7 November, 2022 8 8 Comments

Photographs & Memories

November 7, 2022 By 8 Comments

A newspaper from 1995 and an old Flip digital camera were some of the treasures recently unearthed.

We replaced our bedroom set recently and that prompted a long-delayed dive into my dresser’s junk drawer.

You know, the drawer where you throw change, store greeting cards and keep things that don’t quite fit anywhere else.

The exercise was hard for me. I’m sort of… kind of… borderline-ish…. a hoarder. There, I said it.

I think it’s my sentimentality and my desire to someday revisit these treasures although I hardly ever do. So, opening that drawer and confronting what to do with its contents was a challenge for me.

What to keep?
What to toss?

I found a 27-year-old Delray Times newspaper featuring a front-page story I wrote entitled “The Delray Decade.” The subhead read: “In the past 10 years, the city has gone from pauper to prince.”

That was interesting, but more on that in a later column.

I found a keychain with a picture of Diane and I after one of our memorable outings—a visit to “Capone’s Dinner Show” in Orlando where we dined on spaghetti with a ketchup like sauce while watching actors and actresses dressed as 30s era Chicago gangsters ham it up.

I loved it!

Diane? Not so much.

Granted, the show wasn’t “Hamilton”, but Hamilton didn’t have an Italian buffet either. Regardless, they must be doing something right.  I looked up the show and it’s still running 30 years after its debut. Maybe it the music or the period dress.  Or, maybe it’s the Italian buffet. (I kept the keychain).

I also found an old “Flip” digital camcorder. Remember those? They were hot for about 10 minutes in 2006. They were discontinued in 2011. But I have one. According to eBay it’s worth about $24.99. I’m going to hold onto it a little longer. Someday it could be worth $30.

Besides when I looked at the digital videos I found one of my late cockatiel Butters singing the tarantella. I also found a slew of material that captured the day we filmed a commercial for Celsius featuring Mario Lopez. Heavyweight champ Wladimir Klitschko showed up that day—as a surprise. We quickly wrote him into the commercial. Today, Mr. Klitschko is in Ukraine fighting the Russians. I find myself thinking about him from time to time. He was a very nice man. I’m going to hold on to my Flip.

There were more treasures, an old business card from Gov. Charlie Crist (no comment), an All America City pin from 2001 and a photo marking Plastridge Insurance’s 100th birthday—all keepers for sure.

But the best treasure was an autograph book I found dated June 1975.

We were moving from South Setauket N.Y. to Stony Brook, and I would be leaving my elementary school for 6th grade at William Sydney Mount.

Apparently, I had my 5th grade friends sign the book so I would remember them forever. I’m not sure kids do that these days, but autograph books were all the rage back in the 70s. I signed a bunch, and I kept this book for the past 47 years. It’s in great shape.

Unfortunately, most kids signed the book with bad poetry—the roses are red, violets are blue style prose that usually ended in some sort of insult. The nicer kids said they were only kidding. I think all of them were, but it was interesting to see a book of sophomoric insults written in ’75 that referenced Nixon and Kennedy, divorces, horses and The Fonz.

Here’s an example:

“The Nixon’s had their Richard. The Kennedy’s had their Jack. The Perlman’s had their Jeff and want their money back.”

That gem came from a girl named Pam, who happened to be the heartthrob not only in the class, but the whole school. Knowing me, I probably was thrilled that she took the time to sign my book—the actual content wouldn’t have mattered. I’m shocked I had the nerve to ask her to sign.

Apparently, I took the autograph book to my new school. Because there were a few 6th grade classmates who signed as well.

The most poignant signature was from Mike Boyle, a friend of mine who would later join the FDNY and perish in 9/11.

“Roses are reddish, violets are bluish,” Mike wrote.

“In school you are newish.” In parentheses, he said to stick with him, and I did.

I was the new kid in school andMike was popular and athletic. He welcomed me into his circle of guys who had been together since kindergarten and all was well, even though our 6th grade teacher was a dead ringer for Nurse Ratchet, only meaner.

The book was also signed by two of my oldest friends—Scott Savodnik and Howie Cohn. We didn’t go to elementary school together, but we did spend summers at the “pool club” in Stony Brook. Both signed the book and said we would always be the best of friends and 47 years later—we are.

In many ways, the book was prescient.

In the front of the book, I was asked to fill out a questionnaire:
Favorite authors: C.S. Lewis and Jack London (Not bad, young Jeff).

Favorite Saying: “Walk softly and carry a big stick.” (Odd choice)

In the future I will be a: Journalist (Bingo!)

Favorite Song: “Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Song” by BJ Thomas (very odd for an 11-year-old) and “Philadelphia Freedom” – by Elton John (good choice, big hit during those patriotic bicentennial days).

I’m keeping that autograph book, bad poetry, and all.

Roses are red, violets are blue.

Let’s give old memories—and junk— their due.

 

3 October, 2022 15 15 Comments

All There Is….

October 3, 2022 By 15 Comments

A blessing in my life for 34 years.

My sister Sharon and I lost our mother 24 years ago today.

