The Fairer Sex

My friends and family will attest (I hope) that I am probably the least biased, least bigoted, least misogynistic or discriminatory person that they know. I have always made every attempt not to profile, classify or stereotype people.

Until now.

Due to my unimpeachable background and reputation I feel quite confident that whatever I propose in this essay will be accepted by you, the reader, as a legitimate observation that will stand up to the weight of my observances. And as all who are familiar with me I carry a lot of weight. An air of authority as you will. Intelligence and impeccable wit. Yadda yadda.

    The Fairer Sex: A Treatise on Womanly Values in Today's Society

Two is a Crowd

I have always known that men and women are different. Yes, women are pretty and cute and men are rugged and hairy, or is it the other way around? Aside from the physical difference there is an emotional difference and deeper than that there is a primal difference. This is a trait programmed into the cerebral cortex part of the brain of every woman living today.

Whether a woman is aware of this or not it exists in each and every one of them. Every husband, boyfriend or significant other can attest to this to another man. They may not admit it face to face to their woman but they know. A woman by nature is the Queen of her domain. By domain I mean that wherever a woman is the radius of 100 feet from her is her domain.

A man or child can enter this domain with impunity but when another unrelated woman of child bearing age enters that circle, the queen will be courteous and accommodating on the conscious level, but in the primal brain stem level she wants to rip the throat out of her potential adversary and feed her carcass to the vultures after kicking it around for a while. This idea was originally documented in the London Scientific Journal in the late 1800s as the Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (see note).

To wit, In an office setting with one woman and the rest all men there are never any problems. This is an harmonious office where work carries on at a normal pace, people smile and look forward to coming to work each day. Throw another woman into the mix and as sure as the chicken follows the egg you can feel tension in the office so thick you can cut it with a knife. Put a third woman in the room and an unspoken alliance will be made between the first and second women to figuratively and sometimes literally scratch the eyes out of the interloper before they go back to their prior rivalry.

Now let us pursue a scientific poll. By a show of hands, how many people agree with me on this idea?

Let's see... 1... 2... 3...4...5...  Okay. No need to count any further as all but one of you are in agreement.

My wife thoroughly disagrees with my thoughts on this subject. But she doesn't see what I see. Ilana is the loveliest, nicest, sweetest and most accommodating person that I have ever known. Whenever another woman is around she gets visibly defensive, curt and unforgiving. You could see her neck muscles tighten, her hands open and close like a tiger testing out her claws before she pounces on an antelope. Her pupils dilate and focus on her potential victim. She starts to bare her teeth ever so slightly. If we are in a store I pray for the clerk to be accurate and to exhibit paramount customer service. Because if she doesn't I am very, very afraid of what may happen to her. I will always try to find a line with a male clerk for this reason even if it is twice as long as the surrounding lines.

Admiration

Women will look at other women at a distance and comment how beautiful the other woman is or how beautiful her clothes and make-up are. What they are really thinking  is "you may be beautiful now but in twenty years your boobs and butt will fall, you'll have jowls and have to resort to sub-standard hair coloring".

Men do not look at other men and comment " Wow, he is a handsome dude" or  "Look how beautiful he dresses and those shoes are to die for". Men don't do this with the sole exception of the men on the Jersey Shore. Men also do not wish bad things on other men aside from their bosses. We don't care about those things. We care about our wives and kids. We care about the score of the Jet's game. We care about our cars and electronic gadgets.

Ilana has always given me permission to look at an attractive women with the proviso that I can never, never touch. This is fair enough, but I have never had the courage to take her up on this offer when she is with me. There are too many news stories depicting the creative use of super glue, knives and scissors to ever consider displaying a wandering eye. If I look it will be with the fleetest of glances through the corner of my eye.

The Supermarket: Life in the Slow Lane

When men go shopping with a list they reach out to the product, pick out the cheapest one and throw it into the cart even if it's the wrong item. We don't look at ingredients, we don't look at brand names. We just through it into the cart. Men can go into the supermarket find thirty items and be out of the store within fifteen minutes.

Women are different. They don't care about the price as long as the item is high in fiber, has pro-biotics, low in sugar and no trans-fats. Women are very analytical. They will study all of the ingredients and weigh the pros and the cons before making the final selection. This process can take about ten minutes per item. This is compounded when there are ten competing brands to review and analyze.

To make matters worse, women will park their shopping cart right in the middle of the aisle so that no one can pass on either side. You can say "Excuse me" till your face turns blue but a woman's ability to process what you are saying at that time will not compute as her brain is in full Food Analysis Mode, that's FAM for short.

If you are lucky her husband will be there and he will move the cart, especially because he is bored standing around with nothing to do but wait while his wife is in FAM. As he moves the cart he will give you a look and shrug that silently says " I am so sorry for my wife's rude behavior" and I will give him the silent shrug sign in return that says "No need to apologize. We (men) are in this together".

This unconcious need to block aisles does not only apply to humans. My dog, Lady, will find the narrowest area of a room to park herself. You can have a whole room for her to rest in but she will without fail always be in the area that will make it the most difficult for you to pass through. Ever notice that whenever you follow a woman into a store they stop in the doorway to look around before they enter? Upon leaving they will stop in the doorway to look at the receipt. Not before or after the doorway. In the doorway.

By nature, women are in control of their domain. Men are given permission to be there as long as it suits the woman. Many cultures have always had matriarchal societies and they had flourished for centuries. These societies were socially advanced. They cared as a community and took care of the children and the elderly. Just as this trait causes competition between women, it also allows them to coalesce in a cooperative effort to kick the butt of any man (or group of men) who tries to usurp their authority.

With that said, I must also mention that in my home I am King of the castle. Ilana gives me permission to say that.

