profkf's Blog

A little over a year ago, my father in law, Dave, passed away. Due to the still prevalent pandemic, we had a small outdoor graveside service (it was really, really cold). The plan was to gather again for a celebration of his life when things eased up. Well, as much as good old Covid still seems to be hanging around, vaccines and perhaps the beginnings of herd immunity have put us in a position where we are moving ahead with it in about a month. While the “opener” will be a fairly formal church gathering, it will be followed by a more relaxed gathering over drinks and dinner. He and I shared many conversations over the years and almost all involved music and our shared love for reading about all kinds of things. Neither of us was much into formal religion (I have really become agnostic as any usual reader already knows, having shed the doctrines pounded into me by the largely hypocritical roman catholic church) but we both shared a belief in some sort of spiritual surroundings.

I have lots of great stories some of which I’ll be sharing during the celebratory gathering in the evening but the one thing that keeps surfacing is how very open he was to listening to and appreciating all things music and literature (yes, folks again you readers know, our political leanings were very different but never got in the way of our warmth and respect for each other). I know he’d appreciate the following tune from Warren Zevon, and would very much have loved the fact that Warren managed to kid about death, while including in a song references to movies, actors, and classic writers and poets.

Not coincidentally, Bruce, opened his show a few days after Warren passed with this particular song (again for those having followed along you know how Dave appreciated Bruce’s autobiography and asked to listen to some of his music because of it, even though he was more an opera guy). Here it is…hope you appreciate it as much as I do and know Dave would have if I had the chance to share it with him…Here’s hoping the ride was smooth and comfortable.

I was staying at the Marriott
With Jesus and John Wayne
I was waiting for a chariot
They were waiting for a train

The sky was full of carrion
“I’ll take the mazuma”
Said Jesus to Marion
“That’s the 3:10 to Yuma
My ride’s here…”

The Houston sky was changeless
We galloped through bluebonnets
I was wrestling with an angel
You were working on a sonnet

You said, “I believe the seraphim
Will gather up my pinto
And carry us away, Jim
Across the San Jacinto
My ride’s here…”

Shelley and Keats were out in the street
And even Lord Byron was leaving for Greece
While back at the Hilton, last but not least
Milton was holding his sides

Saying, “You bravos had better be ready to fight
Or we’ll never get out of East Texas tonight
The trail is long and the river is wide
And my ride’s here”

I was staying at the Westin
I was playing to a draw
When in walked Charlton Heston
With the Tablets of the Law

He said, “It’s still the Greatest Story”
I said, “Man I’d like to stay
But I’m bound for glory
I’m on my way
My ride’s here…”

This morning, I was watching, as I most always do, the 7am Sportscenter (I record it since it’s laden with commercials). Just as I was about to forward through one set I saw the beginnings of a commercial for a new version of Gatorade, talk about taking me back…bear with me as I take a trip in time:

It was the summer of 1969 and we had a bungalow on Beach 40th St. in Far Rockaway. It was our second year on that street and while bodysurfing one day I met a guy from one street over (Beach 39th)…Frank Heller, we hit it off pretty quickly over our love of all things ocean. He introduced me to a friend of his a few days later, Greg Gallagher who had just bought what was brand new at the time, at least on the east coast…it was called a “belly board”…today everyone and his sibling has them, they are now mostly made of foam and are pretty cheap..back then they were made like mini surfboards with double fins and were pretty pricey..The three of us spent that summer mostly wet all the time.

During that summer we spent a LOT of time at Greg’s bungalow, his mom was home all the time, most other parents were working (Far Rock was affectionately nicknamed “the workingman’s riviera”) and was always offering lunch and snacks. We swam, we surfed, we played cards, we listened to music with a cadre of other folks all usually gathering on Greg’s porch (every house had one, it was a gathering place) or on the occasional bad weather day, in the small “living room”. I also met his father, Charlie, a larger than life character, with a booming voice, a fabulous handshake and a smile that lit up the room.

