Leave a comment Posted on Art Institute of Chicago, Chicago, Frank Lloyd Wright, Green Mill, Los Angeles Opera, Second City

The Happy Wanderers

My wife and I just came back from a week in Chicago. What made the trip extra special was that we traveled with a favorite couple of ours, Leslie and Grant.

I got to know Leslie over 25 years ago when I began taking my students to the Los Angeles Opera.   She was a guest speaker for my English classes as part of the Opera League.  She would drive from Pacific Palisades to Glendale with props to supplement her lectures.  When doing a presentation on Puccini’s “La Boheme” she designed a French café ambience with freshly baked tea cookies and juice for my classes.

Her enthusiasm for sharing her passion for opera with young people was contagious.  In fact, it was because of her that I grew to enjoy opera.  A relationship grew.  My wife and I began socializing with her and Grant, her partner.

Leslie came up with the idea of starting an Opera Club at Hoover High School where I worked.  She’d teach a select number of students after school about operas that we all would see, courtesy of her generosity.  She even treated everyone to dinner beforehand.

After a few years, I stopped taking students to the opera, and soon our connection went dormant. 

The 2019-2020 academic year was my final one as a teacher so I wanted to teach opera again, taking my students to see a new production of “La Boheme” at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.  I instantly knew that Leslie had to be part of this experience.

I scoured through my filing cabinets for the opera lesson plans in hopes of finding her phone number—and I did.

Just as she had done years ago, Leslie made the trek from the Westside to Glendale, bringing her materials and cookies for my students.

Since then, my wife and I have enjoyed the company of Leslie and Grant.  Every couple of months we schedule an event and/or a meal together.  We never tire of sharing stories of our lives, often talking for over three hours. 

Earlier this year we discussed taking a week-long trip together to Chicago, a first for our relationship.  From the start we agreed that we would see each other at least once a day, for a meal or an outing, leaving the rest of the time for each couple to be on their own. 

We each created an itinerary, compared notes, then chose the times when we would all be together.

By the way, Leslie and Grant are the most active people we know—world travelers—with an insatiable curiosity to discover something new.

When they travel, they don’t limit their activities to sitting on tour buses.  They take long walks, ride horses and go kayaking, an inspiration for older adults who may put boundaries on what they can do in their golden years. 

It was fun sitting together in the first row of the airplane, Grant and Leslie on the left, my wife and I on the right.  We stayed at the same hotel and often had breakfast together.

Most of the trips my wife and I have taken have been with our sons so this was a refreshing change to travel with another couple.

I’m happy to report that the vacation was memorable. 

Over the course of the week together we discovered that each of us contributed something that enriched the experience.  Grant and Leslie’s enthusiasm for Frank Lloyd Wright inspired us to visit his Robie House in Hyde Park, a tour they themselves took a couple of days earlier.  I suggested attending a magic show that wasn’t on their radar, while my wife showed them how to use an Uber app so they didn’t have to only rely on taxis. 

Besides the magic show, all four of us went to the Green Mill, the oldest jazz club in the Windy City, to hear a band play swing music while semi-professional dancers put on a show. 

We visited Second City where so many famous comedians from the past 50 years got their break. 

We traveled to Oak Park to explore Frank Lloyd Wright’s home and studio he built in 1889, then walked with a docent throughout the preserved neighborhood where houses with beautiful architecture abounded.

We went to the Art Institute of Chicago to see a special exhibition of Henri Matisse’s “Jazz” book.   Then each couple continued exploring on their own.  One must for me was to put my eyes on Marc Chagall’s “The Praying Jew” painting which preceded his “Rabbi with Torah” work that I wrote about earlier this year that hung in my family’s home when I was a child.

After exploring several gallery rooms and not locating it, I got nervous because some spaces were closed for renovation and I thought how unhappy it would be if it wasn’t on display.   But after getting help from an employee, my wife and I finally found it.  What a mesmerizing work of art.  We sat on a bench so that we could spend more time with it, when suddenly I heard “Brian”—it was Leslie calling my name.   How serendipitous that the four of us reunited in the museum in front of that painting.  Wow.

We look forward to more excursions with Leslie and Grant in the future.  In the 1960s there was a syndicated TV travelogue program called “The Happy Wanderers.”  Next trip, all four of us will be wearing custom-made shirts with that moniker.

1 Comment Posted on Donald Trump, Iran, Norah O'Donnell, President Trump, Strait of Hormuz

Is There a Doctor in the [White] House?

“Leave the F—in’ Strait, you crazy bastards, or you’ll be living in Hell—JUST WATCH.”

“A whole civilization will die tonight, never to be brought back again,” bombing Iran “back to the Stone Ages.”

In your wildest imagination would you ever think such vile statements would come from a U.S. President?

Whatever diminished mental capacity former President Joe Biden may have had, what we are living through now is much worse—an unstable man during a time of war. Even berating Biden as “sleepy” has come back to haunt him as myriad videos reveal the president as “sleeping” during meetings.

The Atlantic writer Tom Nichols summarizes the president’s state of mind this way:

“[We] should be very worried about a commander in chief who is trying to govern the country between social-media binges, who attacks religious leaders in narcissistic frenzy, and who imagines himself as a deity. If an elderly parent did such things, most people would be concerned. The president doing such things is far more alarming.”

His nastiest comments are posted in the middle of the night.  When does the faucet of his venomous social media megaphone get turned off?  Can’t he think of ways to use his time in a productive way?

When he made the decision to attack Iran, a move that his predecessors had refused to undertake due to the inherent risks, he didn’t do so based on facts but on feelings.  Most troubling is that not one person told him this was a bad idea.  Even his own vice president had reservations about the “excursion” yet ultimately supported his decision.

Whenever the war ends, it will leave Iran more powerful than before.  If he’s lucky, his negotiators may end up with a deal that resembles what the Obama administration had already accomplished in 2015.  That’s the agreement that he tore up.  In the decade since, Iran has been on a nuclear enrichment spending spree.  And now, the Strait of Hormuz will forever be a weapon Iran will use against its enemies.

His public appearances are also disturbing because he constantly dwells on his “greatest hits” which consumes his thoughts—windmills, Greenland and the ballroom—none of which impact Americans struggling with gas prices.

