Leave a comment Posted on Christopher Nolan, IMAX 70mm, The Odyssey

The Odyssey:  A Journey Worth Taking

In a year when much has been made of the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, another event has gained more traction across the nation about something that is more than 10 times older than that.

People are flocking to movie theatres to see a film adaptation of Homer’s The Odyssey, an ancient Greek epic poem dating back to 2700-2800 B.C. that follows Odysseus, a king who encounters monstrous obstacles in trying to sail home to Ithaca after the Trojan War.

It is doubtful many people even know the meaning of the word “odyssey” yet sold-out screenings are populating across the U.S. since Christopher Nolan’s film opened on July 16th.  No fourth of July fireworks display matches the attention of this movie event.

How strange but exhilarating.  Part of the buzz has to do with how Nolan shot the whole film on IMAX 70mm film stock, the first time that has been done for a feature-length movie.  That non-cinephiles have educated themselves about this format seeking out one of the 25 theatres in the country equipped to show the film in the proper ratio is thrilling.  Suddenly, viewing a film actually running through a projector is fashionable.

“Something old is new again” applies to this feat in other ways as well.

Since Nolan could not shoot dialogue scenes using IMAX cameras due to the noise they made, he and his technical team came up with encasing the camera inside a blimp that dampened the sound, much as filmmakers did when sound pictures came around in the late 1920’s.

Then, the idea of moviegoers leaving their homes to see this film in special theatres echoes what studios did in the 1950’s to extract people away from their TVs to see a widescreen film shot in Cinemascope.

Nolan is one of the most ambitious filmmakers in the past 25 years.  While his epic trilogy of Batman and other big-budget movies garner the headlines, it’s his clever storytelling devices of moving time intervals like pieces across a cinema chessboard that keeps audiences engaged especially in “Memento,” “The Prestige” and “Oppenheimer.”

Nolan’s unbridled passion for loving film—refusing digital cameras, demanding theatres project his products on projectors, insisting that his movies have a longer window of exclusive theatrical exhibition before they appear on streaming services—makes him a champion for the future of movies and exhibition.

I saw “The Odyssey” in an IMAX 70mm presentation and thoroughly enjoyed myself.  For three hours, I was engrossed.   While I wouldn’t declare the film a masterpiece, it is a remarkable achievement, the power of attracting a large audience for something so archaic. For that, fans should give him grace if every product he produces isn’t THE BEST.

Let’s celebrate when these rare spontaneous moments surface reminding us that people when they want to can come together in the dark for three hours to share something special.

These days we crave what little binds us.  Who knew that a piece of literature thousands of years old would capture such enthusiasm, a sign that better days are on the horizon.  Just like Odysseus, we just have to sail through some nightmares first.

Leave a comment Posted on Steven Spielberg, Disclosure Day

Listen: Spielberg Still Has Something to Say

Spielberg’s latest film “Disclosure Day” is his best work in years. Though not without minor flaws, the film’s ambitious camera work and heartfelt message of empathy are remarkable—especially as Spielberg approaches 80.

I’ve been lucky to have lived during his lifetime, allowing me to see all but three—“Empire of the Sun,” “Always” and “The Terminal”—of his 35 feature films on the big screen when they were first released.

I feel a special connection to Spielberg in this regard:  we’re both Jewish and made Super-8 movies as teenagers, aspiring to become filmmakers.  Of course, that’s where the similarities end.

His off-the-charts talent of connecting with audiences with his ideas of what makes us human is why he is the best director of his generation, not to mention the highest-grossing one surpassing $10 billion.

He’s created many of the iconic movie moments of the past half-century.

“Jaws” (1975):  When the giant shark catapults out of the water onto the boat surprising the men during the climax.

“Raiders of the Lost Ark” (1981): The opening sequence when the enormous boulder is about to crush Indiana Jones.

“E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial” (1982):  When E.T. says goodbye to Elliott.

“Jurassic Park” (1993):  The sighting of a T-Rex in the side view mirror of a jeep.

“Schindler’s List” (1993):  When the prisoners he saved present Schindler with a gold ring fashioned from their teeth, and he replies, “I didn’t do enough.”  Also, the last scene of the real people Schindler saved placing stones upon his grave.

“Saving Private Ryan” (1998):  The disturbing violence when the film starts of soldiers arriving at Omaha Beach on D-Day.

“Munich” (2005):  The telephone assassination scene in Rome.

“War Horse (2011):  The climatic scene when Albert unable to see reunites with his horse Joey by whistling for him.

“West Side Story” (2021):  The exhilarating “America” dance number performed outside on the streets.

Spielberg is driven by his desire to captivate an audience’s attention. He perceives the shared experience of strangers watching movies together in a dimly lit theater as a quasi-religious ritual.  The shared reactions to images on the screen unite people in ways that few other art forms can. The power of movie-watching or screen-watching, realized in a global way near the end of “Disclosure Day,” is thrilling and life-affirming.  I have often felt this same way, that if only everybody was to watch a particular film at the same time, life would be better. 