Charlie was one of the preeminent labor mediators of his time and was frequently away working on one negotiation or another. However, when he was “home” he would always be part of the group. He loved tennis (something, at that age, this Bronx boy son of a bus driver and a secretary, knew nothing about) and asked if we wanted to play. Frank and I were a bit suspect as we didn’t want to leave the water even for a short while, but Greg encouraged us, so one sunny day when Charlie asked we said “sure” (he was ALWAYS Charlie, never “Mr. Gallagher…on the very first introduction he said that while he appreciated the sign of “respect” we were never to use a title with him, as respect was something earned, not a function of age, position or birth, his name was Charlie and that would be fine, I think that might be why, to this day, I hate being referred to as Mr. Fitzpatrick).

He took his tennis seriously, and he reserved some time on some of clay courts that were then in Far Rockaway as he said they were far more fun than the badly kept cement courts that were also around. He also told us we needed to dress properly (that time was still “tennis whites” required on those clay courts) and we needed proper tennis shoes for safety. Well, neither Frank nor I had any of that (denim cutoffs and converse were the “athletic” attire of the day) so Charlie took us to an upscale sport shop and had us outfitted properly. When my dad, saw me going off to play one weekend later, and asked where I had managed to get that “attire” I told him, he walked over to Charlie’s house that evening and wanted to pay him, Charlie just chuckled, told him it was his pleasure, not to worry about it and they sat and shared some beers while we went off to sit on the boardwalk, listen to the waves and watch the sunset [with a few beers of our own that Greg had managed to scoop up on the sly, lest you get all crazy we were 17, the “legal age” was 18 and no one was driving anywhere…no one had a license since 18 was the age in NYC to even get a permit.]

That brings me back to what spurred this long winded memory…The first time we played (we played doubles with each one of us alternating as Charlie’s partner as he patiently taught Frank and I the rules and how to keep score), he went into the clubhouse and came out with a new sports drink…Gatorade…the only one that existed then…the classic green…it was cold and tasted fabulous and really did work on keeping us hydrated and energized. On the was back from the courts he told us the story of how it came to be. That’s another thing I remember about him..he never talked to us like “kids” always conversationally as if we were his contemporaries, all the time educating us while listening to anything we had to say.

The following summer Greg’s mom didn’t look quite the same, she seemed tired a lot, I found out that fall, (we stayed in touch over the other 10 months of the year) that she had passed quickly from a very virulent cancer.

Greg and Charlie did come back to Far Rockaway the summer after, but something was not quite the same in either of them. Greg was a bit sullen, Charlie’s smile had less of a twinkle…We did surf and play tennis but Greg, Frank and I also spent time in the evening, listening to the Woodstock Album that had come out and enjoying some herbal therapy while we listened.

That following fall, Greg reached out to tell us that Charlie had met a wonderful woman who Greg was also fond of and that we should expect an invite to the wedding scheduled for NYC that spring.

About two weeks later (give or take some time, it was, after all 50 odd years ago ) He called and said simply “he’s gone”….after the first question I asked “who’s gone”, the next was “what happened”. He slowly, and with occasional breaks, told the story..

Charlie had gone to the doctor for his annual physical, was given a clean bill of health and a pat on the back from his long time Doctor wishing him well on the upcoming wedding, he told him to get dressed and he’d see him in his office to chat a bit. Some time went by, the doctor was taking some calls while waiting and he didn’t, at first, realize how much time had passed. He asked his nurse if Charlie has simply left and she said she’d not seen him..[small office, it was the last appt of the day]. The doctor went back to the exam room and found Charlie lying on the floor, he had passed away…..

To this day I don’t know if it was a heart attack, stroke or aneurysm or something else, it really doesn’t matter. Greg never came back to Far Rockaway after that, he was well taken care of financially we were now in our early 20’s, and were just finishing college. We did stay in touch, increasingly less, but the occasional phone call (no email or texts back then), and he talked about getting together at his place in the city, but life got in the way for all of us and we never did….