Note: This essay was published with permission of my wife after promising to take her out to dinner and wash the dishes for one week. Jekyll and Hyde was not really a scientific study. It is a work of fiction by Robert Louis Stevenson. Frankenstein really happened though.

The Summer of '71

The Summer of 1971. I remember it well. I would love to say it was the summer where I got my first car. The summer where I lost my virginity. A summer where there was world peace and all was right in the world.

But I can't.

I did not get a car, I did not have sex with a hot babe (or even a homely one). The police action in Vietnam was raging and 50,000 American soldiers were killed and countless injured and mutilated. Vietnam was not recognized as a war until many years later due to the efforts of veterans who were being short changed by the government with reduced benefits and medical care. I did graduate from Sheepshead Bay High School on time and Iwas accepted to a local college.

The muscle car ruled the streets. You had the Dodge Chargers, Pontiac GTOs, Ford Mustangs, Chevy SSs, Plymouth Road Runners and Challengers. There were 440 horsepower Magnums, 500 horsepower hemis, Fuel Injected 351s. Gas was cheap, engines were blueprinted and rebuilt. Flooring the gas was akin to being in the cockpit of a rocket and feeling the G forces pushing you back into the seat. Every teen or young adult who had a muscle car poured every cent of their earnings into the cars rather than their personal hygiene.

I didn't have a car, I didn't make enough at the Colonial Mansion catering hall as a waiter to afford one. My dad had a car. A 4500 pound Dodge Polara with a 270 horsepower engine. Not very powerful by the standards of the muscle car, especially since the car weighed as much as it did.

My dad loved his car especially since it had a FM radio and air conditioning. I remember the fights he and my mother had over the car's options. My mom couldn't understand why you need to pay extra for an FM radio when AM was standard. And why pay an extra $800 for air conditioning when you can roll down the non automatic windows (that would have been an extra $200). My dad spent $5,400 that year for his car. A reasonable sum for a decent and boxy family sedan.

The only problem I had with the car aside from not having 500 horsepower was that the deep throated hum of the muscle car muffler was missing. This car was virtually silent. I decided to fix that for him.

I had went to Adelman's on Coney Island Avenue and Avenue L and purchased a Thrush® racing muffler. Adelman's (which is long gone) advertised that they would install mufflers free with the purchase. After I paid for the muffler they informed me that their policy excludes racing mufflers. No problem, the Whale and the Gopher, claimed they were adept at the intricacies of automobiles and said it would be no sweat do it ourselves. The Gopher opened a garage several years later but went out of business because he did not have the first idea as how to repair a car.

Let us regress a bit...

We called ourselves the Sons of Bitchs, a name that was not very endearing to our parents or anyone else. We even had tee shirts. We were like the little rascals but bigger and heavier and not as smart. Instead of Spanky, Buckwheat and Alfalfa we had the Whale, The Goat, The Bird, The Pig, The Gopher, The Pigeon and I was the Platypus.

Mike was the Whale as he was big, powerful and white like Moby Dick. Larry was the Bird because he was rail thin with a big appetite. Mark was the Goat because he sported a goatee, actually a Van Dyke but we didn't know the difference then. George was the Pig, I was the Platypus because as per the Whale I was dumpy and weird looking which for the record I totally disagree with. I was portly, not dumpy. Ron was the Gopher because...he looked like a gopher.

Well we take my dad's car and the muffler to my backyard and proceed to dismember it. Try as hard as we might, we could not get the muffler off of the exhaust pipe. We pushed and shoved, smacked and banged it with wrenches and mallets but it would not come off. Finally Mike gets his lower half of his body under the car and with legs that can push up a thousand pounds or more and pushed until the muffler actually came off.

To my chagrin, we could not get the muffler back on and went back to Adelman's to complain. At first they refused to install the muffler as per policy but we made enough commotion that he sent us to his brother-in-law's shop on Cropsey Avenue where the Muffler was installed for an additional twenty dollars.

We get in the car and sure enough it now sounded like a real, honest to God, dragster. Even though it didn't have significant horsepower, it sounded like a Tiger ready to pounce on an unsuspecting Eland grazing on the plains of Ethiopia. We cruised down Nostrand Avenue. We cruised up Kings Highway and down Kings Highway watching people look at us in awe as three pimply kids in a loud, throaty Dodge Polara drove down the street and blasting the FM radio (my father conceded with my mother by not paying extra for a cassette player). We were cool with a capital C.

I went to pick up my father from work later that evening and needless to say he was not very happy with the alteration of the car. Did I mention that I never asked his permission to do this? I believe that after the shock wore off my dad kind of liked having a car that sounded like a mean and lean racing machine especially since my mother would have never let him pay extra for a car that could do 0 to 60 in 5.5 seconds.

About a week later we were going on a family vacation to Lancaster county to see the Amish people and eat at the Plain and Fancy Family Style restaurant and buy tons of jams and preserves from Kitchen Kettle Village to bring home and enjoy for the next year or two. On the way up there we were subject to the sound of the muffler for 3 hours and feeling our skulls vibrate. I was starting to think that getting this muffler may have been a mistake. With 10 miles to go we started to smell exhaust fumes in the car and the muffler falls off. Aside from getting the muffler off the pipe Mike's great strength cracked all of the other pipes were they were welded together.

We ended up going to a service station where my dad had to purchase a new muffler, a cross over pipe, a hump pipe, a tail pipe and other things I didn't even know existed. Thank heaven they didn't have catalytic converters back then. I am sure in today's dollars this would have cost him at least $1000 to repair. My dad was no longer happy. This is a fine way to start a vacation that he looked forward to for months. His employer, the cheap Colonial Mansion, only gave him two weeks a year for vacation and their idea of a week was only five days.

My dad forgave me. I never altered this or any other vehicle he owned again, except for a cassette player and a steering wheel cover. I did, however, rip the bottom out of his subsequent vehicle by playing Rat Patrol on a street that was being repaved. I never confessed that one to him.