During the Cold War, when tensions between the U.S. and U.S.S.R. were high, I had a naive thought:  what if Nixon and Brezhnev could sit together in a movie theater and watch “It’s a Wonderful Life”?  Imagine them moved to tears, grasping the shared humanity they both possess, leading to the de-escalation of nuclear arms.

“Disclosure Day” is a relentless, one-long chase with no opening credits, a roller coaster ride that never seems to end. Spielberg’s camera moves in magical ways, constantly seeking to astonish. One scene was so intense that I experienced an out-of-body sensation, realizing my rapid breathing and how tightly I was gripping the armrests as my eyes froze open at the engrossing images.

But Spielberg’s use of camerawork and editing is his technical side.   To match that dexterity with emotional scenes that connect the audience to their naked emotions is what stays with an audience after the lights come up.

Seeing “Disclosure Day” is a rare pleasure achieved by very few directors.  Spielberg urgently beseeches us to see the awe-inspiring potential in movies and in ourselves.  I can’t wait to experience his 36th feature.

Leave a comment Posted on Father's Day

Celebrating Life and Fatherhood

Last Tuesday morning, I needed milk and bananas at my local market so I went into to my car and—nothing.  No power at all.  Dead.  Immediately all my plans for the day went up in smoke because I had to call the Auto Club to jumpstart my battery which was replaced only six months ago.

I took my wife’s car and went to Ralphs.  Oddly, instead of going through the self-checkout as I always do, I chose the one with a cashier.  “How’s your day going?” she asked me as she robotically scanned my items without making eye contact.  (How many times that day would she press the play button on that question?)

Within milliseconds, two possible responses appeared “Terminator”-like: “fine” which was false but a quick way to curtail conversation or tell her the truth.

“Well, my car didn’t start so that’s no good,” I revealed. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.”  Her sympathy for me transformed this inconsequential exchange into something philosophical.  She wasn’t expecting an honest answer from a customer and I wasn’t expecting what I said next.

“But you know what?  My car didn’t start this morning, but I did.  And me starting is more important.”

She looked at me for the first time with her eyes widening and said, “You know, that’s right.  That’s a real good way to look at it.” 

I can’t explain how I came up with those words, but they flowed quickly out of me as if some other force took over my body, just as I can’t explain why I went to her instead of the self-checkout.

Suddenly, the black cloud was lifted and I felt much better exiting the market.  Today is a day worth living.

*          *          *

As I grow older, each significant day on the calendar rises in importance because the weight of a birthday or Christmas magnifies due to the decrease in future days to come.

I’m looking forward to spending this Father’s Day with my two sons.  It will be my 28th as a father; I only had 15 with my dad before he passed away.

I don’t need gifts, cards or a fancy restaurant meal.  Just the boys.  We’re going out to see a movie and I will barbeque burgers, maybe play catch.  That’s enough.

My last column about Father’s Day was four years ago when my wife and I were about to become empty nesters, our two sons leaving within a three-month period.  Our oldest, 22, got hired by Goldman Sachs in Salt Lake City so was moving out within days; our youngest, 17, was moving to San Luis Obispo to attend Cal Poly. 

That Father’s Day breakfast at Lucky’s in Montecito was bittersweet so we had our waitress memorialize the moment with a photo, an item to go into the Crosby time capsule of our family.

Suddenly, four years have passed.  Last year, Ben returned to Los Angeles for a new job and a new life, getting married to our delightful daughter-in-law Azriel.  Max graduated last week and has moved back home.  We are no longer empty nesters—happily. 

One life lesson I’ve learned is that the stage in life one is living cannot be comprehended until one is in a later stage; living longer provides one with reflection on the past.

Everyone has a birthday, it’s not something that you control, it just happens to a person.  But being a parent is an intentional act.  Making a decision to bring new life into the world is a remarkable choice.  My life would not be as worthwhile without fatherhood.

1 Comment Posted on Barack Obama, Donald Trump, Iran, John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts

Time to Celebrate America’s 250th birthday—Sanity Returns to the Kennedy Center

A minor miracle occurred in the early morning on June 13th—Trump’s name was removed from the John F. Kennedy Center for Performing Arts in Washington, D.C.   A judge ruled that the name change was illegal and therefore anything related to the venue had to expunge his name.

For once, Trump did not get his way.

Hundreds of people began gathering around to see this event including thousands via YouTube, applauding yellow-vested construction dudes as if they were members of Springsteen’s E-Street Band.  One worker even entertained the crowd pretending to fall off the rickety scaffolding that took longer to erect than an ADU.  The drip-drip process of removing 18 letters tortured the spectators.

Ever since he put his name on the memorial for the fallen president back in December, the complex has lost money. Consequently, Trump decided to use renovations as the reason for the closure, thereby avoiding the appearance of his name being associated with a financial failure.

Once the crew began removing the letters the entire work area was shielded behind curtains as if to conceal what was happening.  Why?  So that the man would not be embarrassed by the spectacle?  How apropos, the concealment of removing the letters symbolizing the concealment of how much damage this president has done in grifting for his family’s fortunes.

Underscoring the man’s enormous insecurities about himself, he forces those who work for him to proclaim their undying devotion to their king.