To this day, the taste of cold, classic Gatorade immediately brings back those same memories..it was a very special time over a few years filled with friendship, love, joy, laughs and being around many adults who gave us guidance but also gave us an incredible amount of support and freedom to grow up.

Charlie Gallagher lives in a special place in my heard along side my dad and Uncle Dom..I’m so lucky to have been around them…

I am now at an age where it is increasingly frequent that folks I know and hold dear for many different reasons are starting to “fade”…what won’t fade are the memories and the warmth that being around them even for a short while still provide. This house agnostic can only hope that one day, when his ashes are scattered on the beach to be swept into the ocean that somewhere such memories and warmth will continue on.

Sometime in the next few months I will complete my 70th trip around the sun. I remember huddling under my desk at St. Brendan School during the nuclear drills, I remember praying in class during the Cuban Missile Crisis, long before I became the house agnostic after a full indoctrination and years and years of examining the irony of my “raised religion” that allowed decades of abuse both financial and yes, physical (pedophile priests anyone??) I remember the draft lottery during the Vietnam war (and going on a 3 day bender when my number was birthday was picked at #309…meaning I had zero chance of being drafted and sent over). I remember the riots in NYC, I remember Son of Sam and how terrified we all were during that “event”. All of that does not compare to the dangers of today, not even close. I’m not even talking about the current climate of war in Eastern Europe or the still lingering and hovering cloud of Covid (though for my money, the vax has taken quite a chunk out of that worry).

I’m talking about the storms brewing and surfacing in Texas and other states regarding trashing Roe v. Wade. I’m most especially talking about Pharaoh DeSantis in Florida and his new plan to ban books…

Let that sink in Book Banning…including his latest opus…math text books…

What’s at stake here is thinking, and learning, and learning to be critical and open to taking in reliable, factual information and being allowed, never mind encouraged, to think for oneself. I have run into, and worked with, many educators who I fundamentally did not agree with, but in every case there was the ability to discuss and exchange ideas. This is what is at risk, the powerful have taken the founding concept of democratic ideas and sublimated them to the point where we are headed head long, toward despotism. Where only the powerful will have a say, where they will do all to protect their thrones and to where they will appeal to fear and hate that has never been removed since the founding of this nation on the backs of slaves and other put upon workers. To where a tax law change allows for full deductions for private aircraft, but caps deductions for legit taxes paid by the workers who most need it.

I don’t have solutions, or ever suggestions, even our most powerful tool of change, the ballot box, is under siege. Harder to vote, claiming a fully examined, fair result is a “steal”. All I can do is put it out there….knowledge is, in fact, powerful. Read, examine, listen to all sides, and most importantly, check the facts then check them again.

Bottom line is pretty simple….really treat everyone the way you would want to be treated…there’s nothing more powerfully good than that.

My playing “at” golf goes back to the summer of 1966. One hot summer afternoon in the Bronx, a friend and 8th grade classmate, Jimmy Paturas, asked if I wanted to try it out. We walked to a small course not too far from his house, Mosholu a 9 hole course that I found out much later over a century ago, had opened as one of the first public golf courses in the United States. I played terribly (had never held a club before) but I was hooked…I started to play more frequently and when I got my car and license expanded my horizons and went to many of the NYC and surrounding area courses. There was one summer in college in the early 70’s where I played 6 days a week and actually improved to a respectable level. It’s funny that the fewer shots you hit, the more enjoyable the game becomes.

Adulthood, kids, life and lots of other things took precedence and for many years golf either was pushed to the side or went away completely. During the late 70’s in grad school, at Colgate, I met and played some golf with John, someone who, unbeknownst at that moment, I would end up teaching with for many years at both Greenwich and Weston. Summers, at the beginning of my time in Greenwich, were spent teaching summer school, also with John and at least twice a week we’d head to the course after the morning classes and play.