The Host to disseminate Erroneous Yaptrap

Ever since I was young my brother, Robert, and I recognized that there was a reprehensible plot to control our thoughts and actions. We were subject to the incessant bombardment of propaganda from our leaders such as...

Vietnam was not a war

The Russians will drop an H-Bomb on us tomorrow

The average American family is as depicted on Father Knows Best and the Donna Reed Show

Corporate America cares for you

America made the best cars

Iraq had weapons of mass destruction

USA has the best and most efficient medical care system in the world

And so on. As the years passed I had learned that we had been fed this drivel so that concerned parties could increase their power base and financial interests. Yes, there may have been a modicum of truth here and there but all-in-all these were gross overstatements designed to scare the bejeezus out of us and keep us in line.

I don't consider myself one who falls for  conspiracy theories and I am adamantly against most. I believe that we landed on the moon several times, Israel was not responsible for the attack on the World Trade Center, The Earth is 4 1/2 to 6 billion years old, the dinosaurs died out 65 million years ago* long before the ancestors of man came into the picture and that we perfected time travel in the 1940's in a attempt to assassinate Hitler but failed miserably.

No matter how nefarious the above attempts to control us has been there is even a darker attempt to control us through propaganda. Instead of feeding us with erroneous information regarding items to control our political, moral and social beliefs there has always been an attempt to force our behavioral patterns and mold us into a cookie cutter ideology. Whenever you try to get to the source of the information we are informed that THEY say these are true. Who are THEY?

I am proud to say no matter how hard THEY tried to get me to fall in line, THEY have failed. It has been my belief that the United Nations was behind this on their quest to dominate the world and increase their black helicopter fleet and their army of agents wearing black. I went through the UN's website looking for a summary of the responsibilities of UNICEF. I have learned that the C in UNICEF stands for Children which confirms that this plot starts here as this propaganda is directed initially to Children.

Some of the propaganda that  I grew up with were:

Swallowing apple seeds or orange pits will cause a tree to grow out of your navel when you are asleep (a blatant attempt by fruit growers in this country to stop people from planting their own orchards).

Smoking cigarettes around children was not detrimental to their health (pandering to the interests of tobacco farmers and cigarette manufacturers)

Butter is bad for you but oleomargarine and hydrogenated trans-fats are not. (The FCC... Fake Food Council)

Getting drunk on alcohol is not as bad as getting high on marijuana (Republicans)

If you cross your eyes and someone slaps you on the back your eyes will remain in the crossed position. (Teachers trying to keep kids from enjoying school. School is serious business)

Masturbation causes poor vision and hairy palms. (Organized religion). My nearsightedness is congenital and I do not have hairy palms. Thank you.

Drinking cold soda after eating hot soup will crack your teeth. (Tooth whitening product manufacturers) This one may be true as I always drank cold soda when eating soup and as of the last count I am down 17 teeth.

Even today when someone tells you something they will start by saying "THEY say..". And once again I must ponder the question... Who are THEY?. While continuing my search into this question at the United Nations website, particularly the UNICEF page, I could not conclusively say that this propaganda is coming from that source. I believe it started there but now I believe that this has escalated into an enormous black plot to control EVERY FACIT OF OUR EXISTANCE! Until I can find out who is behind this plot I will refer to this nameless and secret organization as T.H.E.Y...

The Host to disseminate Erroneous Yaptrap.

I am convinced that Bankers, Detroit and  members of the Tea Party are behind this plot. Whether or not they have the backing of the United Nations is no longer of any significance as their power and influence has increased a thousand fold over the past twenty years. 

Knowledge is power. In order to keep them from learning any more about me I buy everything using cash. I have lined my walls with aluminum foil to thwart their eavesdropping and mind reading devices. I speak on the telephone in code. For example when I call my wife to tell her I am going to the grocery store I say "Ilana, look around and make sure no one is reading your lips. I am going hunting and gathering. Good bye" and hang up quickly before she can utter a single word.

Dammit! Now they know my code speak! Why did I write this in my blog? Now I have to get a new code for going to the grocery. I better be careful before I know it there may be men in black knocking at my front door. Wait. There is a knock at my front door, let me see who is there. I'll be right back....

... Two men in white coats are out there! Thank god they are not wearing black. Well I must say goodbye for now. But before I do, promise me one thing... you will not fall victim to stupid conspiracy theories, tea party rhetoric, vote for Obama at the next election and always keep a look out for... THEY!

Note: The opinions I have wrote about in this essay do not necessarily reflect the beliefs of my brother, Robert.

* The Flintstones were actually an advanced humanoid race that exhibited ecological friendly technology who did exist along with the dinosaurs but are not directly related to the humans who exist today or to our Australopithecus ancestors. The TV show is not animated but actual footage found in archelogical digs in Prospect Park.

This posting was a collaborative effort with Alyssa Levine whose intelligence, charm, sharp wit, neurosis and paranoia compliment my twisted views.

Weddings, Spiders and Nazi Zombies

Chuck
Stephanie, I love you so much. I am so glad we washed up on this beach and found each other.

Rose
Yes, Chuck. The smell of the sea, the waves crashing to the shore. I can't imagine anything more beautiful.

Chuck
Oh my god, what is that out in the ocean moving to the shore?

Rose
I don't know but suddenly I am scared Chuck! Really, really scared!

Chuck
They're people Steph. Blond haired people and lots of them!

Rose
And they are wearing Nazi uniforms!

They hear a voice shouting from behind, it is the voice of Peter Cushing, playing a crazy old man who alleged he was a SS Commander on a top secret German project during WWII.