Twenty-four years is not a landmark anniversary. There’s nothing special about 24 years, other than it feels like a lifetime ago. So much has changed.

My mom’s name was Fay. If you Google her, nothing comes up. Google was founded September 4, 1998, almost exactly a month before she died. But even if she lived, it’s doubtful she would have done something that would have made her “internet worthy”. She lived a simple life. A good life.

Sometimes I feel people like my mom get lost. But they lived. And they matter. In my world, and the world of my family, nobody mattered more. She was indispensable.

And then she was gone.

Even now, the permanence stabs at me.

So much has changed.

My mom’s granddaughter Samantha is well into her career as a special education teacher and her two little grandsons will both turn 30 soon. They were little kids when they lost their grandmother. She’s a faint memory for them and that alone is enough to break your heart.

The years pile on, the world moves so fast.

A friend of mine lost a beloved sibling a few years back. She recently marked another year of loss and said that while the lump in her throat is gone, she still grieves— quietly.

I do too.

I think grief is the love you have inside that goes unexpressed. Your loved one is gone but your heart is still full. What do you with all this unexpressed love?

Our mother was 59 years old when she passed away after a brave and brutal 50-week battle with cancer.

I just turned 58. I am deeply aware that I am approaching her lifespan and it’s on my mind.

The age we lost her was front and center in my thoughts during my near fatal bout with Covid in July-August 2020. During my darkest moments—and there were many—I couldn’t help but think: ‘I will be younger than my mom when she passed, and she was so young’. She missed so much.

Happy times, stone washed jeans and Long Island nights.

Lately, I have been dreaming of her. Those dreams come and go. While I think about her every day, I sometimes won’t dream about her for months at a time.

But these days, she’s a frequent presence in my dreams and a recurring one has me sitting in a park trying to explain to her what’s happened to everyone since we said goodbye at Hospice by The Sea in Boca Raton.

Her granddaughter is a devoted teacher. She loves her students, and they love her back. I revel in the stories she tells me about a child who makes progress, overcomes an issue, gains confidence, reaches a goal etc. I couldn’t be prouder.

Her grandson Ben…who was a wild child… “all boy” as they say, grew up to be an accountant. We didn’t see that coming.

Back when my mom was around, we were happy if we returned from the mall without losing him. You’d turn around and he’d be gone. But these days, he’s mature, smart and thoughtful. An old soul. Her other grandson, Andrew, is a Ph.D., candidate in Washington D.C. researching the Holocaust on his way to becoming a professor. He’s a wonderful writer and a traveler too. We didn’t see that coming either.

Had she lived, mom would have added two more grandsons to her brood; my stepsons Alex and Viktor, fine young men who would have enriched her life immeasurably.

My mom never met the love of my life, Diane. She didn’t get to see my dad age gracefully. At 84, he still turns heads and remains my go-to guy for life advice.

So much has changed.

Never miss a chance to dance.

America is a different place. I wish I could say that we are a better, closer country but I can’t.

Delray Beach and South Florida have also changed. Some of the changes are good, some are not so good.

None of it would have mattered much to my mother. She liked it here.

She was happy enjoying the simple things in life with family and friends. If family was around, she was cool. What a great example she was, if only I could follow her lead. If only…

So here we are mom…24 years down the road, 24 years without you.

We are doing well, blessed in so many ways. But there’s still that ache, there are still waves of grief that engulf me. The waves hit when I see Sam smile and see your smile in hers. When I talk to my sister and realize that she has your exact voice and so many of your best qualities.

I now realize that grief is the price we pay for love. And we should be grateful for both because you can’t have one without the other. If you are going to love, you are going to feel loss someday.  It’s a price worth paying. It’s taken me a lifetime to understand that. A lifetime to accept that trade.

For years after losing you, my sadness lurked in the bushes like a stalker. I could be having the best time only to be reminded of your absence and I’d find myself overcome with sadness. When the rainy days would come, as they do for everyone, I’d find myself wishing to be transported back to the days when everyone I loved was still here.

There you are with your friends playing Mah Jongg at the pool club, with grandma and grandpa and nanny speaking Yiddish and sneaking us chocolate kisses. Life seemed infinite. There was so much road ahead of us.

Those days are long gone. The losses pile up, like so many leaves.

But loss serves a purpose as well. The losses make us appreciate the here and now which is really good if we strip away the noise and distractions.

And we realize we carry pieces of those we lost in our hearts and minds—for all of our days.

So much has changed, but that never will. The love we feel endures.

17 May, 2021 4 4 Comments

Old Friends…

May 17, 2021 By 4 Comments

Old friends sit on the park bench like bookends.

What a slog we’ve been through.

What an exhausting and scary experience Covid has been for all of us.

Worldwide more than 3.2 million people have died from the virus and that number is likely an undercount. We have lost almost 600,000 Americans and despite a light at the end of the tunnel we are not out of the woods yet… but we can see the light that leads to normal.

Still, I don’t see us ever forgetting this experience. The pandemic has changed us—I’m hoping for the better.

Lately, I have been having some “Covid dreams”—it’s a phenomenon that I have read a few articles about. Some therapists call it a form of PTSD, others say it is how we humans process what we’ve been through. I don’t know what to call it, but for me the dreams are vivid and frequent.

