game in the shadows of the long-closed Parachute Jump.

Two summers ago, my big brother and I made Coney Island part of a weekend romp through the city. It reminded us how much we enjoyed the long subway train ride from Manhattan through Brooklyn…but also made us realize that our bones had gotten too old for the bumpy thrills of the Cyclone roller coaster.

Don’t bother telling Garland Jeffreys he’s too old to be making good music. The Brooklyn man’s concert performance and new song indicate he still has the heart and mind of a young artist.

And, don’t tell that parcel of Brooklyn land, Coney Island, to sink into the Atlantic Ocean with the ghosts of its past. Scream Zone, the new Luna Park that opened two years ago, and the oldies-but-goodies Cyclone and Wonder Wheel indicate it still has some fun to share with New Yorkers.

To see some old and new Coney Island footage, go to www.garlandjeffreys.com and click on the video for “Coney Island Winter.”

Peakin’ at the Beacon with the Allman Brothers Band

Minutes before the Allman Brothers Band concert began on Tuesday, a local disc jockey came on stage and said to the audience, “You’re not a real New Yorker until you’ve seen the Allman Brothers Band here at the Beacon Theatre!” Well, even though my birth certificate states I was born in the city many years ago, I guess I’m officially a New Yorker now. In the process, I checked off another activity from my bucket list.

The Allman Brothers Band would never be confused for New York rock 'n' rollers, but this band from the south owe some of their success to the city thanks to the popularity of their “Live at the Fillmore East” album 40 years ago. They’ve shown their gratitude, and good business acumen, by playing lots of shows over a few weeks around March at the Beacon Theatre for 20 of the past 22 years.

Tuesday’s concert had some of the spirit I imagined was present during the historic Fillmore East show. A video screen at the back of the stage displaying psychedelic images helped the audience get that feeling. In the balcony by me, a heavy and heavily-tattooed woman alternated sips from a Southern Comfort pint and cola bottle for some extra help. Also nearby, two middle-aged men lit something that let off a pungent odor, then laughed and observed they were closer to the ceiling than the stage – which they seemed, literally and figuratively.

Old and middle-aged, actually, were the dominant demographic at the concert. All seemed happy to be there, and many have probably seen the Allman Brothers Band several times over the years, if not during the current Beacon run. Some just looked like survivors which, come to think of it, is more than can be said of some of their 1970s contemporaries and original members of the Allman Brothers Band.

The music? It was fine. Gregg Allman’s vocals remain gritty and powerful. The guitar playing of Derek Trucks and Warren Haynes are superb and true to the band’s roots, and Butch Trucks is still masterful behind the drums. At times, the fans went wild. I don’t think, however, my sons would’ve been among them. In an immodest moment, my 24-year-old -- a music conservatory graduate -- would probably say he is as good as one or two of the Allman Brothers Band’s three percussionists. My 20-year-old would probably say Ben Folds, who played at the Beacon in December, puts on a better show. I admit I would agree with both of them.

A young woman (one of the few in the audience) from Colorado sitting next to my wife might disagree. Saying she had seen the Allman Brothers Band about 10 times, she was in New York for a seminar and seemed very happy to take advantage of a chance to be at the Beacon Theatre concert.

Perhaps I would’ve been knocked out if I was able to stay long enough to see Eric Clapton join the band on stage. As a concession to living in the suburbs, however, I had to bail in order to catch a New Jersey Transit train home or risk being stranded in the city. It being a weeknight, my wife and I needed to get some sleep and wake up early enough to give our employers an honest day’s work on Wednesday. I should’ve known that an Allman Brothers Band concert advertised to start at 8:00 would not be nearly over by 11:00.

As I left, I noticed several middle-aged women and some male contemporaries drinking at the bar inside the theatre entrance. I guess they also weren’t knocked out by the concert, but at least I was grateful to enjoy it while I was there.