Crazy old SS Commander
Quick, Chuck, Rose. Run! Zey are Nazi zombies zat ver asleep under the ocean all of these years and they somehow ver awakened and cannot be controlled. Ve must get off of this beach. Mach snell!

SPOILER ALERT: The movie ends with everyone getting killed by the Nazi Zombies except for Rose who gets away in a dinghy and ends up in an asylum for the insane after being rescued.

Ψ

Shock Waves is a movie that holds a special place in our hearts. This was the first movie that Ilana and I saw together after we were married. A great movie to see while enjoying the charms of Cape Cod and it's beaches on our honeymoon.

As many of our family members and friends know (or will know after reading this). Ilana and I knew each other as acquaintances and friends for approximately one year before we wed in August 1981. We dated approximately eight weeks. We planned to get married in November 1981 however, Ilana's sister Meri was visiting from Israel and didn't want to make another trip in three months so she very persuasively had us move up our plans.

Ilana and I wanted a very small, intimate wedding with just immediate family and closest friends. Her sister Rena offered us the use of her home and backyard for the wedding.  We were thrilled!  This was the wedding that Ilana always wanted.  Then Meri took us aside and said, "Mom always wanted to have a big wedding for you. A small wedding would sadden her". We agreed and within two weeks we arranged a wedding for 148 people at the Shell Bank Jewish Center, hired a caterer and a band, Ilana found a wedding dress and had all of her fittings within a one week period and we called all of our guests.

The wedding day had come. It was a beautiful August day. Ilana was waiting for her parents to pick her up. They lived a block away. She waited. Fifteen minutes went by, then another fifteen. After forty five minutes she tried to call her parents to find out where they were but the phone went unanswered. They were an hour late and Ilana was starting to panic. A car service driver was waiting in the driveway for his fare and started a conversation with Ilana. After hearing her concerns he said he would stay and drive her if they didn't show up. They came a few minutes later. When Ilana asked her father why they didn't answer the phone, he stated that Meri didn't want her to know that they were running late.

Back on track, I am at the Jewish Center when Ilana arrives. Her mother yelled at me to look away as seeing the bride before the wedding is bad luck and she ran Ilana into the bridal chamber like a Secret Service Officer protecting the President of the United States. After a half an hour, the Rabbi calls me into the bridal chamber to verify that Ilana is the person I am supposed to marry before she put down the veil. This custom comes from the biblical story of Jacob being snookered into marrying the wrong sister. Ilana's mom didn't realize that the Rabbi had invited me in and jumped in front of me and was about to kick my butt out of the room but was intercepted by the Rabbi who assured her that it was alright. The Rabbi then had me sign the marriage contract, the Katubah, which I had discussed in a previous blog.

The wedding ceremony was now about to begin. As Ilana, beautiful and well-coifed, entered the room to walk down the aisle.  Due to the swiftness of the wedding preparations there was a sudden hush as everyone expected her to be extremely pregnant and ready to drop.  When they saw that she was flat bellied there was a collective "Whew" and Ilana continued down the aisle. The Rabbi referred to her as Eileen, Elaine, Elona, Yolanda, and Ellen during the next twenty minutes. After getting through a massive giggle fit (everyone thought she was trembling in fear) we were pronounced Husband and Wife.

Next the reception began and all of our guests were awaiting the grand entrance of the newest happily wed couple and the band leader announced "Let's give a great big hand for... Ilana and Robert!"

Robert! Where in the hell did he get Robert from! Somewhere there is an announcement in a newspaper of the Elaine Kushner and Robert Levine wedding. The food was terrible (the Jewish center insisted we use their glatt kosher caterer), the band was off key but until the birth of my kids that was the best day of my life.

The next day we headed off to Cape Cod. We had reservations at the Windjammer Inn.  The brochure showed that it was a beautiful inn along the beach. A perfect haven for honeymooners. When we made the reservations they had informed us that the main inn was solidly booked but they had rooms at their romantic and modern annex.

Due to heavy rains the trip took longer than we had expected and we decided to eat in a restaurant called Lobster in the Rough before we reached the inn. The server orally went through the menu explaining in a very heavy New England accent the difference between the Cull with no claw, the Claw with one claw and the Haul with two claws. After going through the whole page Ilana looked at her and said "Huh?" To the untrained ear cull, haul and claw sounded like " the awl with and awl, the awl with one awl and the awl with two awl". After repeating the second time Ilana looked at her, hesitated a moment and said "Huh"? The server was somewhat taken aback and I, who can communicate in New Englandese, decided to place the order for two hauls with two claws for all which sounded like "Two awls with two awls for awl".

I also noticed quahogs on the menu. Admitting that I was not acquainted with that term I asked the server what they were and she said they were baked clams. Oddly enough they were sold individually. I ordered six. The server was dumbfounded, attempted a smile and wrote down the order and walked off shaking her head.

Baked clams in Brooklyn usually come six or eight to the order and they all fit very nicely on a 10 inch plate. What the server did not make clear to me was that quahogs are actually chowder clams that have a diameter of six inches and are piled about four inches high with chopped clams and breading. The order was brought out on three large plates. The other patrons were wide eyed with wonder as how we were going to eat all of them.

Yes, I ate all six.

After I had finished the quahogs the server brought out the lobsters. Ilana had never ordered a whole lobster previously, only broiled tails that were already split. These lobsters were served boiled and unsplit. Ilana puzzled over how to attack the lobster and tried stabbing it with a fork. I must regress somewhat. Instead of individual tables the restaurant had tables arranged in rows of four to six across. As Ilana tried stabbing the lobster with a predetermined force calculated to go through the shell, the lobster slid out from under her fork and ended up across the row of tables and finally stopped next to another couple. Nonchalantly I had walked over, apologized and retrieved the lobster.