As I got older and gained more and more and more weight, and my hips were getting worse and worse, I pretty much stopped playing….then in 2015 I had my sleeve surgery after my hip replacements, and was invited to play in a fund raising tournament at the little catholic middle school I had landed at after retiring from full time teaching in 2012 and was again hooked…

John and I started playing the occasional round together again, and made it a point to take a trip up to Seven Oaks at Colgate each summer to play two or three rounds over a day or two. Then, he invited me along on a trip to Pinehurst to play 4 rounds over 3 days in the summer of 2018. It was John, myself and his friend Brian. I played terribly but had a great time with the two of them and began to take my game more seriously. Upon returning I consulted a club fitter, bought some new clubs and started to play at least a couple of times a week during the relatively short CT golf season. One of the things I am looking forward to now in SC is the ability to play year round. I managed to get my game to the point where I was consistently scoring in the mid-low 90’s with the occasional high 80 thrown in.

So…when John contacted me late winter and said they had a major trip coming up to Pinehurst I jumped on it and signed on for the 9 rounds in 7 days component. I had not played much since moving but was still excited about the courses and the opportunity.

Off I went a week ago with my car packed to the hilt as if I was headed on a round the world trip. My play was to be kind “inconsistent”….some actually embarrassingly terrible…not one round came in under 104 and as it turned out I only ended up playing 4 of the 9 rounds…

Why only 4 you ask?? Well here’s why…during the round on Tuesday (the third round we played) going from the first green to the second tee, my spikeless golf shoes had collected some sand and when I put my left foot into the cart it slid across causing my right leg to slam into the cart just a above my inside right ankle. It hurt but I thought nothing of it. Then about 3 holes later I noticed I had quite the bruise and it was starting to swell. I did manage to get some ice from the 1/2 way house but by then the damage had been done. I finished the round but was kinda hurting a lot. That night I woke up at 12:30 am and was unable to get back to sleep…I opted to not play the two rounds back to back on Wednesday with the hope that taking the one day off would help. Thursday morning it felt a bit better but not great, still swollen (and my foot swelling as well), but I did play as the course for that day, Tobacco Road, was THE main reason I wanted to go on the trip. Again, inconsistent, but also a lot of fun, the course is very much like Bethpage Black, visually intimidating but a stunning lay out. I actually had two very solid pars on two par 3 holes and hit my last shot from the fairway onto the green at 18 over some blind mounds and had a shot at a closing par (nope missed the 25 foot putt). However, the amount of walking that day really had undermined all the rest from the day before and I made the decision to to leave for home the following morning.

Some things I learned while on the trip: First…I really like to play golf, but I really don’t like to play in an intensely competitive “tournament” style trip…and let me tell you it was totally intense. Second: I like my own living space…I guess I’m just too long in the tooth to engage in sharing accommodations four other folks, they were very easy to live with, but just the lack of space is something I’d rather not do. Third: I also like to finish the day with a very good meal in great setting….that was not the case here with 11 other folks.

Did I have fun?…overall yes, did I play well??….nope, would I do it again??? not for that long….and only on a couple of those courses…

Glad I tried it, happy to be home!!

There is no secret to anyone (all 3 of you) who regularly reads my stuff, that I struggle with mortality. Today there was just another smack in the face that things come to a close much too quickly. William Hurt, the actor, passed at 71. Why, you ask is that any more significant than a million other passages for me? I’ll tell you…….first, I’m going to turn 70 in August….so it’s too damn close to home…the scary part is I feel better pushing 70 than I did pushing 50, also I’m so happy with all things going on in my life…kids that are growing into their own lives, grandkids that are firebrands, living in an area where a “freeze warning” lasts for about 6 hours, and then a cold morning means it won’t hit mid 50’s till 11 am