Irony in FIFA's home town

Walking through Zurich's Old Town this Saturday, I came across a crowd of people, some kicking soccer balls, some drinking beers, some wearing blue and white jerseys, some with blue and white scarves. It looked interesting enough, so I wandered over and asked someone, "Sprechen sie Englisch?" "No," he replied. I found someone else who replied with some pause, "No -- but he does," and proceeded to learn what was going on from his friend.

It turned out that a group of Grasshopper Club Zurich soccer fans had assembled to rally for a new stadium a few hours before that evening's home match. Their club, the oldest in Zurich and most successful in Swiss soccer history, has been sharing the 25,000-capacity stadium -- about the size of one-year-old Red Bull Arena in Harrison, NJ -- of their local archrivals, FC Zurich, for the past four seasons. A new stadium was planned at the site of the old stadium when it was demolished, but it appears the project has stalled. Clearly, Grasshopper CZ fans are not happy about this and were voicing their displeasure before marching 30 minutes to see their favorite team play.

It's ironic that, four months after Zurich-based FIFA awarded the 2018 and 2022 World Cup tournaments to oil-rich Russia and Qatar, the two most popular soccer clubs in its own back yard appear in an uncomfortable stadium sharing situation. Russia has 13 stadiums to build or reconstruct in order to host the World Cup in seven years, and Qatar has to build 12 stadiums from scratch in order to host the World Cup four years later.

Quatar was controversially awarded the World Cup with a bid that promised, among other far-fetched ideas, to dismantle and reassemble its World Cup stadiums in other parts of the world needing them. Did the Qatar World Cup bid organizers have Zurich, not exactly an underdeveloped part of the world, in mind? Surely not. But the irony shouldn't be lost on FIFA's executives. That's assuming, of course, that FIFA's leadership even knows what's going on in their home town -- probably as far-fetched an idea as Qatar's to air condition all their new (outdoor) stadiums (if not the entire country) and then give them away!

Cosmos soccer, once… and again?

One six-letter word that makes me smile with fond memories of wonderful moments and great people is “Cosmos.” It makes me think of a time in the late 1970s and early 1980s when a galaxy of soccer stars drew huge crowds to Giants Stadium. I can still recall Pele scoring three times in a match, Giorgio Chinaglia inciting the crowd with an important goal, Franz Beckenbauer weaving through a maze of opponents, Carlos Alberto coolly stepping up to intercept a pass, and Johan Neeskens slide tackling a ball to set up a counterattack.

I also remember a pig roasting in the parking lot before a championship match, fans slowly, loudly and constantly chanting “Cosmos” inside the stadium, traveling with other diehards to away games in Washington DC and Toronto, and getting every players’ autograph while accompanying them on a flight to San Francisco.

A new effort is underway to bring back the Cosmos, which closed shop in the mid-1980s along with the North American Soccer League after declines in attendance and financial losses. Four British men have set up an office in New York and declared their intention to make a new Cosmos the 20th team in Major League Soccer sometime during the next few years.

A new Cosmos team in the MLS faces a number of big hurdles. The new owners have no stadium. Their financial resources are unknown. And, if they were to raise the money to build a stadium and join the MLS, how could the team reproduce the magic of the original Cosmos? MLS restrictions on salaries and imported players would prevent the building of a super club.

Another group of Brits probably nailed it five years ago in a book and companion documentary film about the Cosmos, “Once In A Lifetime.” The phenomenon known as the Cosmos many years ago will probably never be witnessed again in the foreseeable future.

Although it’s hard to blame anyone for trying to leverage the Cosmos name for a new New York team, it’s also difficult to envision how this effort could ultimately succeed in attracting thousands of older fans and a generation of new ones to the Cosmos aura of years gone by. Of course, if the MLS is serious about fielding a second New York area club – the league has two Los Angeles area teams, with mixed results – a club carrying the Cosmos name may be as good as any, particularly if it draws outer borough and Long Island fans who may find the Harrison, NJ home of the New York Red Bulls team a bit inconvenient.