Once we checked in at the inn's main building we proceeded two blocks to the modern, romantic annex. The annex was previously a small motel that was last redecorated and furnished in 1940. It had a black and white TV, two well worn single beds and a sofa sleeper. The only channel we could get on the TV was showing a B horror movie called Shock Waves.

We shared one single bed that night. In the morning we had received a wake up call. On the first ring I started to get up and looked down at my sleeping bride. On the second ring, Ilana startled and jumped up smashing the top of her head into my eye. We started to get dressed and Ilana went to the bathroom. All of a sudden, I hear Ilana start to scream. As I ran into the bathroom. Ilana was on the toilet bowl surrounded by hundreds of baby spiders hanging on strands of webbing. With great aplomb I rescued her from a horrendous fate and carried her to safety. Actually I didn't carry her but it makes a better damsel in distress story.

We found that the Sheraton in Hyannis had a vacancy and we checked out of the Windjammer and checked into a small suite with a king size bed, a love seat and a mechanical fireplace. The rates were pretty much the same as the Windjammer and the hotel manager learning that we were on our honeymoon and of our ordeal apologized that he couldn't do more for us and had a basket of fruits and a bottle of champagne waiting for us. We had tickets to see Dionne Warwick at the Melody Tent in Hyannis. Aside from the Melody Tent being ridiculously overcrowded with no knee room, Dionne sang only three songs and spent twenty minutes transfixed on a spider hanging from a strand of webbing over the stage. I believe that she was psychically trying to befriend and communicate with it.

The rest of our honeymoon went without a hitch, which is a contradiction as you can't get married without getting hitched. We visit Cape Cod quite often, however much has changed. The Sheraton and Windjammer are no longer there but the Melody Tent is where we left it and right next door is the Paddock Restaurant where we ate our first king crab legs.

A year or two after we were married, my mother-in-law came to us and said, "Out of curiosity, I know that you always wanted a small wedding, so why did you change your mind?"  Ilana informed her that she had the larger wedding because that was what Meri said that she (her mother) wanted for her. Her mom said "No. I thought the small wedding was a wonderful idea. Meri came to me and said you really wanted a big wedding". To this day Meri would not admit that she engineered this. We love you Meri, everything worked out fine and we will always have great memories and laughs of our wedding day and our honeymoon and the Nazi zombies.

The Marriage Contract

When a Jewish man and woman get married they enter into a pre-nuptial marriage contract. This contract is called a Katubah. Being that the Katubah that I had signed is in Hebrew and I do not speak, read or write in Hebrew, I have no idea what kind of contract I had entered into. Ilana does have a knowledge of Hebrew, winked to her mother and had a look on her face that I would assume the devil would have when he got hold of your soul.

When we were married I had no idea that I would have to sign this document. I had asked the Rabbi what I was signing and he just laughed. I turned around and looked into the faces of everyone who was present when I had signed it and they had all whispered to each other and laughed as well.

Thirty years have passed since I had tied the knot and signed the document. To this day I have not found a translation of the Katubah but I can say that from the knowledge that I have amassed over the past thirty years I believe I know most, if not all of the rules and regulations I had agreed to.

The first thing Ilana said to me after I signed the contract was "What is mine is mine. What is yours is mine". This is most likely the first paragraph and the premise of the Katubah. The next item on the Katubah is that the wife gets to spend an obscene amount of money by buying mezuzahs for every door way in the house. For anyone who does not know what a mezuzah is, it is a small decorative holder that contains a hand written parchment scroll reciting a prayer to protect your home. The holder can be a cheap piece of plastic to an expensive piece of artwork. The mezuzah is then nailed to the doorway at an angle. Regardless of the holder, the parchment which is written by a certified scribe is quite expensive. Ironically, the only room that doesn't have a mezuzah in the doorway is the bathroom and that is the room where I need the most amount of luck. Instead of a mezuzah, I must count on prunes and laxatives to have a meaningful, religious experience.

The Katubah to my understanding also states that it is the husband's responsibility to go into the backyard each weekend and pick up about five pounds of dog droppings. Every second weekend I am obligated to mow the lawn. The Katubah is not one sided, it also spells out the obligations of the wife. The wife does laundry every Sunday with the exception of towels. Laundry is a complicated process and must be done just so. Towels are the only exception. Any idiot can do towels so that is why it is relegated to the husband.

Ilana has made laundry into an art form. When she finishes it smells springtime fresh and is soft and fluffy. Ilana divides the wash into eight separate loads. Work clothes; blues, green and grays; jeans; reds and purples; white underwear; color underwear; delicates and Towels. Each different load has many different settings from sturdy to delicates, hot, warm, cold, combination of hot and cold; fast spin; long spin; rinse once, rinse twice; add softener or not; when to add bleach or not. The permutations are mind boggling. I for one do not wish to master this art. My idea of doing laundry is taking everything, shoving it all into the machine in one giant load, add soap and hit the on switch.

When you get through the washing process you now have to consider the drying process. Some clothes shrink in the dryer. Some melt. What gets hung to dry (aside from the husband after signing the Katubah)? Then comes the folding. Have you ever tried to fold a fitted sheet?  I read somewhere that Thomas Edison and Albert Einstein never mastered this. E=MC² actually was an attempt to quantify the laundry process but Albert Einstein changed his direction to understand the beginning of the universe which was  in his eyes a much simpler process.

One of the other  responsibilities that is delegated to the husband in the Katubah is doing the dishes, pots and pans after a meal. I am very good at this if I must say so myself and I take great pride in this task. On this evening I went into the kitchen and found all of the pots and pans clean and dried and all of the dishes placed into the dishwasher. This was a clear violation of my rights as spelled out in the Katubah. I had felt violated. I confronted Ilana and laid down the law. The law of the Katubah! I said in my best Tevye to Golde voice "I don't do the laundry and you do not do the pots and pans!"