When asked on Fox News about how the citizens of Iran are doing when it comes to basic living necessaries such as food and water, he didn’t answer the question, choosing to comment on how beautiful the female reporter was who asked the question.  That’s where his mind is during wartime?

He sits at a cabinet meeting, with the secretary of state on one side and the secretary of “war” on the other, and they have a permanent bemused expression as their commander rambles on for several minutes about the quality of the pens he has when signing executive orders.

Just yesterday he sat down for an interview with “60 Minutes” correspondent Norah O’Donnell to discuss the shooter who attempted access to the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.  For a moment, the president seems unusually open to having an improved relationship with the press based on his reception.  Yet when O’Donnell asked him a question he didn’t like, his real self reappeared, lashing out at O’Donnell as “horrible” and a “disgrace”.   There’s the president 77 million people voted for, in all his glorious vulgarity.

If he doesn’t have dementia, then he has a personality disorder.  In either case, accountability needs to happen finally to this man.   Send a doctor, psychologist or anger management therapist to the White House because the leader of the free world is not well, and if he continues acting like a recalcitrant toddler, America will end up in the intensive care unit.

Leave a comment Posted on Carolyn Grogan, Luther Burbank Middle School

Reuniting with Mrs. Grogan after 53 years

“Mrs. Grogan,” I said to my 9th grade Creative Writing teacher, “53 years from now we’re going to have lunch together.”

“Sounds great,” she replied.

No, that conversation never took place.  But what if it had?

No reason to wonder because the other day I did have lunch with Mrs. Grogan, the first time I’ve seen her since June 1973.

More accurately, we reunited a week earlier when she invited me to be interviewed by students for the Luther Burbank Middle School oral history project facilitated by 8th grade history teacher Heidi VanKooten whose classroom was the former wood shop where I sat many moons ago.

Much of Luther has remained the same.  Besides changing from a junior high (grades 7-9) to a middle school (grades 6-8) back in the early 1990’s, the main difference is that the school has air conditioning whereas my generation endured triple-digit scorchers with only industrial-size fans blowing hot air all around us; it’s amazing any learning transpired.

As I walked in the room, there she stood:  Mrs. Grogan, looking remarkably the same as she did so long ago.  For the record, her first name is Carolyn, but she’ll always be Mrs. Grogan to me.  Just as I wouldn’t call my parents or doctors by their first name, I have the same reverence for my teachers. 

I remember Mrs. Grogan as an intense teacher.  She was taller than other female instructors and her eyes rarely blinked to further underscore her laser-beam focus whenever she looked at you.  Her voice was strong leaving no doubt that she was in charge, a quality I admire in teachers.

After giving her a hug, I was escorted by Ms. VanKooten to the young students who would interview me.  The pair turned on a recorder and started going through a full page of single-spaced questions. 

Some of the questions—what cafeteria food I ate, who were the popular people, what were the sayings of that time—reminded me of how much of an outsider I was for I never ate at the school cafeteria nor hung out with the popular kids or recited the faddish slang.  Instead, I hung out with my teachers during nutrition and lunch where I felt safe from students’ stares due to my weight and skin condition. 

I brought with me a book bag containing my yearbooks, the Faculty Memorial Award trophy given to me upon exiting junior high as well as a souvenir of my very first visit to Luther—at age 4 in 1962.  That’s when I received both oral polio vaccines in the form of a sugar cube developed by Dr. Sabin.

I felt joyful after the 45-minute interview.  Here were these young teens who exuded genuine interest in documenting my story. 

Mrs. Grogan and I didn’t have a chance to catch up at that moment, so we set up a lunch date the following week.

To prepare for it, I hunted through a couple of boxes in the garage labeled “Brian’s old stuff” comprised of schoolwork, report cards and yearbooks which I meticulously saved from my academic career.

While I had Mrs. Grogan for Social Science in the spring semester of school year 1972-1973, it was her Creative Writing class in the fall which sparked my creative spirit.

Her class allowed me to express myself with complete freedom.  I made collages, wrote and had my brother illustrate a Dr. Seuss-like story using the Grinch, did an interview with my cat (on audio tape) in front of the class, and wrote a short screenplay which later inspired me to make my first student film in the spring, “The Alumni Killings.”  For the climax, actual Burbank police officers drove their cruiser to the school arresting the villain (something they would not do today).

I couldn’t wait to share these memories with Mrs. Grogan as we settled into a booth at Tallyrand restaurant.

She was thrilled to look over the work I did in her class, paying attention to the comments she wrote.

I learned that Mrs. Grogan is a lifetime Burbanker, attending its schools and teaching its students not just at Luther, but Burbank High.  She has two children and four grandchildren and even knows some of my neighbors.

After a brisk 90-minute visit, we agreed to do it again, but sooner than another 53 years.  What a treat it was to reconnect decades later with one of my most influential teachers. 

I joked with her that she may be the last of my teachers “still on earth” as she put it.

Though she retired from the classroom in 2010 after over 40 years of teaching, she remains engaged, tutoring students of all ages.

It’s impressive how she has retained her energy and enthusiasm after all these years.  She continues to inspire me with her vitality for life.

The greatest gift a student can give a teacher is contacting them years later letting them know how well their life has turned out.  I, in turn, was able to see how well my teacher’s life has gone as well.

So, here’s to Mrs. Grogan and all the teachers who helped guide me especially during my challenging ninth-grade year when my father succumbed to lung cancer and a 14-year-old boy held himself together by immersing himself in schoolwork.

I have often said that the classroom is a sanctuary.  If so, Mrs. Grogan is a saint.

I reunited with my ninth-grade English teacher, Mrs. Grogan, after 53 years.

Leave a comment Posted on Marc Chagall, Meibohm Fine Arts, Rabbi with Torah

Resurrecting a Family Heirloom (Part 2)

Recap from Part 1

I discovered that a long‑cherished family art piece—an old, faded print my mother displayed for decades—is actually a reproduction of Marc Chagall’s “Rabbi with Torah,” a connection deeply tied to her family’s Jewish and Ukrainian heritage. This revelation sparks a quest to restore or replace the artwork, culminating in an unexpected twist when an eagerly purchased replacement is abruptly refunded.

Part 2

I immediately emailed the eBay seller as to why I received a refund after my purchase was confirmed just minutes earlier.  He replied, “I pressed the wrong button. The correct is I’m refunding you.”