I’m often trapped in a room, or a box with blank walls. In my dreams, I call out but no one hears me. I’m alone.

The other day, I  dreamt I was in a room filling with water chasing after a piece of paper. I’m not sure what the paper represents or what was on it but I just couldn’t get it. When I would get close, it would slosh away on a wave.

Like I mentioned before, I’m not alone in the crazy dream business.

A change in dreams due to a crisis is very common, says Deirdre Barrett, a dream researcher and assistant professor of psychology at Harvard. When we’re in a dream state, the brain is processing the same things we think about during the day. But when we’re asleep, the parts of our brain that handle logic and speech are damped down. The parts that handle visuals, however, are ramped up.

 

Barrett has been collecting dreams from people all over the world since the start of the pandemic. She says common dream themes range from actually getting the virus to natural disasters and bug attacks. Healthcare workers have regularly reported the highest level of stressful COVID-19 dreams, according to her data.

 

“The typical dream from the healthcare workers is really a full-on nightmare,” Barrett told “Science Friday” recently. “Just as bad as you’d see in war zones.”

Barrett has a new book out called “Pandemic Dreams.” I read a few excerpts online and some of the dreams she shares are jarring.

I have a feeling we will be dealing with the psychological, physical, economic and emotional side effects of this pandemic for the foreseeable future. If you are someone struggling, please know you are not alone and it’s OK to reach out for help.

If I may, here’s what has worked for me.

A dash of music, a dollop of comedy and a big heaping serving of family and friends.

For me, it’s just that simple.

Music is a tonic, comedy is medicine and friends and family are good for the soul.

Admittedly, it sounds trite and simple and in the Covid era, its been hard to see people in person.  But that’s changing.  If we’re vaccinated, it’s safe for us to get out and “see the world.” (Great song by Brett Dennen by the way).

Luckily, thanks to medical science, things are opening up quite a bit and thankfully technology has been there to fill in some gaps.

Readers of this blog know that I have a group of childhood friends who gather via Zoom every other week to reminisce about the glory days, joke around and talk about the issue du jour.

These calls have been a lifeline for all of us during this strange time.

I’ve known some of these guys for 50 years—we went through school together, knew each other’s parents and grandparents, our siblings, childhood homes, first cars, first girlfriends, favorite teachers etc.

We played ball together, went to each other’s Bar Mitzvahs and weddings and were there through the good times and the bad. And there’s been plenty of both. That’s just the way it goes.

Every one of us has had a pretty nice life—we enjoy the love of good women, have great kids and tons of life experience. But we’ve had our struggles too—career crises, financial highs and lows and health challenges too.

But through it all– through the decades, the distance and the din of life—we’ve managed to stay together or find each other again and again.

We used to see each other every single day and that is where the bonds were forged—in school, at a summer pool club, on long summer nights spent driving to nowhere special. It was enough in those days just to be together and as a result develop a shorthand that in our case has lasted a lifetime.

Over the summer, when I thought Covid would mark the end of my story, I thought about these guys and some of my newer friends that I’ve also grown very close too. I thought how friendship is one of life’s greatest gifts and how I wasn’t ready to say goodbye and how sad it was for those who tragically couldn’t beat this damn virus.

When we pass, a whole world dies with us—but some of that world lives on in the hearts and minds of those we leave behind.

Still, as  I reflect back on the year or so of Covid, I can’t help but also think about the positives.

I’ve been surrounded by love, concern and friendship. My wife and I have grown closer, I feel closer to my children, my sister, in-laws and my dad and his wonderful girlfriend. What a gift.

What an amazing gift we’ve been given—another day.

And then there’s the friendships. The new ones and the old ones.

That every other week Zoom call is a real highlight—a precious gift because it connects me to a group of guys who are my brothers. We fill the gaps in each other’s memories, support each other in our current ventures and know that we will always be there for each other. We also laugh. A lot. Its been good for the soul.

I have a great set of local friends too—and I really wish there was a way these groups could meet because I know they would hit it off instantly.

Maybe someday they will—like the old Simon & Garfunkel song “Bookends”—on some park bench somewhere.

Someday….

Until then, the old friends plan to meet via Zoom and my local buddies will gather at some of our favorite watering holes. Now that we are vaccinated we are beginning to feel safer.

Meanwhile, we have been forever influenced by our pandemic experience.

The other week, after another particularly vivid dream, I woke up with a phrase on my mind: “love is the prize.” Four simple words—corny I know.

But I’ve been thinking about those words a lot.

We live in an area that has great wealth and great poverty. In Delray, where I live, we are America in 16 square miles. In Boca, where I work, I see a whole lot of bling and pristine beauty. We live in paradise—we truly do.

Sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the craziness. I do all the time—until I’m grounded by a friend, a circumstance, my lovely wife or a situation at work and then I realize that love is the prize. I never had the words until that dream. Now I do.

Love is the prize.

I’ve found it.

I hope you do too.