All in all I believe that I have mastered my responsibilities that I had agreed to in the Katbbah. The Katubah actually is designed to protect the rights of the wife and is essentially a one sided document. Contractually or not, I gladly accept my responsibility as husband and seeing a smile on my wife's face is reward enough for me. The traditional alternative would be handing over four hundred zuz if she ever wanted to leave me. I have no idea what four hundred zuz is in today's dollars.

JAP: Jamaican American Princess

JAP (Noun, slang): Acronym for Jewish American Princess. A pampered young Jewish woman, especially one who takes material advantages for granted.

Danielle is one of my daughter's best friends and a young lady whom we have known for seventeen years who has been an integral part of our extended family.  Danielle is not Jewish. She is of Jamaican heritage and a proud Christian (she pronounces it as Crist-ee-ahn). As she is such an integral part of our family we felt compelled to ease her into our Jewish traditions. Mind you that we never had any intention of converting her from her religion to ours but the Jewish tradition is one of education and allowing it's followers to choose their own path of spirituality. Danielle was anxious to learn our traditions and proved to be an outstanding student. Before we knew it Danielle became a JAP. A Jamaican American Princess.

Since she was little she had participated in our Passover seder and has read the Hagadah, ate matzoh, dipped her herbs twice and polished off enough maror (pureed apples, figs, dates and nuts mixed with honey and concord grape wine) to effectively block up her kishkes (intestines). On Hanukkah she learned to love potato latkes and fried dough (I can't spell the Hebrew name but they are akin to Italian zeppoles) covered with powdered sugar. Little did we know that Danielle would embrace our traditions to the level that she did.

Danielle's education in Jewish tradition started innocently enough. We explained the holidays, we introduced her to Jewish fare and taught her a few Yiddish words. We probably went too far when we told her that Jesus was Jewish. She was aghast when we told her this she said "No way. Jesus was Christian. Like Christ as in Christ-ian". We explained that he was the son of Joseph and Mary who were Jewish and before Christ there were no Christians. We further explained to her that Christianity is derived from the name, Christ. Danielle went home and confronted her mother who did confirm this.

A week later Danielle came over and asked to learn more. She said since Christ was a Jew than Judaism is in her heritage as well and would like to know more. She asked how she could be more Jewish. We were amused and eagerly taught her everything we knew about Judaism (which isn't much). We told her that in order to act like a Jew you must always answer a question with a question. We also told her that she must master the ability to make everyone around her feel guilty and master the art of being a pampered princess.

A month or so passed and Danielle's mother called and asked what we did to her daughter. Apparently Danielle came home from school and this conversation ensued:

"How was school today?"

"How should it be? School is school" she responded.

"Did you get to school on time?"

"Time, shmime. What does it matter"

"What is wrong with you? I never saw you act like this".

"Oy vay[i]. Stop being an alter cocker[ii] mother".

We were mortified. How did this harmless lesson get so out of hand? We apologized and informed her that this is probably a passing phase and Danielle will get this out of her system. The next week Danielle came over for the weekend. She looked somewhat forlorn.

"What's going on Danielle. How do you feel?"

"How should I feel? I walked here from the bus stop and my feet are killing me a bissel[iii]. But it's not that bad a bi gezunt[iv]".

"Danielle, I spoke to your mother and think that we must have a talk."

"Later. I am famished I had lunch at school today and couldn't eat any of that chazerei[v]. It was drek[vi] I tell you. Pure unadulterated drek! The school doesn't serve latkes or matzoh balls. I was all fermisht[vii]."

"Ok. We'll eat first."

"Wait. Let me finish.   Reverend Smith came to the lunch room and asked me what the problem was. I told him that if they don't start serving decent kosher food at this school I will have a meesa masheena[viii]. The Reverend looked at me like I was meshugge[ix]".

"Danielle, you go to a Catholic school. They don't serve kosher food".

"And I ask... Why not? It's a shanda[x]."

The weekend continued this way. Danielle was spewing out Yiddish words and phrases that to this day I still do not understand. It finally got to the point that we could not sit back and do nothing. We made a horrible mistake bringing Danielle into our world and for the sake of her family and Judaism we had to correct this situation. We sat Danielle down on the couch and had an intervention. 

"Danielle. We made mistake".

"Vus machs da[xi]?"

"Remember when we told you that Christ was Jewish?"

"Why shouldn't I remember that? You think maybe I am senile?

"I was wrong. Christ wasn't Jewish. I lied to you."

"What's all this mishegoss[xii]. Why are you telling me this?"

"Danielle. You are Christian, your parents are Christian."

"But you have great food! You have Rabbi Akiba[xiii] and the parting of the Red Sea".

"You have that too. The Old Testament is part of the Christian heritage as well".

"But you have such cool and descriptive words. If I can't use them I won't be able to communicate effectively".

"Ok. Danielle. I didn't want to say this but you forced my hand. I spoke to the council of Jews and they don't want you."

"There is no such thing. I know what you are doing. This is a test of my faith. Did I pass?"

I wasn't getting anywhere with this line of reasoning. It had then hit me...

"Danielle, Jews don't get Christmas presents!"

"Why didn't you tell me this months ago! This is such a stupid religion."

Danielle went home that Sunday evening and gave up heavy malaga wine and matzoh for sacramental wine and communal biscuits. We have learned our lesson. The Judaic tradition is too powerful a concept for the uninitiated. In the future we will keep all of the good stuff like kishke[xiv], matzoh brie[xv] and the epic discussion of the great rabbinical scholars at the Sanhedrin to ourselves. Knowledge can be a dangerous thing in the wrong hands.

---

[i] "Oh, how terrible things are"

[ii] Old fart

[iii] A little

[iv] "As long as your healthy"

[v] Junk

[vi] Shit

[vii] befuddled, confused

[viii] horrible death

[ix] Crazy

[x] A shame

[xi] "What's the matter?"