You mean this work had already been sold?

“Just to be clear—I am not getting this painting?  It meant so much to me.”

Seller: “I do have quite a few Chagall works so let me show you if you’re interested.”

Wow.  I was beside myself with a mixture of confusion, anger and despair.

Was this an honest mistake by the seller, or a calculated ploy to sell other items he had?

I was so distraught over this news I couldn’t think straight.  My wife encouraged me to just reframe the original and display it. 

But I couldn’t help myself.  I was determined to keep hunting.

By 11:30 a.m., I found one on Etsy.  However, the photo of the item looked digitized and fake. I asked the seller if he would upload actual photos and he did.  Unlike the one I had originally purchased on eBay, this one had visible folds and other imperfections, plus was more expensive than the other.   I hesitated to buy it.

All day Sunday and into Monday I kept checking for any more available copies.  I found an excellent reproduction from an eBay seller who had a physical art store.  As I was on the page, a notification popped up on my screen that this item was in another potential buyer’s shopping cart. 

I panicked.  I had to act fast.  I didn’t want to lose another chance.  I frantically pressed the BUY IT NOW button. 

On Monday, Feb. 2 at 11:49 a.m. I got confirmation of my purchase.  Yes!  But after what happened to me on Saturday, I stifled my enthusiasm.  I had to make sure that the sale was for real this time.

At 7:30 a.m. on Tuesday, I received an email directly from Mark, who works for Meibohm Fine Arts in East Aurora, New York.  Celebrating their 125th anniversary, the granddaughter of the founder runs the family business.  He thanked me for the purchase.  Whew!

He shared with me that “most of the New/Old Stock items in our archive have not seen the light of day in over 75+ years, a rarity indeed, and that this vintage mid-century lithograph has never been framed.”

Mark would mail the litho via UPS later that day, with an expected delivery on the following Monday.  However, this was occurring during the intense cold storm that pummeled much of the country with snow and ice so I had to keep watch over the progress of its movement to notice if there were any delays.

Anxiety came over me as the week wore on without any progress on the UPS tracking website.  I checked it on Wed., Thur., Fri., and Sat., but the needle hadn’t moved from the “dropped off” status.  Steps still to come: “on the way,” “out for delivery” and “delivered.”  

Mark kept checking on it as well, even on his days off.  I wouldn’t be able to contact UPS until Monday so I had to sweat it out that the item was not lost.

In the middle of Sunday, I received a notification from UPS that the lithograph was arriving on Monday after all.  However, the status had not changed.  Which one was correct?

On Monday morning, movement finally occurred on the UPS tracking tool.

9:56 a.m. “on the way”

10:53 am. “out for delivery”

With an expected delivery by 9:00 p.m., that gave me 10 more hours to wait; throughout the day, Mark and I exchanged emails.  Now that’s remarkable customer service!

Sure enough, at 6:11 p.m., “ding-dong.” 

I opened the door to see the UPS man holding on to a long-tubed package.  Finally—relief.  As I signed for it, I gave the driver a 30-second recap of the whole story.

I had my wife videotape me as I opened the tube and gently pulled out the rolled-up lithograph.  Marc did a meticulous job of wrapping it with arrows marked on the tiny pieces of tape guiding me on the correct direction to pull the tape.

When I removed the print out of its protective bubble wrap and unfolded it, I was quite impressed by the pristine condition of something that was manufactured several decades ago.  In the at the bottom in the white margin surrounding the poster was information about it, including the following:

Marc Chagall (1887-    ). 

In other words, when these lithographs were produced by the New York Graphic Society in the 1950’s and 1960’s, Chagall was still alive (he died in 1985).

And there it was, side-by-side with my Mom’s version.  Quite a difference.  If I had any doubt about buying a newer one, it vanished:  this beautiful lithograph was the proper decision. 

With this enhanced reproduction, the details of the work can more clearly be seen.

In the foreground is the rabbi wearing traditional dress appropriate for praying.  He holds a Torah scroll, the most important text in the Jewish religion.  A snow-covered scene of a Russian village emerges in the background (condensed from the Stedelijk Museum’s website).

In the upper left of the painting, there is a pig and a lamppost; in the upper right, there is a horsedrawn sled with an occupant or two.  Behind that are a few straw-roof houses that complete the depiction of a shtetl.

The work symbolizes that Judaism survives even in a bleak world.  And unlike Mom’s poster, Chagall’s signature is clearly visible in the bottom right corner.

Dad sitting in his recliner he got for Father’s Day and Mom showing off roses she got for their wedding anniversary with the Chagall painting on the wall (left); the new lithograph framed and hung in our dining room (right).

It took two weeks and now it is on display in our dining room.  The rabbi is looking to his left where the opening is to our living room, welcoming visitors who walk through the portal.

My mother would have been impressed to see the full beauty of the work that captured her eye so many decades ago, now protected for generations with museum-quality UV-resistant glass and frame, a fitting, living tribute to her and my maternal grandparents who I never knew.

It makes one think of the serendipity of this adventure.

If not for having watched that “CBS Sunday Morning” show, none of this would have happened.

If not for that eBay seller canceling my purchase, I would not have ended up with a high-quality lithograph from a high-class business as Meibohm Fine Arts.

I wish I could share with Mom everything I’ve learned—but maybe, just maybe, she already knows.

Leave a comment Posted on Terry Rittmiller, Uncategorized

Terry the Helper

Within a year of losing my sister-in-law, I have now lost my brother-in-law.  Both of my siblings are widowed, and the weight of that reality is heavy.

So what it was like having Terry as a brother-in-law?

I can’t recall the first time I saw him.  In the early years of Debra and Terry’s nearly 60-year relationship, I didn’t see him at all.

But I heard him.

It was the revving of his 1967 Chevy II Nova as he cruised past our house, his way of letting my sister know he came by.  He was shy and had a healthy fear of our father so not until Debra moved out to live with Terry did the family finally meet him.

Being seven years older than me, on the surface we had little in common—I, a teenager, and he in his 20’s—making conversations short.  

As the years passed, I got to know Terry as the family’s handyman.   I grew up ignorant on how to fix anything except putting mayonnaise on my bacon sandwiches, so to have someone who could make your car work better, make your house look better and, in turn, make your life better was a treasure not to take for granted.