7 December, 2020 10 10 Comments

Bookends: The Healing Power Of Old Friends

December 7, 2020 By 10 Comments

A little scruffier, a little balder, but the bond endures.

The most treasured gifts in the world are kind words spontaneously tendered. (Thanks Dewey)

— Jim Collins

It’s December.

Thank goodness.
We find ourselves in the home stretch of a brutal year and at last there is hope that 2021 will treat us better.
Like miners stuck below the surface of the Earth trapped in a dark cocoon of gloomy news— anger, divisiveness, disease and death —those of us still fortunate to be here can find solace that next year will be brighter. It has to be, right?
With any luck, we can resurface and reclaim our lives.
I, for one, can’t wait.
In the years to come, if I am given years to come because I realize that’s not a given, I will look back on 2020 with a mixture of awe, gratitude and dread. I know that’s an odd combination of emotions. But this has been a very odd year.
But despite wave after wave of brutal news, many of us still found some light.
I found my light in the usual place: family and friends.
Close readers of this blog have heard me mention my twice a month Zoom calls with childhood friends.
I write about those calls because they have been a lifeline to me in an extraordinarily challenging year.
It’s been hard to be quarantined.
It was hard to work remotely—because I like the interaction and the kibitzing you get in an office with people you can see right in front of you.
I miss being able to gather with my friends.
I miss happy hours and dinners with a bunch of people.
I miss the movies.
I miss the meetings in coffee shops (and I’ve never even had a cup of coffee).
But the next best thing to being there is Zoom.
To be honest, I have a love-hate relationship with the technology but when I think about it, Zoom has been a life raft that has kept me from drowning. Zoom made it possible to see my oldest and dearest friends—if only on a screen.  Those boxes, that contain those familiar faces, have meant the world to me this year.
I hope you have had a similar story of connection during this year of Covid.
Here’s mine.
I grew up in the 70s and early 80s in Stony Brook, located on the north shore of  Eastern Long Island.
From the age of six (not a typo) I was fortunate enough to build a small cadre of friends that have remained in my life for 50 years.
The bond we share is both special and rare.
We’re spread out these days—California, Virginia, Wisconsin, North Carolina, South Carolina, New York, Arizona, Vermont and Florida.
We went all through school together and stayed close through high school and college.
In our early 30s, we had some reunion weekends and then life took over.
But the pandemic has somehow brought us back together again over Zoom and I couldn’t be happier about it.
While we never drifted apart totally (well a few of us maybe) our communication became spotty and we were never all together anymore. These Zoom meet-ups have changed all that.
Our calls—which usually last about 90 minutes—cover a range of subjects and I always come away energized by the interaction.
When I was asked recently by my dad what it’s been like to “hang out” again with all these guys I told him the one feeling that comes up is pride.
I’m proud that our friendships have lasted.
I’m proud of the men they have become.
I’m blown away by their intelligence, humor, life experience, professional success and by who they are.
They are all interesting. And they are all interested in the world.
So I’m proud of them.
Someday, maybe soon, we will be able to get together in person.
That would be great.
Over the summer, I learned that life can be very fragile. I think we are all learning that lesson these days.
It’s the rapport, the kindness, the playful ribbing and the fact that we serve as the gaps in each other’s fading memories that make for lasting and special friendships.
One of the crazy things about this year is that it has forced us to  take stock of what really matters.
We no longer can take the simple joys of our lives  for granted.
Whether it’s the joy of meeting a friend for dinner, taking a weekend trip or having family over for the holidays—Covid has made sure we will appreciate moments large and small.
For me, when I look back on 2020 I will be forever grateful that every other Wednesday I can find my buddies on a screen if not in person. That’s more than good enough–for now anyway.
I’m just glad to still be around to laugh and share with them.
 Here’s to what comes next guys.
6 July, 2020 5 5 Comments

Hello Old Friends

July 6, 2020 By 5 Comments

Sorry for the poor pic. Best I can do.

When you get to be my age you find yourself having lived a few lives.