[xii] Craziness

[xiii] Rabbi Akiba was a politically powerful scholar and teacher who was  a hero and activist who suffered a terrible martyr's death. We honor him at our family's passover seders.

[xiv] Kishke is the Jewish version of the Scottish Haggis. It is made with the intestinal lining of a sheep stuffed with bread crumbs, vegetables and chicken fat and then baked. Yum.

[xv] Matzoh soaked in eggs and milk and sauteed with butter. Salt and pepper to taste, It is usually eaten with jelly or sugar.

Gratuities

After reading my previous two essays my wife stated I was being bitter. I said Nay. I am being factual and honest. She didn't go for it. In my continuing series of bitter essays I include a topic that very often brings out the ire in me...

Definition: Gratuities - (noun, plural) Gifts of money over and beyond the payment due for services performed.

The concept of gratuities has always been daunting to me. I have always felt uncomfortable in situations where I wasn't sure how much to tip. Searching the web has not been much help as tipping is very often governed by personality, region, race and nationality.

Many European nations have, as far as I am concerned, the best tipping custom. They include the tip and the local taxes in the price of the food. What you are charged is what you pay. No calculations required. If you are charged $100 for a party of four, you quickly calculate that everyone has to pay a share of $25.00. I absolutely hate restaurants that write on the bill that tax will be added at the register.  When you get the bill you have to figure the sales tax first. Is it 8.625% or is it 8.650%. Wait... didn't the sales tax increase to 9.625% last month. What the F@#&! would it be so difficult for the damn server to include the sales tax before he gives me the bill. I take a percentage off the tip just for the sheer laziness of the restaurant to add the sales tax.

Even more than hating restaurants that do not initially include the sales tax, I hate the ones that add gratuities to the bill in advance. Every now and then I will see a stamped comment stating that a gratuity of 20% has already been added to the bill. I want to know is it just me or does this apply to everyone? Am I being viewed as cheap bastard before I even sit down? Is it my clothes? My demeanor? I always wondered if the service wasn't to my satisfaction would I be able to reduce the automatic gratuity. Are automatic gratuities enforceable in a court of law? These are the questions that race through my mind whenever I go out to eat.

It has been explained to me that the automatic gratuity is imposed by many New York restaurants due to foreign tourists not leaving tips as they are accustomed to the pay one price policy that is prevalent in Europe. Several years ago I was informed the reason was due to teenagers not leaving appropriate tips. Before that I was told (in a more openly racist era) that people of color do not tip. Somehow I wonder if this is all hype and just another way to increase profits. Who actually is getting the gratuities? About two years ago the staff at Nobu sued the owners for withholding and pocketing their tips.

I use the following standard to calculate tips:

1.  I start at 20%

2.  No one tends to us within 5 minutes - Deduct 5%
3.  Server doesn't smile - Deduct 5%
4.  Server is pretty and smiles at me and calls me Hon - Add 10%
5.  Accuracy of order - Deduct 2% for each wrong item
6.  Relish plate and rolls brought to table without asking - Add 2%
7.  Server crouches - Deduct 3% (servers at Applebee's are advised to crouch in order to be lower than the patron thus making the patron feel superior)
8.  Refills drinks expeditiously - Add 3% (free refill add 1% more)
9.  Server tells me I don't need the french fries - Deduct 10%
10. Throws in a free appetizer - Add 2%
11. Adds automatic gratuity to bill - Throw away my calculations that I became so engrossed in keeping track of to the extent where I didn't get a chance to enjoy the food and pay the posted amount under protest.

In actuality I usually double the tax which in New York City would result in a tip of approximately 18%. In a cheaper restaurant such as Friendly's or Chili's I will up grade a dollar or two. It has always bothered me that a server in a restaurant that charges $15 to $20 per person, the server does the same amount of work as a server in a restaurant that charges $25 to $50 per person. Due to this (based on a 20% gratuity for a dinner for two) the server in the less expensive joint will get a tip of $8.  The server in the more expensive restaurant would get a tip of $16.00 for the same amount of work. I ask you, is this fair? Also, should I punish a server for poor food quality or kitchen efficiency by reducing the tip?

For a while I was leaving cash as the gratuity at the cheaper restaurants so the server would have the option to declare a lesser amount to the IRS. At the more expensive restaurants I would include it on the credit card to make sure that it was declared by the (elitist pig fancy shmancy) server with an attitude. But I am patriot and believe that everyone has the responsibility to pay their fair share of taxes.

THIS IS A PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: PAY YOUR TAXES!

I do not condone misrepresenting your income to the IRS. Your taxes are needed to ensure the proper operation of our government and to finance all of the wonderful work it does in Iraq and Afghanistan and helping out the ailing banking and investment sectors and the underpaid CEOs and executives who are unable to afford the bare necessities that are needed by people in their position such as luxury yachts, personal jets and villas in the Riviera.

Have you noticed lately that counter service people at delis, donut shops and pizzerias are placing tip jars on the counter. I ask ... for what? Waiters are paid ridiculously low salaries in anticipation of gratuities. Counter people are paid normal hourly wages. I don't get gratuities for doing my job. Readers take my word and do not allow yourself to feel guilty and shamed for not leaving a tip at a counter. save the money for a worthwhile charity such as the American Diabetes Association, the Red Cross or the Brooklyn State of Mind Barry Levine Retirement Fund.

A Moyle (person who performs ritual Jewish circumcisions) at a bris (a Jewish ritual circumcision) was asked why he performs this ritual. He responded, "the pay is lousy but the tips are good."

As I mentioned earlier, I found searching the web for tipping advice troubling, so I will include my own list which I now follow religiously.