One thing was clear:  Terry was a man of few words, preferring to speak with his actions.

I always felt guilty asking for his help so each time I needed his expertise, I’d call Debra.

“Ask Terry what he thinks I should do about this dent in my car.”

Debra, shouting at Terry, “Brian wants to know what to do about a dent in his car.”

Terry, in the background, “Tell him to bring it over.”

Other times when we needed something, there’d be a text from Debra, “We’re on our way.”

No hesitation.  Terry was pleased to help family, friends and neighbors. 

Every day he needed a project to work on, so if you needed anything fixed, he gladly came to the rescue, arriving with more tools in his SUV than a local hardware store.

Still, I made a point not to overuse the Terry hotline every time I needed help.  I didn’t want him to think I was leaning on him too much.  And the rare times when I could do handy work myself, such as disassembling and reassembling a toilet tank (thanks YouTube), I made sure to share my success with him so that he would think more highly of me. 

In later years, Terry and I grew closer.  I would make a point to not just say a quick “hi” to him when I visited but to engage with him in conversation.  I especially enjoyed making him laugh whenever I could.

It’s impossible to list everything he did for us over the past decades, but his handiwork is evidenced by those with whom he helped.  When I admire the white vinyl fence he erected along the length of our backyard, he’s still with us.

Terry’s love for driving and working on sports and vintage cars, winning several awards in contests, is why when our two sons (and their cousin) were in the Cub Scouts, my wife asked him to carve their Pinewood Derby cars and, not surprisingly, every car won First Place.  Terry was our secret sauce.

And as soon as he completed the job, he disappeared like a superhero.  No need to thank him because that’s just who he was—a helper.

Mr. Rogers once said that the world needs helpers.  Terry won first place in that department, too. 

His concern for those in his life had no limitations. He’d be there for them.  It was his way of showing his love.

Terry chose not to have the spotlight on himself which is why he felt uncomfortable with celebrations of his birthday.  He was just fine sitting on the couch watching old Westerns while others chatted elsewhere. 

In fact, if he were here reading this tribute, he would have walked to the den to watch “The Rifleman.”

Something else about Terry:  he never complained about the lousy health he was given.  At age 12 he was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, in his 40’s he had a double-transplant and more recently too many ailments to count.  I never once heard him whine or complain about his situation which is why others may have wrongly thought that he was healthy when he wasn’t.  As unlucky as he was with health, he got lucky with my sister, and having the love of friends and family. 

He’s left a void that can never be filled. In moments like this, I’m reminded of the saying: Don’t be sad that he’s gone—be grateful that we had him for as long as we did.

Leave a comment Posted on CBS Sunday Morning, Marc Chagall, Rabbi with Torah

Resurrecting a Family Heirloom (Part 1)

As I went through my Sunday morning routine of making coffee and turning on the “CBS Sunday Morning” show, I watched a segment about people who rescued Jews during Nazi Germany.  Varian Fry was one of those people, an American journalist working for the Emergency Rescue Committee that helped refugees escape from France during 1940–1941, including some artists such as Marc Chagall.  On the screen flashed a montage of his art, and suddenly one caught my eye—a painting of a rabbi.  It seemed so familiar.

Four days later over lunch with my sister, as is our practice, we each took out little pieces of paper with topics to talk about since our last get together.  The first item on her list was the “CBS Sunday Morning” Chagall piece.

“Did you see that painting of a rabbi?” she asked me.  Suddenly, I knew instantly why that piece stuck with me.  “That’s like the painting Mom had hanging on the wall all those years.”  While not the same painting, it was similar in its subject matter.

When I returned home, I took a photo of Mom’s painting, researched the image, and, bingo, discovered that it was by Marc Chagall!  Titled “Rabbi with Torah” or “Rabbi met wetsrol,” the original is in the Stedelijk Museum in Amsterdam.

Two similar Marc Chagall paintings: “The Praying Jew” (left), “Rabbi with Torah” (right), my mother’s original print.

The painting Mom most admired, that she took with her from rental house to rental house, prominently displayed on a living room wall, turned out to be a famous work by a giant in the 20th century art world. I’m certain Mom never knew any of this; otherwise, she would have enjoyed regaling us with such joyous information.

Her eyes must have fixated on the Jewish-ness of the painting, a symbol of her heritage.  None of us three kids remember our house without it.

My guess is she spotted this framed poster in a furniture store which back in the day would have inexpensive art for sale. 

Another aspect of the painting which she didn’t realize was that the background depicted an aspect of her family history:  a scene from a shtetl, a small village common in Ukraine in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

Like Chagall, her parents were born in Ukraine’s shtetls.  That connection would have meant so much to her.

Behind the rabbi figure, off in the distance, the ground is draped in snow, with a pig, a lamppost on the left, an adult and child on a sled pulled by a horse on the right, with a handful of small buildings on either side.  

Oddly, we never bothered to talk to Mom about this piece, its presence so constant like a light fixture, there all the time but not thought about.

When Mom passed away 20 years ago, it was one of a few items that I took.  Since the frame is dingy and the print faded and chipped (it never had glass), I didn’t consider displaying it in our house; instead, I secured it in the hall closet, with hanging jackets keeping it from tipping over.

Now, however, I had an urge to display it, most likely in our dining room where we had an empty wall as well as a special original charcoal drawing that was given to my wife’s great grandmother, who then gave it to her.  What better place to hang my mother’s dearest picture, further establishing the dining room as a place for family history.

I brought the artwork to a professional framer who had done quality work for me in the past to see if there was any way to bring it back to life.  The first question he asked upon laying eyes on it was, “Did either of your parents smoke?”  The answer was “yes.”  That was the main reason for the erosion of color in the print.  Not having glass to protect it was a contributing factor.  Using a Q-tip dipped with a solution of distilled water and Dawn dishwashing soap, he carefully touched a small portion of the poster.  While it lightened the work a bit, it wouldn’t be sufficient for it to look presentable. 

I made up my mind that if I hung my mother’s original, I had to get a new frame for it.  Of course, there was another option—locate a better print.

With the excitement of this family treasure consuming me, I quickly set out to find a higher quality version online.

While price was a factor, my number one priority was finding a copy of “Rabbi with Torah” that looked as closely to the original painting.  Of the half a dozen copies available, a few were poor reproductions; one was in worse condition than mine.