There’s childhood. The teen years. College. Early adulthood. The parenting years and now the (mostly) empty nester years.
It flies by in an instant.
But the blur of years leaves you with perspective, a few scars and several buckets of friends from the various eras and roles we play in life.
I have friends from my years in the newspaper business, and friends from my time spent volunteering in Delray. I have friends at the office, business friends, college friends and friends from my time in Leadership Florida.
I cherish them all and feel extremely fortunate to have had good friends at every step of the journey.
I am so grateful.
This pandemic has made me even more appreciative because I miss seeing my friends and being able to make plans to get together.
I’m sure you do too.
For me, it’s one of the worst things about this miserable, exhausting and scary year.
But every two weeks at 9 pm I pour a drink and pull up a chair and tap into a cross section of friends that span my childhood, teen, college, early adult and now middle age years.
As we log onto Zoom, I see all these old, familiar faces populate my screen and for an hour or so, I’m transported to a better world. It’s a world of jokes and conversation, a world of memories and future plans, a world that’s familiar and not as uncertain.
I’m on the Zoom with guys I’ve known since I was 6 and 8. We know each other’s parents and siblings, we played Little League together, took the Long Island Rail Road to “the city” to explore and fondly remember each other’s first cars.
I knew their teenage crushes and heartbreaks, what teams they root for and which teachers they loved. We can complete each other’s sentences.
Together, we fill gaps in our collective memories but there are some sacred stories that none of us will ever forget.
Over the months we’ve been doing these calls we’ve added some guys who drifted away—never gone—because the bond is too strong —but drifted nonetheless.
As I mentioned, time flies. And our once daily connection slipped as we moved, married, had kids, went into business, changed jobs and lost our hair while also losing  the ability to see each other regularly. But we never let go of the basic friendship we shared. And now that we are comfortably in our 50s, I believe we will be friends for the rest of the ride.
Still, time is an interesting thing we grapple with.
I can still see the young men in the visages of middle age guys who populate my screen.
I can still see their youthful essence.
There’s Dave’s curiosity, Dewey’s kindness, Joe’s enthusiasm, Steve’s quick wit, Scott’s ever present grin and Brian’s ability to frame an issue.  Ben’s still a rascal and Howie has the same laugh he had as a kid. Greg is still the broad shouldered body builder he became as a teenager.
I’m proud of these guys. Every last one has been successful in their careers. They all have nice families and good lives.
We are spread out now—from California and Arizona to North Carolina, Virginia, New York, South Carolina, Wisconsin and New Jersey.
Combined we have seen a lot of the world and covered a whole lot of ground—kids, grandkids, businesses, hobbies, marriage, love, loss and adventure.
Some of the guys have been there every step of the way. Others drifted for periods, but were always there in our memories.
But thanks to the pandemic and the efforts of my friend Dave, we are all together again every other Wednesday on a screen for 90 minutes of laughs and friendship during a hard, hard time.
I’m over this miserable year. But when we get past this—and we will most certainly will—I will remember this as the year that my oldest friends came together to help each other through the storm.
I always knew I could count on these guys—for a lifetime.
I hope this inspires you to reach out to an old friend.
17 April, 2019 0 Comments

Wrestling With Marie Kondo

April 17, 2019 By Leave a Comment

Two of my favorite baseball players Don Mattingly and Keith Hernandez graced the cover of this vintage Newsday special section. I’m keeping it!

We’ve been doing a lot of spring cleaning these days.

Check that, Diane and my niece have been knee deep in the garage and I get to come home and decide what parts of my past I want to keep and what to throw out or donate. I have to admit it has been difficult for me to part with mementos from the past.

I don’t know if you’ve caught any of the Marie Kondo phenomenon but the organizational guru who challenges people to throw things out if they don’t “spark joy” wouldn’t be my top choice for a dinner party at my house. Truth is, all of my stuff sparks joy—it’s just that there’s so darn much of it.

There are three main causes driving my collection: I’m sentimental, I’ve spent two decades plus as a journalist and I did 7 years in local politics.

That character trait and those two endeavors have generated an overwhelming amount of mementos: clips of articles I’ve written and a slew of plaques, proclamations, letters and ‘do dads’ from my civic work.

For better or for worse, they represent my life’s work—or at least a great deal of it. I’m still out here writing my own story.

So all of it means something to me. The newspaper and magazine stories I wrote, the letters from people who liked something the commission did (we had plenty of critical letters too and I kept some as well) and of course the souvenirs from the places we visited. So while I understand that material possessions pale in comparison to what really matters, these artifacts spark memories and yes Ms. Kondo a certain amount of joy.

But my argument to keep this stuff falls apart if you ask a few basic questions such as: Who is going to want or care about these things when I pass? And short of expiring, how are we going to store/move/organize this stuff should we decide to move or downsize?

Of course, I don’t want to answer any of those questions. But my better half is posing them and it’s hard to put off answering the woman who was brave enough to wade into my vast archives. Plus, she’s really cute and very smart and totally logical. I am simply no match for Diane.

So every night, I come home and wade through another pile.
It’s been an interesting ride…newspapers that take me back to the 80s and 90s, articles that reintroduce me to newsmakers from back in the day, magazine columns penned for Atlantic Ave magazine, old photos, campaign literature from landmark races, vintage Rolling Stone magazines,  a stray Playboy or two (read for the articles of course) and a really bad fake ID that I remember paying $20 for in Times Square so I would be old enough to buy a beer in downtown Port Jefferson—life was sure simpler then.

So here’s what we’ve decided and I think Diane is mostly on board although I’m sure she’d like to cart it all away.

I’m keeping some stuff.

I’m getting rid of some stuff.

I’m donating some stuff.

I’m looking at all of it and reminiscing.

These are my takeaways…

Memories are precious.

Life goes fast.

But you sure rack up a lot of miles and accumulate a lot of stuff.

Most likely, my kids and hopefully my future grandkids, won’t be interested.

 

And hopefully, there won’t be time to sit back at the end of it all and look back. Why?

Because if all goes well, I’ll be busy making new memories up until the very end. In other words, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready to sit in that rocking chair.

As my friend from across the miles and the years texted me this week—“Life’s about the moments.”

Indeed.

You have got to keep making them.