They all say it—Cabinet members, press secretaries, MAGA pundits—as if brainwashed like Stepford wives.  Eerily, the wording is exactly the same no matter who’s speaking. 

“President T is the greatest champion for [fill in the cause] of any president in American history.”  

But when journalists pose challenging questions to him, he avoids answering them, lashing out at reporters—”you’re stupid, you’re the worst person in the world.”

You’d think this person who embraces everything gold would follow the Golden Rule; however, he is the antithesis of it. 

Can you imagine the outrage if President Obama had done any of the things Trump has done?

  • Added his name above John F. Kennedy’s to the Kennedy Center.
  • Hung a giant poster of his likeness covering the Justice Department building.
  • Had his likeness on U.S. passports.
  • Plans to have his face on currency even though Congress in 1866 outlawed living people from appearing on money.
  • Charged taxpayers $1.8 billion to pay off rioters who stormed the Capitol on Jan. 6.
  • Tore down the whole east wing of the white house, charging taxpayers $1 billion for a ballroom.
  • Invaded Iran without approval from Congress, then surrendered to most of their demands, leaving Iran the strongest it’s been since the 1979 revolution and America emasculated on the world stage. When J.D. Vance told reporters that the Iranians “promise” not to build nuclear weapons was jaw-dropping in its naivety.

A few days ago when Obama delivered his speech at the inauguration of his presidential museum, it served as a stark reminder that just a decade ago, we had a leader who embodied qualities that any parent would cherish in their own children.

No wonder few are in a celebratory mood to commemorate the semiquincentennial of the United States.   The removal of Trump’s name from the Kennedy Center is a beacon for so many Americans thirsting for the return of sanity, competency and decency to their country.

Leave a comment Posted on 60 Minutes, Bari Weiss, CBS News, David Ellison, Nick Bolton, Scott Pelley

60 Minutes Has Expired

CBS News’ “60 Minutes,” the longest-running primetime program in television history, stands as a testament to the enduring power of broadcast journalism. As one of the few network TV shows I religiously tape and watch, I have been captivated by its content since discovering it as a teenager in the mid-1970s.

The magazine’s signature three-segment format within an hour exemplifies the pinnacle of broadcast journalism. It covers a wide range of topics, including world affairs, politics, travel, sports, and entertainment. Through its stories, I have gained valuable insights into various aspects of life. Even when I initially lacked interest in a particular subject, the reporting made watching the program essential, particularly when reporters posed challenging questions during investigations into instances of mismanagement or corruption. Moreover, “60 Minutes” fosters a sense of community, a show that people share with others.

During my teaching career, I utilized several segments to broaden the knowledge of my English and journalism students about the themes we studied in class.

Therefore, it is deeply concerning that when “60 Minutes” has its 59th-anniversary premiere later this fall, it will be a shadow of its former glory due to managerial changes within CBS News that have permanently compromised its independent operation.

The issue began when the current president criticized CBS News for the editing of an interview with Vice President Kamala Harris in 2024. As is his customary behavior, he sued CBS News.

In 2025, right before Skydance acquired Paramount, CBS’s parent company, Shari Redstone paid $16 million to the president to make sure the purchase would be approved.. However, this was only the beginning.

The new management’s objective was to control content within its news division to appease Ellison’s buddy; after all, he needed the FCC to approve the Paramount Skydance acquisition of Warner Bros. Discovery.

CBS News appointed Bari Weiss as its editor-in-chief without any prior broadcast journalism experience. The decision was made to disrupt the newsroom and ensure that content did not negatively portray the president. A notable example of this was the “60 Minutes” report last fall on the mistreatment of detainees in an El Salvadorian prison that the White House used to deport Venezuelan men. Weiss delayed the airing of the report to include comments from the administration.

Last month, Weiss appointed Nick Bilton, another individual without broadcast journalism experience, to lead “60 Minutes.”  Subsequently, he dismissed executive producer Tanya Simon, a veteran of over 30 years, along with other producers and two on-air correspondents.

When Bolton addressed the “60 Minutes” staff on Monday, veteran correspondent Scott Pelley, who has been with CBS since 1989, challenged Bolton, questioning his “slender qualifications” and accusing him of “murdering ’60 Minutes.’”

It is no surprise that Bolton dismissed Pelley.

Here are excerpts from Pelley’s statement:

“For my part, new management has instructed me to inject falsehoods and bias into a politically sensitive story. I’ve been told to include assertions that are unverified. I have managed to ignore these instructions or refuse them. Recently, politicians have been invited to choose correspondents for interviews on the broadcast. Giving politicians control over 60 Minutes interviews is not how this is done. Incompetence and unprofessionalism in the new management have wreaked havoc. But now the collapse of values at the top has become untenable. The leadership of 60 Minutes is no longer recognizable. The principles I hold dear are gone, and so I must leave as well.”

Pelley’s courage in speaking out directly to his superiors underscores his passion for safeguarding the free press.

Within a few weeks, CBS has lost its top news show and its top late-night show, and it has canceled CBS Radio after 99 years. What a way to end the legacy of the Tiffany Network, which was a major force in journalism that championed freedom of the press, not freedom of the president.

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.

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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.