I settled on an eBay seller.  The price and condition were fair plus it was already framed.

On Friday, Jan. 30, at 2:00 p.m. I bought it. I was so thrilled; I couldn’t stop thinking of how it would look on my dining room wall, and how I would surprise my sister and brother when they’d come over to see it.

The next morning, I received the following emails from eBay:

10:12 a.m. – “The seller marked your order as shipped!”

10:41 a.m. – “Your refund is on its way!”

Wait, what?!  What did this mean, “refund”?

[To be continued.]

1 Comment Posted on Alex Pretti, Bruce Springsteen, ICE, Kriti Noem, Minneapolis, Mr. Rogers, Renee Good, Streets of Minneapolis

Blood on the Streets of Minneapolis

It didn’t take long for 2026 to start off with a bang, or in the case of Renee Good, bang, bang, bang, a mother of three children who was killed by an ICE agent on the streets of Minneapolis because she refused to get out of her car and drove away.  Two of the three shots were at point blank range through her driver’s side window.  Her last words to the agent who shot her were “I’m not mad at you.” After he killed Good, he didn’t run to her aid, but he or another ICE agent called out, “f—ing bitch.”  

Seventeen days later, Alex Pretti, an ICU nurse at a veterans hospital, was helping a woman who was violently pushed to the ground by a border patrol agent.  As he was lifting her up, Pretti was pepper sprayed in his face.  Seven agents wrestled him to the ground.  One agent detected Pretti’s gun in a holster and removed it—the only moment when his gun was out.  In other words, he was disarmed.  That’s when he was shot 10 times by two agents as he lay prone on the street.

Two executions.  In broad daylight.  Americans killing other Americans.

What is happening in this country?  

In both situations, the White House officials from the president on down had their fictional narrative locked in place:  both Good and Pretti were domestic terrorists.  In other words, these people deserved to die.

Homeland Security Secretary Kristi Noem delivered the president’s message.  And how truthful was the information?

“An individual approached . . . officers with a . . . handgun.”

FALSE.  Pretti’s handgun was secured in a holster the whole time.  The only item he had in his hand was his cell phone.

“The armed suspect reacted violently.”

FALSE.  While he gave some resistance, the agents violently wrestled him to the ground.

“An agent fired defensive shots.”

FALSE.  There were two agents who shot Pretti, and all 10 shots were offensive ones since they were taking target practice on his prone body.

“Medics appeared at the scene immediately.”

FALSE.  No medics were needed.  He was dead.

“He had two magazines.”

TRUE.  But he never used them because he never used his gun.

As these lies spread, so did all the videos taken by those witnessing the murder.  Didn’t those in charge of the country see them?  Did they think that by saying the lies repeatedly it would erase these images?  Imagine if these images didn’t exist?

If it weren’t for courageous Minneapolis citizens who recorded these murders with their phones, there’d be no evidence that the federal employees who are paid by taxpayers lied to the American people.  It would have been a “they said/they dead” situation.

However, the attack against Pretti’s Second Amendment rights for being a gun owner is what shook up the MAGA and NRA crowds who vigorously supported his right to carry a firearm and two magazines—all legal in Minnesota.

Perhaps another reason for the outrage is that both Good and Pretti were U.S. citizens and white.  If either one did not match this description, the outcry may not have been so ear-piercing.

So now the president and his team had to revise their narrative.

Of course, this has been the president’s playbook:  to tell people what they see is false.  Such as the 2020 election (he won, Biden lost) and the 2021 insurrection (all convicted perpetrators pardoned).

The ICE tactics of bursting onto a scene in the middle of the day such as a car wash or hardware store, fully masked, identities hidden (like the KKK), is stuff of Mother Russia.  Supposedly, the government is infiltrating cities in order to weed out criminals, yet 92 percent of the people who have been plucked out of their lives have no criminal record.  Are these ugly intimidation tactics to frighten citizens, Americans vs. Americans, worth rounding up the 8 percent who do have criminal records? 

It’s like taking a hoe to a yard to unearth a worm.  You may find one but in doing so you’re destroying the lawn.

Clearly evident is that these ICE agents lack proper training. The government is so desperate to hire more ICE officers that the six-month training has been decimated to 47 days.

Those who chase the $50,000 bonuses to join ICE are people who wouldn’t make it out of police academies.  This line of work attracts bullies who enjoy the anonymity of terrorizing citizens.

This is not America.

People have become accustomed to hostile tactics and vile language.  When the president recently visited an auto plant, in response to a question from an employee, he retorted “f— you” to a fellow citizen, giving him the finger.  What other president has ever done this?

But if Biden or Obama said or did any of these things, whoa, the backlash would be the size of a tsunami.

Frankly, why aren’t people commenting on the mental health of this president?  His delusional thinking that because he wasn’t awarded the Nobel Peace Prize he is no longer going to be peaceful and will conquer Greenland by force is nuts.  Didn’t Maria Corina Machado hand over her medal to him?  Any normal, decent person would have refused the gesture.  But not him.

This is another example of why you don’t appease bullies, thinking that if you give them what they want, they’ll leave you alone.  Instead, they crave more.  As he himself told the New York Times, the only thing stopping him is his own morality.  Since he’s immoral, there are no guardrails to prevent him from unleashing his irrational brain.  And Americans and the world will suffer from his diseased mind.

The only ounce of compassion the president had for Goode’s murder was when he learned that her parents were supporters of him.  You see, it’s all about HIM.

In times of crisis, a president normally visits the distressed area to calm citizens and turn the temperature down.  In this case, the president chose not to.  After all, Minnesota did not vote for him in 2016, 2020 or 2024.  So during the weekend of Pretti’s murder, his social media posts focused on the ballroom that he is building which will be larger than the White House.

He doesn’t care about over half of the country who don’t support him, viewing them as non-citizens.  That’s why he targets the American cities in states which didn’t vote for him. 

The one person who did show up in Minneapolis wasn’t a federal official or any politician, but a guitar player.  Bruce Springsteen attended a benefit concert to premiere his new song, “Streets of Minneapolis.”  It took a singer, not a president, to shine a light on the darkness that has covered this community for several weeks.

So many of us are exhausted with the rapidity of negative news, but don’t let that onslaught convince you that the only thing you can do is remain still in your home, passively hoping for a brighter day.