 

15 April, 2019 2 2 Comments

Old Friends

April 15, 2019 By 2 Comments

Scott, Ben and yours truly.

My old friend, I apologize

For the years that have passed

Since the last time you and I

Dusted off those memories

The running and the races

The people and the places

There was always somewhere else I had to be

And time gets thin, my old friend

Don’t know why…Tim McGraw, My Old Friend

 

There’s something comforting about old friends.

Something so easy that within moments of seeing them you pick up where you left off regardless of the time and the miles, the running and the races, the people and the places.

My childhood friend Ben was in town last week, passing through on his way to see his father in Port St. Lucie. So I rang up Scott–another old friend—and we found a cozy bar in Boca to reconnect. It took about 30 seconds and we were lost in laughs and good conversation.

We will all be 55 this year.

Ben and Scott go back to the third grade. I met Ben in junior high and I’ve known Scott since I was 8 or 9.

That’s a long, long time.

We’ve covered a lot of miles in life—a lot together (school, first loves, neighborhoods, first cars, road trips, youthful adventures) and a whole lot apart.

Frankly, the last thirty years were a blur for all of us.

Marriage, kids, careers, businesses, travel—deadlines and commitments as Bob Seger sings —what to leave in, what to leave out.

And then one day you’re 54 and you walk into a bar to meet two of the best friends you’ve ever had or ever will have and time melts away instantly.

Ben still has his boyish face and Scott still has the sense of a humor of a 12 year-old so the years seem to dissolve as if by magic.

We didn’t talk about the glory days (oh, maybe a little) but we do talk easily about our lives today and our hopes for the future. There’s always a lot to catch up on because we don’t see each other like we used to. We used to spend every single day together, but those days are long past.

Still,  there may be even more to talk about now because when we ran together as kids I knew everything about these guys—where they had travelled, what they were thinking (girls, cars, sports, music that was pretty much it) and what was happening in school.

But these days, they are full of mystery to me. They’ve been lots of places, seen lots of things and when we talk I hang on every word because it’s fresh, it’s interesting and I really, really care for these guys.

I didn’t have brothers growing up —so they are it. Something beyond friends.

I know that regardless of where life takes us—Park City, Utah, Red Bank, N.J. Raleigh, Asheville, Coral Springs or to Mr. W’s house in Port St. Lucie—there will always be a reunion. If life were a cruise with various ports of call, these guys and a few others would be my muster station. We will find a way to stay in touch and if emergencies strike we will surely be there for each other.

We can talk in a comfortable shorthand of sorts, because when these guys talk about their parents and siblings or I talk about mine, I have a picture in my mind. I know all of these people.

Same with our other friends.

We are well aware that we have been given a gift—each other’s friendship. We appreciate it, we enjoy it and we are grateful for the laughs, the talks and the experiences that we did share.

I’ve made a lot of friends over the years. Lost a few too and that can rattle a guy because I certainly wasn’t used to that.

But these guys…well let’s just say I know that they will always be there.

And for that I am eternally grateful.

 

 

 

 

3 October, 2017 0 Comments

Don’t It Feel Like Something From A Dream

October 3, 2017 By Leave a Comment

“He had history, he had gravitas, he had insight, he was the antithesis of a prepubescent rocker, all poses and no substance. He’d lived, played bars, gone to shows, and when he finally put out a record…

It was the one he wanted to make.

Those are the ones that last. Not the ones made for a market, chasing a hit, but personal statements, of truth.” Bob Lefsetz on Tom Petty.
I grew up with Tom Petty and The Heartbreakers on the turntable and on the radio.
Saw him live many times including my first night in Florida in July ’87 when my best friend Scott and I christened my big move from NY to the Sunshine State with a Tom Petty show at the old West Palm Beach Auditorium  aka the ‘leaky teepee.’
Life seemed so infinite back then.
I was 22, living in the Sunshine and music was a huge part of my life.
Today, I’m 53, still living in the sunshine and music is still a big part of my life.
A great song has the ability to inspire, spark memories or evoke emotion. It’s magic. And Tom Petty was among the best magicians.
But my heroes are fading fast. Bowie, Gregg Allman, Glenn Frey, Lou Reed, George Harrison so many more–all gone.
John Lennon was the first musical icon whose tragic and violent loss hit me hard.
My same friend Scott, along with a few other friends took the train to NYC to join a vigil in Central Park. I will never forget it. How could John Lennon be gone?
Those friends are scattered now.
Scott left Florida for Virginia, one went to California for school and never came back and one became famous on ESPN. Others went to North Carolina, Wisconsin and New Jersey.
I suppose that’s life. We stay in touch as best we can but we will always have the music, if not the artist.
“Even the Losers (Get lucky sometime)” was on the radio in my ’68 Camaro when Scott and I had a near miss on a Long Island highway.
“Here Comes My Girl” gave us swagger (it never lasted) when the biggest thing in our life was working up the courage to talk to someone we thought was cute.
“The Waiting” got me through more than a few heartbreaks.
I fell for Stevie Nicks when she sang with Tom on “The Insider” and “Listen to Her Heart” became an anthem when you were hoping someone you liked would leave the bad guy and give us nice guys a shot.
Yesterday I was driving to a meeting blissfully unaware of what was going on and desperate for a moment of levity after a day full of horrific news out of Las Vegas when I turned on Tom Petty radio.
“Jamming Me” was on and I cranked it up as I cruised Swinton Avenue. The music instantly lifted my spirits. Pure rock n roll, with jangling guitars, hooks galore and Tom’s unmistakable voice…
And then I heard the news. Just like that. Gone…And it is just so hard to fathom like so much that happened on that terrible day.