Second…when my daughter was playing at Julliard, what now seems like a million years ago, my son and I were on line at the cafeteria having breakfast and just in front of us was William Hurt and his son, also having breakfast. A few years prior, my wife and I had been at the Willamstown Theater Festival and I ran into Chris Reeve (in the bathroom of all places)….when I mentioned that to my wife (now my ex, not for this reason) she immediately asked “did you get his autograph?”….when I said no, it would have not been the best time given the location, she simply sighed…So when I saw William Hurt, I went up to him and said…”I know this is totally obnoxious, but….”and I told him the Chris Reeve story and mentioned that my then wife was a huge fan and would kill me if I didn’t at least ask for his autograph…he smiled (while waiting for his omelet) asked if I had anything to sign….I actually had a business card and when I handed it to him he wrote….”please don’t kill your husband…Bill Hurt”…

I will never forget how friendly and how gracious he was and that is one of the reasons that notification of his passing has hit me so hard. Add that to my struggle with aging and the like and it hits like a ton of bricks….

I’ll leave this with the closure that I currently feel great, am loving life, have a fabulous partner in all of this…(yes, Susan, that’s you!!) and continue to plan, as I always told the kids at school when they asked, that 146 is how long I’m planning on!!! and in the passage, I’ll keep madly dancing…..

I was lucky enough to have recorded an Austin City Limits last night that was showing the Best of Nanci Griffith, covering a number of performances she had done on that show over the years. One of the things that struck me immediately was how incredible the players around her were, including have a very young Lyle Lovett as a back up singer. Through the occasional tears watching it (I had to stop for a while as I still lament the loss of her talent in a universe that so needs it now), it brought me back to some thoughts…

If you play music or sports, you should always play with people who are better at it than you. If you engage in discussion of any kind the best discourse is with someone who knows more about what you are discussing than you do. If you are a leader, you should always listen to and take into account the information that your subordinates are giving you without feeling it a threat. If, like me, you are the house agnostic, you should always keep in mind that perhaps you are wrong and that there actually may be some guiding power looking over things.

Almost the bottom line…you can never grow mentally, physically, emotionally if you think you have reached the end of what you can learn or what you can accomplish. Seek out those who know more, do more, play more, play better, write better, run better, laugh harder, watch them, listen to them, learn from them..

Really the bottom line: If you are the smartest person in the room, you are in the wrong room!!!

I’m overweight, (a LOT lighter than a few years ago, but still according to the old BMI, overweight), pushing 70, stiff a lot, especially in the morning, and yet, I actually have the stones to consider myself a runner…why is that?

Well, I run…just about every other day. Now “running” does have a wide meaning…mostly my miles per minute time is around mid 16 mph to mid 17 mpm…many people actually walk faster than that, of course, my legs are short (as am I) and after my hip replacements I promised my surgeon I’d never again lift both feet off the ground at the same time, so that does limit things a bit…not an excuse for time, just a bite of the reality apple.

More than that I actually enjoy it…so my definition of a “runner” is someone who wakes up, checks the forecast, looks out the window and sets aside a time to lace up and get out…example: today…

Sunday morning is always taken up with a glorious 3 hours of music courtesy of Fred Migliore and FMOdyssey, and that is always accompanied by Bloody Marys….so today I wanted to get out ahead of that, however the weather was not cooperative…it was raining sideways most of the morning and promised to do the same most of the day…I was edgy as I really didn’t want to miss a “scheduled” run…Luckily (and yes, after the bloodys)…the rain stopped and it seemed as if I’d get a break…I laced up, and out I went with the plan to get about 20 or 25 minutes in…We have a great 5 mile trail that runs along side a very busy road and it’s sheltered from the worst of the winds so I took off on that…and guess what I did almost 35 minutes, and it felt great….so yes, folks, this old man, ambling about in SC is officially calling himself a bona fide runner!! That’s my story and I’m sticking to it…

Makes all the difference in the world!