Be reminded of the profound guidance that Fred Rogers would say at times like these:  look for the helpers.

Rebecca Good and Alex Pretti were helpers.  Whatever you do about what’s going in the world, be sure to do something:  contacting representatives, attending rallies, protesting in the streets, painting a picture, writing a column.   To sit there and do nothing is a prescription for doom.

This administration has inflicted body blows to the Constitution, democracy is on the ropes, but, as shown in Minneapolis, it is still standing.  

Make the world a better place.  It’s not a cliché—it’s therapy for our nation.

Leave a comment Posted on Bob Wells, Mel Torme, Nat King Cole, The Christmas Song

“The Christmas Song” – A Holiday Chestnut

How “The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire)” originated sounds like a piece of fiction.  A songwriter uncomfortable in the hot summer of Los Angeles decides to write a song about cold things as a way to cool off.  

Yet that is exactly what inspired Bob Wells in 1945 when collaborator Mel Tormé (whose original last name was Torma born of Russian-Jewish immigrants) arrived at his parents’ home in Toluca Lake, an upscale celebrity-inhabited community a short distance from downtown L.A.

When Tormé entered the house, he discovered a 25-word poem (curiously the same number of calendar days leading up to Christmas’s December date) on a writing pad which what turned out to be the opening lines to the song:

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

            Jack Frost nipping at your nose

            Yuletide carols being sung by a choir

            And folks dressed up like Eskimos

Mel Tormé continues the story in his autobiography It Wasn’t All Velvet:

I took another look at his handiwork.  “You know,” I said, “this just might make a song.”

We sat down together at the piano, and improbably though it may sound, “The Christmas Song” was completed about forty-five minutes later. 

It wasn’t as quickly recorded though, taking a year before Nat King Cole sang it.

It’s funny how both “White Christmas” and “The Christmas Song” are linked to warm weather in Los Angeles.   In Berlin’s verse he talks about palm trees swaying in L.A., and for Wells, it was a 100-degree July day that prompted him to dream of the winter with all its Christmas trappings.

Like a top ten list, the marvel of the song is how it encapsulates so many of the marvelous images and memories people envision about the holiday. 

This classic begins with vivid descriptions of what Christmas is all about:  “chestnuts roasting on an open fire”—burning wood in the fireplace, “Jack Frost nipping on your nose”—cold weather, “yuletide carols being sung by a choir”—angelic Christmas music, and “folks dressed up like Eskimos”—warm winter clothing.  Throw in a turkey, mistletoe, Santa, toys, flying reindeer, and the words “Merry Christmas” and the result is an amazing array of big ideas in a small number of lines that strike an emotional core.

Cole recorded the song four times, the first two recordings occurring within two months of one another. 

In 1946, Nat King Cole was known primarily as a jazz pianist as part of the King Cole Trio.   While he did sing on the records, his vocals were viewed as secondary to his piano playing.

After hearing Wells and Tormé’s song, Cole felt that strings should supplement the recording.

            His widow Maria Cole recalled in her book about her husband how he first regarded the song.  “This is a very pretty song but it’s no good for a trio.”  It needs “a full band for a big background . . . a different kind of instrumentation.” (Cole 52)

            According to Maria, it was Cole’s manager Carlos Gastel (who also had Mel Tormé as a client) who suggested “adding a string section” foreseeing “a new trend for [Cole].”

However, the Capitol Records executives did not see the value of adding to the expense a string arrangement to what they perceived as an intimate jazz trio styling even though Cole had been their biggest recording artist for the past three years.

And so Nat recorded the song just with his trio on June 14, 1946 in New York City at WMCA Radio Studios with a bit of “Jingle Bells” strummed on an electric guitar at the tune’s conclusion.      

Once the record company executives heard it, they agreed to add four string musicians and a harpist and the song was completely redone.  Cole went back into the studio two months later on August 19, 1946 to re-record it at the same location.

What is intriguing about both 1946 recordings is that Cole misreads the line “to see if reindeer really know how to fly” as “to see if reindeers really know how to fly” adding a grammatically incorrect ‘s’.   No one evidently pointed this out to him in the intervening eight weeks between the June and August recording sessions.

Cole finally fixed this error in the successive two recordings.

The third rendering had a lush orchestral arrangement by Nelson Riddle, Frank Sinatra’s top arranger, and was made on August 24, 1953 at Capitol Studios in Hollywood, famously referred to as “The House That Nat Built” due to the amount of money the singer made for the record label. Though rarely heard anymore, music aficionados view this as the best version of the four since Cole’s voice had shown signs of deterioration in the fourth and final recording nearly eight years later.

Arranged by Charles Grean and Pete Rugolo, and conducted by Ralph Carmichael, this March 30, 1961 session at New York City’s Capitol Studios is the only stereo recording Cole did of the song which explains why it has supplanted all previous versions, evolving as the one that everyone hears. 

While Cole performed piano duties on the 1946 recordings, Buddy Cole (no relation) and Ernie Hayes played the piano on the 1953 and 1961 versions, respectively.

            The only reason why “The Christmas Song” was not a number one hit was because at the same time of its release the King Cole Trio’s “I Love You for Sentimental Reasons” was at the top of the charts.

            “The Christmas Song” transformed Nat King Cole from a talented jazz artist who sang and played piano in a trio, to a popular singer along the lines of Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra, a master balladeer, an amazing achievement for an African American entertainer at this time. With “The Christmas Song,” the public and the Capitol Records producers heard a different type of singer.   From now on, Cole focused his musical skills away from the piano and in front of the orchestra.

As Epstein sums up in his biography of Cole, “For almost a quarter of a century his art had been the art of the ensemble jazz musician.  Now he was becoming . . . a lyric soloist.” (158)  By 1948, the King Cole Trio as an artistic entity was no more.

Freddy Cole remembers that his older brother “loved the song” and loved to sing it the rest of his days.

Tormé and Wells would eventually go their separate ways enjoying success in the entertainment industry, Tormé donning several creative musical hats most notably as a preeminent jazz stylist, and Wells as a multiple Emmy-winning television producer.

Even though Mel Tormé wrote additional holiday tunes including “The Christmas Feeling” and “Christmas Was Made for Children,” he and Wells never did write a song as popular as they did in 1946.  In fact, he often referred to the money earned from the composition as his “financial pleasure.”