3 April, 2017 3 3 Comments

Remembering…

April 3, 2017 By 3 Comments

Virginia Snyder

Virginia Snyder and I had a long and complex relationship.

Virginia lived a long and fascinating life and I suspect she had a lot of long and complicated relationships.

She called ’em as she saw ’em—regardless of how the information might land, so in the spirit of Virginia, I thought I would share some unvarnished thoughts. I knew Virginia well enough to know that’s how she would have wanted it.

When I heard that she passed away March 20 at 96, I knew I would need a few days to process the news.

Virginia and I go back to my very first days in Delray—which is now 30 years ago.

She was a must see person if you were a reporter in Delray in the 80s and 90s and so like many other local journalists I beat a path to her door when I was assigned to cover the city in the summer of ’87.

Virginia and her husband Ross lived in the historic Cathcart House on South Swinton Avenue. It was built at the turn of the century and Virginia would correct you if you cited the nearby Sundy House– named after Delray’s first mayor– as the city’s oldest home.

She was feisty, but always friendly to me. Ross was handsome and quiet. She was very much in love with him and that devotion continued as Ross struggled with a disease that robbed him of his memory. She wrote and published poetry and many of them were about Ross.

When you visited Virginia, you would sit in her back office which served as the headquarters for her private investigation firm. The office was cramped and full of papers, files, news clippings and photographs. She was one of the first female private investigators in South Florida and before that an award winning investigative reporter, including a stint at the old Boca News, where later in my career I ended up as editor.

But in those days I was a newbie reporter—new to Florida, new to newspapers and working for the old Monday-Thursday Papers– still the finest community newspaper group I’ve ever seen. We had great editors, photographers and reporters and I tried my best to learn from them because Delray was a fire hose of news—and Virginia had a lot of story ideas, some good nuggets of information and a lot of pretty spectacular conspiracy theories too. I leaned on some of my more experienced colleagues to help me sift through it all.

She specialized in investigating death row cases and exonerating people who she thought were innocent—and several of them were –including a man accused of being the “Bird Road Rapist.” DNA evidence later exonerated the man convicted of the crimes, but he served 25 years in prison for something he didn’t do.  He was 67 years old when he was exonerated and freed from prison—with Virginia’s help in 2005. The case haunted Virginia and she talked about it often.

She was also deeply involved with a man named Omar Galvez—that name will ring a bell to some old timers out there. “Omar the Evil” as he was known by the national tabloid TV shows that visited Delray to “cover” him. Omar was a confidential informant for local law enforcement. Virginia thought he was a bad man (or worse) and that he was being protected by cops who prized his information on local drug dealers.

These were the days of murder, mayhem and crack cocaine in Delray Beach. The days when entire neighborhoods were open air drug markets, when the lights flashed on Atlantic Avenue because it was too dangerous to stop at night and when kids got in trouble for going to Doc’s because they were not allowed to cross Swinton.

East Atlantic wasn’t any great shakes either.

I was robbed of my wallet one night where Worthing Place now sits and one time, in broad daylight, when I was interviewing someone for a ‘man on the street’ story, someone grabbed me from behind and ripped my shirt sleeve clean off. We both stood there in shock. It was a clean rip—very impressive.

Virginia was in the midst of it all and her primary foil was then Police Chief Charles Kilgore, a man straight out of central casting if you were looking for a stereotypical Southern Chief from a bygone era.

Chief Kilgore was an intimidating figure. And a very cagey interview subject—especially if you asked him to respond to anything related to Virginia Snyder.

Virginia unearthed questions about his educational background and was a constant and persistent irritant to the chief.

Virginia went after the department on a variety of issues. She didn’t have much use for many of Kilgore’s officers or the upper ranks of the department, but she did have sources among the troops and acknowledged that there were good officers too. It was those good officers that she invoked when she urged the local press corps to dig into the department.

She was also upset that Omar was being used because she thought he was up to no good and was being protected.

I wrote about it—even visited Omar at his house once—probably not the smartest move since he had quite a reputation. But I was young and adventurous and Delray was an amazing place in those days. It still is, but in a much different way.

I wrote one story that so incensed Omar that he called the newsroom and we had some words over the phone. I didn’t give it a second thought, until I bumped into him a few weeks later at a store. I was with my very young daughter at the time and it was a tense moment. He had something in his eyes you don’t forget.

But Virginia was fearless. And they had confrontations—one that resulted in a scary scene that led to charges. Virginia never backed down from anything or anybody.

If she liked you, she was your best advocate. If she thought you were bad or dirty, watch out.