I wish the new Cosmos owners well. Seeing players wearing Cosmos uniforms on a field again is sure to make me smile and bring back nice memories. It’s 2011 not 1981, however, and the New York Red Bulls (and its previous incarnation as the MetroStars) are now my favorite pro soccer team. I’m still rooting for the Red Bulls to win their first championship, Cosmos or no Cosmos, and generate some new memories with Thierry Henry and Rafael Marquez on the field.


The accompanying photo was taken before a May 1984 benefit game between current and former Cosmos. How many players besides Pele (with mustache) can you identify?

Will Super Bowl upstage Beyond Thunderdome?

To a group of long-time New York Jets fans who enjoy a good party as much as a good football game, their team’s ascent to a second straight AFC Championship game this Sunday poses a potential dilemna: Will this year’s Super Bowl capture their attention more than the announcement of the annual Beyond Thunderdome Award winner?

Huh? The Beyond Thunderdome Award? Let me explain.

The Beyond Thunderdome Award (the mounted lightning bolt and crushed Budweiser can by the Jets Shop pictured on the right) was created shortly after the 1985 movie of the same name by Danny to commemorate the craziest of the wild antics he and Werner, Roy, Bobby and Mike – longtime friends and Jets season ticketholders since 1977 -- indulged in on autumn Sundays.

Every Super Bowl Sunday at Roy and his wife RoseAnn’s annual party, the Beyond Thunderdome Award recipient is announced. The winner proudly accepts the award, thanking everyone for recognizing the zany act that earned them the award from the gang of five, and promises to prominently display the trophy to family and friends during the next 12 months.

My wife Noreen and I earned the award last year for, uh, drowning a bit too much in our sorrow that Giants Stadium would be soon giving way to the monstrosity now known as the New Meadowlands Stadium (yeah, that’s right) in the parking lot before a game. As the first winners outside of the original circle of friends, we proudly displayed the Beyond Thunderdome Award inside our house and at our vacation home. I even carried it to work in New York City one day for a photo session, an act that touched Danny deeply.

What recent recipients like Noreen and I did to earn the award, however, pale in comparison to the acts of those who inspired the award and were the among the first to hoist it proudly. Danny scavenged other tailgaters’ leftover snacks and firewood after kickoff on a cold Sunday to win it one year. Werner, perhaps dreaming of fulfilling his wish to be the lights on a fire engine, fell asleep during a game while his friends tossed food into his wide-open mouth, to win it another year. Roy gave a cranky and overwhelmed parking lot attendant too many pieces of his mind to win it a few years later. Bobby dreamed of his friend Roy while having fun at a park (don’t ask) to win it once.

The Shea Stadium years, which started with all five friends under 30 and single, were the wildest. According to stories, Mike would’ve won the award more than once if it had been conceived by then. Those Jets lost more games than they won, habitually disappointing fans whose memory of the 1969 Super Bowl was still relatively fresh, and Shea Stadium seemed to quickly deteriorate. But, there was still fun to be had. Sometimes, too much. But, the gang of five all survived to tell about it…and create the Beyond Thunderdome Award a few years after the team moved to the Meadowlands.

I got my season tickets in 1996 from an acquaintance of Roy and often joined him and his friends for pre-game festivities in the parking lot. A few years later, the group expanded to include Roy’s nephew Ryan, whose young son almost won the award for appearing to imitate the grownups’ behavior in the back of a pickup truck (again, don’t ask).

Who will win it this year? As the old gang gets, well, older, it’s not always easy to predict. RoseAnn won it a few years ago, when the men were particularly tame, for being such a great Super Bowl party hostess. No doubt, she will be a great hostess again. When the Jets win in Pittsburgh this Sunday and advance to their second Super Bowl in 42 years, the big question will be: Is the Beyond Thunderdome Award in danger of being upstaged by the Super Bowl?
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Upper left photo, Beyond Thunderdome Award winners Bobby, Danny, Noreen, Charley, Werner, Roy, RoseAnn