The Wall Street Journal’s drama critic Terry Teachout describes “The Christmas Song” as “one of the most harmonically complex songs ever to become a hit.”  Still, if it weren’t for Christmas songs of the past airing on radio and in stores each holiday season, few people under the age of 50 would know who Mel Tormé or Bing Crosby were.  It is a shame how artists who were once extremely popular over the course of decades can quickly vanish from public awareness.

To further illustrate this, Daisy Tormé, one of Mel’s five children, related a story about her father who was at the storied Farmer’s Market shopping center near Hollywood when carolers strolled by singing “The Christmas Song.”  After joining the singers in finishing the song, one of them told him that he “wasn’t that bad of a singer.”  When Tormé half-mockingly said that he had recorded a few records in his time, the young man asked, “how many?”  “Ninety,” he responded.

One of the main reasons why the song resonates so deeply is the line “and so I’m offering this simple phrase to kids from one to ninety-two,” an unusual use of first person point of view where the songwriter directly addresses the listener.  

Daisy wistfully reveals that “every time I hear the song, I get emotional because it is like getting a hug from my father.”

            “The Christmas Song” had a career-lasting impact on all three men.   This was the biggest hit Nat King Cole, Mel Tormé, and Bob Wells ever had, and it is safe to say that without that song, just as with “White Christmas” and Bing Crosby, the legacy of these men in the 21st century would be diminished if not entirely forgotten.

Leave a comment Posted on Joe Davis, Los Angeles Dodgers, Shohei Ohtani, Toronto Blue Jays

Dodger Dynasty

Yoshinobu Yamamoto mobbed by his teammates after the Dodgers won the 2025 World Series.

It has been a few weeks since the Los Angeles Dodgers won the World Series against the Toronto Blue Jays.  Let’s examine why the Dodgers have been the best baseball club for the past 13 years.

The last team to win back-to-back titles was the New York Yankees in 2000.  Since that time, Major League Baseball (MLB) in 2020 added a Wild Card Series replacing the single-game round with a best two out of three series, meaning that some teams would need 13 instead of 11 victories to become champions, thus raising the difficulty of winning a title. The Dodgers did this twice in 2020 and 2025.

Additionally, except for the first Wild Card round, the Dodgers did not have home field advantage against the Phillies, Brewers or the Blue Jays.  Still, the Dodgers had a better road record, 7-1, than home record, 6-3.  The Blue Jays were 5-5 at home throughout the playoffs so when they were up three games to two against the Dodgers, with Games 6 and 7 in Toronto, they statistically had a disadvantage based on how well the Dodgers were playing on the road.  Also, in past World Series that have gone seven games with the home team having a three to two advantage, the road team has won the final two games 14 of the 22 times.

While Toronto had more hits and runs and home field advantage, when it came to crunch time, the Dodgers made the plays when it counted the most. 

Just look at what happened in the final two games.

Game 6

In the bottom of the 9th inning with the Dodgers leading 3-1and no outs, starting pitcher Tyler Glasnow entered the game.  His first pitch to Ernie Clement was a popout to Freddie Freeman.   Andres Jimenez on the second pitch drove a ball to left field.  The Blue Jays’ runners thought it might fall in for a hit so once the ball was caught, Addison Barger had to dive back to 2nd base.  Kike Hernandez sprinted up, caught the ball and without stopping threw it to Miguel Rojas for a game-ending double play.

Game 7

After Miguel Rojas homered in the top of the 9th inning, the Blue Jays threatened in the bottom of the frame.  Yoshinobu Yamamoto, who threw 96 pitches the night before, came in to relive Blake Snell.  With the bases loaded and one out, Dalton Varsho grounded to Rojas who threw to home getting the runner out at the plate.  The next batter drove the ball to the warning track with centerfielder Andy Pages leaping on top of left fielder Hernandez to make the catch and send the game into extra innings.

After Will Smith homered in the top of the 11th, the Blue Jays had men on 1st and 3rd with one out, but Alejandro Kirk hit into a game-ending, series-ending double play.

Incredibly, both Games 6 and 7 ended abruptly via double plays.  Bottom line:  the best team won.

Yamamoto was awarded the World Series MVP.  What did he do?  Pitched a complete game, then threw 130 pitches in two consecutive days.

As Joe Davis aptly worded it after the final out, “To beat the champ, you gotta knock him out!”  And the Jays failed at doing just that. 

That’s why this year’s championship is more impressive than last year’s.

No doubt about it:  the Dodgers are a dynasty. 

Also, no doubt about it, Dave Roberts is the winningest manager in Dodger history.

Since taking over managerial duties in 2016, Roberts has a .621 winning percentage meaning that the Dodgers have won at least 6 out of every 10 games over the past 10 years.  That’s the highest all-time for managers with a minimum of 1,000 games.

The two most revered managers before Roberts, Walter Alston (23 years) and Tommy Lasorda (21 years) had winning percentages of .558 and .526, respectively.

Alston had four championships, Lasorda two and Roberts now has three.

This is also the first time in its 142-year history that the Dodgers have won back-to-back World Series championships.  They now have nine total:  1955, 1959, 1963, 1965, 1981, 1988, 2020, 2024, 2025.  Of course, they should have won another in 2017 when the Houston Astros were cheating.

Once the Guggenheim financial company bought the team in the middle of the 2012 season, they immediately laid the groundwork that has led to the Dodgers making the playoffs every year since 2013.

From 2013 to 2025:

  • They have won the National League Division title 12 out of 13 years.
  • They have won the pennant five times:  2017, 2018, 2020, 2024, 2025.
  • They have played in five World Series, winning three:  2020, 2024, 2025.

This is the most fertile period the Dodgers have ever had.   The Dodgers had an earlier golden period, playing in 10 World Series in 20 years from 1947 to 1966, winning 4 championships in 1955, 1959, 1963 and 1965.  This current team has an opportunity to surpass this achievement in a shorter time span.

They not only have the best player in baseball on their team, Shohei Ohtani, but may be the best player ever to play the game.

Ringling Bros. and Barnum and Bailey circus called themselves “The Greatest Show on Earth.” But after watching Los Angeles Dodger Shohei Ohtani’s performance in Game Four of the National League Championship series, he is truly the Greatest Sho.