I was never fan of Chief Kilgore. But I respected and admired his immediate successors—Rick Lincoln who introduced community policing to Delray and Rick Overman who was the best manager I’ve ever seen up close and Larry Schroeder who was a good man who handled lots of difficult situations with dignity and professionalism. I became a very strong supporter of the Police Department and credit them with making Delray safe so that we could have progress and investment.

So Virginia and I had our struggles. Sometimes I didn’t buy what she was selling but for the most part we kept a good relationship.

She began to taper off ever so slightly by the time I ran for office in 2000. She later closed the PI agency, but remained involved around town and we kept in touch. Ross was ill and it took a toll on her.

When I was terming out in 2007, she decided to run for mayor. It’s funny—that running for mayor of Delray never even made the obits that I read about her in the local papers. It’s a testament to her life that it didn’t warrant a sentence. For some, that would have been the obituary.

Anyway, in 2007, I endorsed my colleague on the commission, Rita Ellis who ended up winning.

In recent years, I took Virginia to lunch a few times and we had many laughs and shared memories. To the end she was pitching theories and fighting for causes she believed in.

Recently, I lost a friend at age 38 to a blood clot after he broke his foot. It was a tragic and unexpected loss and took from the world an immensely talented educator who had already left a mark in Florida and New Orleans at a young age. On his Facebook page was a saying from the legendary cellist Pablo Casals who was asked at age 90 why he continued to practice; “Because I think I’m making progress,” he replied.

That was Virginia. Practicing, writing and fighting for her causes to the end. She would have had it no other way.

I won’t ever forget her. Neither will Delray Beach or anyone who knew her. She was an original.

 

 

 

 

28 November, 2016 1 Comment

Post Thanksgiving and Still Thankful

November 28, 2016 By 1 Comment
Still vibrant after all these years.

Still vibrant after all these years.

A friend of mine sent me an old Power Point a few days before Thanksgiving.

They were combing through the archives and came upon a presentation a bunch of us gave in 2003 at a conference called Transforming Local Government.

The Power Point chronicled the city’s efforts to craft a Downtown Master Plan in 2001 and the hard fought efforts that were made to involve the community in the vision.

The old photos brought back a flood of memories—there were many faces I hadn’t seen in a while. Some people have moved away. Some people have passed away. Many are still involved; others were once deeply involved and have now faded from the scene.

Accompanying the email was a note: “I had almost forgotten how far this city has come. I had almost forgotten how much was accomplished.” Indeed.

In the rush of time, in the hectic pace of our lives and the blizzard of “stuff” we have to deal with—we too often sacrifice perspective and appreciation.

We don’t stop to be present, but we also don’t slow down to look back or look ahead.

I think to be a healthy, balanced person we need to do all three: appreciate the moment, be grateful for what we’ve experienced and plan for the future with a hopeful heart.

I think the same goes for communities, businesses and organizations.

It’s wise to appreciate where you are on the journey—this very moment when you just made something happen in your city, when you just inked a sale for your company, booked a great act for your arts organization or hit send on a piece you are about to publish.

As I looked at the power point slide show, I caught a photo of my daughter at age 11. Sam is soon to be 27 and is now teaching special education in Tampa. But in this slide she was still my little girl, ponytails, glasses, peasant dress working at a table with other kids drawing their vision of what they wanted their hometown downtown to look and feel like.

I wonder where some of these young people are today. Are they still in Delray? Did some of them go off to school and come home to start families here? Are we doing enough to make this place their place? Are we thinking about the future? Their future? I saw some photos of some older residents who have passed and I smiled. They were old many years ago and still found it important to participate, to care, to plan for a future they must have known they might not see.

After viewing that long presentation, I took the dogs and took a long walk through a park.

It was a glorious Florida day—perfect temperatures, perfect, peaceful.

Dogs live in the moment and have so much to teach us if we care to look. But I also believe they are clued in to our emotions and moods. My mood was an odd mix of happy and reflective. The dogs were just happy to be out and sniffing around. So was I.

I’m not immune to the headlines—venomous politics, heroin, crime, poverty all of which weighs even heavier (if that’s possible) during the holiday season. But…I also found myself feeling good about where I am and where I live.

I thought about how privileged I was to be given an opportunity to serve a community…my community…this community especially.

It wasn’t easy. And if they tell you it was, they weren’t there.

But wow was it ever good.

That old power point—from a place far, far away and yet right around the block, was a reminder of what can be accomplished when you capture positive energy, ask people to work together and dream of a better tomorrow. Did we get all we dreamt about? No, you never do. Nor should you.

But we did move the needle…

We built something special. More importantly, we had something special. I think it’s called love of community. I think it’s called civic pride, optimism and belief. If you collect those ingredients, I assure you there is nothing you can’t do. If you tolerate the opposite—hatred, blame, negativity and distrust—you put it all at risk.

The beauty of life, business and community is there is always more to do. For that we ought to be thankful. It’s motivation to pursue progress.

I believe the best is yet to come but that statement comes with a big caveat: only if we harness the power of neighbors coming together and working toward a better tomorrow.

Sounds hokey? Maybe to the cynics, but those of who believe know it works.