It is cold and dreary in the lowcountry today. We’ve had two days of “winter weather advisory” (which is a WHOLE lot different from that same thing in CT, as it turned out, we had some rain last night and the temp was a chilly 37 degrees when I went out. I really didn’t feel like it but I promised myself if I felt crummy I’d do about a mile total and be happy I got something in. Out I went, and was stiff as a board, I even made the singular concession of wearing sweat pants instead of my usual shorts (more in case I decided to walk in). I made the left turn to go down the trail outside our development and less than a half mile down the road, another runner pulls up beside me, smiles and says “great job”, he then gives me a fist bump and says “have a great run” and pulls away (remember, I’m a member of the SlowAF Run club so he disappeared pretty quickly). A funny thing did happen though…it was as if that fist bump extracted every ounce of negative energy…I was no longer stiff (it usually takes me almost a mile on my best day to loosen up) and I felt like I was gliding on air. My chosen music Kenny Vance and the Planotones, seemed to get just a little bit louder. I no longer felt like I wouldn’t get a good run in, now it was just how far and how long I’d go.

But wait, it gets better, on the other side of the trail after crossing over the road, on the way back, a gentleman running the other way stops and asks if he could take a picture with me to post on his FB page as he likes to highlight the local running community. I was delighted and told him what had just happened to me earlier….he said “yup, that was me”….(yes, I’m old, I was wearing sunglasses and he had taken his hood off and was facing me head on….and yes, I’m old). I didn’t get a chance to tell him what his gesture meant to me so I’m hoping he will be able to read this and see what a difference he made to me today.

I think one of the reasons I do love to run is that the running community is the singular most welcoming and supportive community I’ve ever encountered and I’ve been involved in sports of all kinds all of my life, this is simply another example. Running aside, Abe (the gentleman in the story) is just another example that in this crazy, upside down, divisive present we live in, for the most part, people are kind and generous.

As a postscript, as I’m writing this the sun has broken through.

Abe on the left!!!

Tonight I’m watching (again) the movie “42” where, in 1946, Jackie Robinson is signed to a contract by Branch Rickey and what he went through. We have also been watching the limited series on Emmett Till, another heart breaking example of the ability of some people to be incredibly cruel.

The really scary part is that it seems, if you really look at it, that NOTHING has changed in any substantive way since the Dutch West India company (yes, those very nice folks from the Netherlands who, in there time, were perhaps the most abhorrent of the slave traders) made huge cash out of human trafficking…

We hate because someone has a different complexion, we hate because someone believes in a different “supreme being” or maybe not a different being, but a different way to worship said being, we hate because there are those who don’t hold any being sacred, we hate because we don’t “approve” of the way two people love each other. We hate because we don’t understand the language someone else is speaking. We hate because the latest versions of “Der Führer” (and there are many) riles up the folks who think they will lose if someone else gets something. We hate because someone has the temerity to believe in evidence and facts. We hate because someone chooses to not believe in those same facts.

Why is it so bloody difficult to realize that we are all in this together, that it is a very short ride all things considered. Why have we not learned that we can’t “take it with us”. Why don’t we embrace that fact that what is good for everyone is what is best for us?

Once upon a time, at the end of the show, the closing line was “Remember, when everybody wins we all win”….so I’ll keep holding tight to the hope that one day the overwhelming majority will believe that…until then….

I’m waiting, waiting on a sunny day
Gonna chase the clouds away
Yeah I’m waiting on a sunny day

Hate sucks, Love wins….

I hope he doesn’t mind, but I borrowed this line from a Cliff Eberhardt song The Long Road. Why? well, today marks the third anniversary of the passing of Uncle Dominic P. Starace. I have written a lot about him so I’ll not guild the lily here and repeat myself. I do think it fitting that here in South Carolina, (not coincidentally a place he also moved to and loved) even the sky is shedding some tears today. It’s a dark, rainy morning. However, the forecast is such that the sun is supposed to break through a bit later. I think that also appropriate as one of the many great qualities he had was his seemingly endless optimism and always looking for the positive.

The world was so much brighter for his presence, and while it’s a bit dark this morning, I will wipe away my tears and look for the sun that he always brought along.

Somehow I feel you are here
You are waiting in that dream
Somewhere down this road we will awake
And be at the start again

I can hear your voice in the wind
Are you calling to me? Down the long road
Do you really think that there’s an end?
I have lived my whole life, down the long road…