On the mound, Ohtani pitched six scoreless innings, striking out 10 Brewers.  At the plate, he hit three homers, one that sailed 469 feet out of the stadium, a feat done only by a few other players at Dodger Stadium (built in 1962).

Not even Babe Ruth, the only other two-way player, did what he did.

That he did all of this in a pennant-clinching game was even more remarkable.  And he did it on Oct. 17, the number that’s on his jersey.

When asked after the game about his historic performance, he expressed frustration that he was unable to finish pitching the seventh inning.  In other words, the greatest performance in the playoffs of all time by a baseball player was still not satisfying for Ohtani.  He expected better.

After he won the MVP for Championship series, the very next day he had an engraved sign attached to his award placed in the middle of the locker room for all teammates to see:  it read “Team Effort.”

Match that modesty with his polite demeanor and you truly have a one-of-a-kind athlete.  Notice the way he greets the opposing dugout, catcher and umpire before his first at-bat.  And how he yells out if his foul ball came close to hitting anyone.

When Shohei Ohtani became a free agent after the 2023 season to sign what was then a record-breaking $700 million contract for 10 years, he told the Dodgers to defer all but $2 million in annual salary, freeing up funds for the management to pursue other quality players, ensuring that the Dodgers would remain competitive in the future.  Very few athletes would have offered such a financial sacrifice, showing that Ohtani puts “team” over himself.

Ohtani won his fourth MVP award (2021, 2023, 2024, 2025), reaching a rarified place as only the second player to have as many.  Barry Bonds holds the record with seven and remains the only other player to win at least three consecutive MVPs (2001–2004). While he finished with seven MVPs, Bonds’ accomplishments demand an asterisk due to allegations of performance-enhancing drug use during the second half of his career.

Each time Ohtani won the MVP it was by a unanimous vote, something no other player has done more than once.

Ohtani is also the second player ever, after Frank Robinson, to win MVPs in both the American and National Leagues, and the first to win multiple MVPs in each league.

With eight more years of Ohtani and ten more of Yamamoto, Dodger fans should keep savoring this long ride of high-quality Dodger baseball.  What a treat to watch it unfold.

The Greatest Sho on Earth

Leave a comment Posted on Los Angeles Dodgers

Dodger Devotee

One of the benefits of being retired is to immerse oneself into hobbies.  One of mine is following the Los Angeles Dodgers.

I’ve been a Dodger fan all my life.  In fact, the Dodgers moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles when I was born in 1958. One of the first memories I had was watching Don Drysdale pitch at Dodger Stadium in 1969, his last year of his career.

Back then, only road games from San Francisco and San Diego were televised so I’d listen to Vin Scully on the radio and keep score of the games. 

I followed the Dodgers as they won world championships in the 1960’s, 1980’s and now the 2020’s.

For the past few years, I’ve settled into a routine, immersing myself with all things Dodgers. On game day in the morning, I’ll read the sports articles in the Los Angeles Times including ones written by beat reporter Jack Harris, columnists Bill Plaschke, Dylan Hernandez and Bill Shaikin and editor Houston Mitchell. On The Athletic website, I’ll read any Dodger-related coverage.

At noon, I’ll turn on 570 KLAC, the Dodger radio station, and listen to Roggin and Rodney dissect the previous game and pontificate on that day’s game.

A couple of hours before game time, I’ll go to YouTube to find pressers with manager Dave Roberts.

I’ll turn on the Dodger TV station an hour before the game to watch John Hartung, Jerry Hairston and Nomar Garciaparra analyze what’s to come, then return to the postgame show with interviews from the players.

Then I go to the radio for Dodger Talk with David Vassegh where he takes calls from fans.

Finally, I watch the DodgerHeads podcast where a few hosts dissect the game for 90 minutes.

When the Dodgers are in the playoffs, as they have been for 13 consecutive years, I’ll turn on KLAC at 6:00 a.m. to hear host Tim Cates and former Dodger Steve Sax for the next three hours.

After each Dodger playoff game, Jack Harris and his fellow columnists upload a 15-minute video discussing that night’s action.

This year, the Dodgers are trying to become the first team in 25 years to repeat as champions, and the first Dodger team to ever win back-to-back World Series.

As of this publishing, the Dodgers have gone 7-1, winning both games in the Wild Card round against the Reds, three of four games in the Division round against the Phillies and the first two games in the Championship Series against the Brewers. 

They are six victories from reaching their goal.

Earlier this week, pitcher Black Snell pitched eight superb innings of shutout ball, allowing only one hit and no walks, striking out 10.  The next night Yoshinobu Yamamoto pitched a complete game.  After giving up a homerun on the very first pitch, he allowed just two more hits and one walk, striking out seven.

That was the first playoff complete game in eight years, 21 years since a Dodger pitcher had one by Jose Lima in 2004.  The L.A. Dodgers have had 23 postseason complete games, with Sandy Koufax pitched three alone in the 1965 World Series.

Both of my sons who are in their 20’s were amazed to witness something they had never seen before in their lifetime:  a complete playoff game by a Dodger pitcher.  One son told me, “Dad, it’s so weird to see a pitcher end a game and still be there shaking the catcher’s hand!”

Last year, the Dodgers’ bullpen catapulted them to a championship having only two good starters.  This year, the script has flipped.   Their bullpen is in shambles while their starting rotation has four ace-level pitchers.

Here’s how Times columnist Bill Shaikin describes it.

“In 16 games last October, the Dodgers had more bullpen games (four) than quality starts (two), and the starters posted a 5.25 earned-run average.  In eight games this October, the Dodgers have seven quality starts, and not coincidentally they are 7-1. The starters have posted a 1.54 ERA, the lowest of any team in National League history to play at least eight postseason games.

“The Dodgers have deployed four silencers. In dramatic lore they are known as famine, pestilence, destruction and death. These are only aliases. Their real names are Snell, Yamamoto, Glasnow and Ohtani.”

What a storybook ending it would be if future Hall of Fame pitcher Clayton Kershaw, the face of the Dodgers for the past 18 years, was put into the final inning of the last game of the World Series so he could experience the joy of hugging his catcher, last man standing on the mound.

I tell you one thing:  This team is on a mission.  Dodger fans can’t wait to see what they do next.