Food Servers - 20% (+/- 5% depending on the quality of service)

Food delivery people - $1 per $10 of order
Barbers/ Beauticians/Pet Groomers - 15%
Salon Shampooer - $1 to $2
Cabs/Car Service - 10%
Bell Hops - $1.00 per bag
Hotel Housekeepers - $2 per night
Sky caps - I don't use them. I prefer to carry my own bag
Mail deliverer - Yeah. Right. They are not supposed to solicit tips.
Sanitation workers - City: $0 (if you live in a city that has private sanitation $20 each or you may find the garbage on your lawn)
Service People - None. Unless they give you an upgrade and don't charge you.
Building Superintendent (not including city owned building) - $100 per year
Building concierge, staff, parking attendants - $20 - $25 each per year.
Newspaper delivery - $20.00 per year (minus the cost for replacing all papers thrown in a puddle or used to provide the dog with a chew toy.
Tipping Cows - I threw this in to keep you on guard. Not a wise thing to do.

In this continuing series of bitter complaints the next topic will be Splitting the Restaurant Tab. I don't drink so why should we split the bill evenly!

Please contact me at balevine@mail.com if you wish to discuss this topic further or convince me that I am a cheap bastard.

The Colonial Mansion - World Famous in Brooklyn

Recently I had found an old acquaintance on Linkedin who I had worked with at a Brooklyn Catering hall many years ago. This brought back a flood of memories. Many of the people I will write about are no longer with us. I can relate some of the lighter memories but will omit the many other more damaging stories out of respect to their memories (not that they deserve it) and to their families that are still around (that do deserve the respect).

The Colonial Mansion. It wasn't colonial (it was built in the 1930s). It wasn't a mansion. It was a  catering hall that was a world famous institution in Brooklyn. Nearly everybody in Brooklyn had attended a Bar Mitzvah or wedding at the Colonial Mansion in the 1950s and 1960s. In my family working at the Colonial Mansion was a rite of passage. Akin to the Sioux indians placing hooks through the skin and being dangled from trees. I was not related to the Feuerstein and Birnbaum families that owned the hall, but my Aunt Margie's husband, Seymour, was.

The Colonial Mansion was a kosher (just barely) business and the food was usually pretty good. In the 1950s they were known for their football weddings. A football wedding is one where the food platters are placed on a table and everyone threw the food to each other. Eventually the service demanded some refining and the parties became sit down affairs and served by waiters.

At their busiest they handled as many as ten parties a weekend in the three ballrooms. Aside from the decent food they were probably one of the cheapest halls in the city. They cut costs by paying staff poorly, reusing leftover food and watering down the liquor. My father, Harvey, worked there as the Gardé Manger (preparing the cold foods such as salads, deserts, fruit platters, fish platters, etc.) and was the kitchen manager  responsible for ordering food and hiring the per diem kitchen staff. At sixteen years of age I spent a summer working with him in the kitchen.

The Birnbaums were three brothers and a sister, Harvey, Sam, Irving and Blanche (whose married name was Feuerstein). The two older brothers eventually left the business and moved to Florida. The business was then operated solely by Irving and Blanche. Blanche's two sons, Bernie and Nate, were active in the running of the business. Irving's two son's who were talented musicians didn't really want anything to do with the business. Bernie was the most personable of the two Feuerstein brothers and handled much of the front end and schmoozed with the clientele. Bernie is actually mentioned in Sammy "the bull" Gravano's autobiography as a friend. Nate's main job was pouring the cheap liquor into the expensive liquor bottles and rearranging the plastic fern fronds that decorated the dais tables in the ball rooms. Both Bernie and Nate drank excessively and died relatively young most likely as a result from drinking.

After the summer in the kitchen, I started working as a waiter and stayed there nearly eleven years working as waiter, bartender and head waiter. Aside from the Jewish parties, the Colonial also catered many Italian weddings as well (where meat and dairy were served together -  not very kosher). When parties were booked the Jewish clientele were informed that tips were payable in advance and added to the cost of the contract. The Italian patrons were not advised of this, therefore, the Italians tipped but it was very rare that we received any from the Jewish parties. In the eleven years I had worked there, I must have worked between 2000 to 2100 parties. I have heard Hava Nagila and the Bunny Hop so many times I actually cringe just thinking about it (wait... I am cringing right now... Ok it's over lets move on). We started at nine in the morning Saturday and worked through to one AM (sometimes two AM) Sunday and back again at nine AM to twelve thirty AM Monday for a total of 26 to 28 hours. I came home with between one hundred ten and one hundred thirty dollars. That was less than five dollars an hour but we ate for free and got cigarettes gratis as well.

During the years working there I had met Neil Sedaka, Phil Donohue, Marlo Thomas, Tiny Tim, and Carlo Gambino. I never personally waited on Carlo Gambino but he was an excellent tipper and passed hundreds around. One lesson I had learned was that when someone says that he will take care of you at the end of the party if you keep the drinks coming he will sneak out before the end of the party and leave you with zilch. The tippers who will really tip will tip you at the beginning and at the end.

As I had mentioned before, my father made the cold food platters. At the end of the party he would throw all of the uneaten fruit on the platters into the garbage. One day Blanche walked in and saw my father throwing the food out and promptly went to Bernie and complained about the waste of food. Bernie came in and went through the garbage and pulled out the unused fruit. He told my father that he is to re-use the leftover fruit. The next day my father threw away the uneaten fruit again but this time included broken glass in the garbage as well. Bernie came in and was incensed at seeing the fruit in the garbage especially after the dressing down he gave him the previous day and went dumpster diving for the fruit again. This time he came up with fruit and shredded skin. Needless to say this was never an issue again.

There were two loveable characters that were employed as porters. Artie, a short black man who at times could be cantankerous and John who was hard of hearing and mumbled. Watching Artie and John was like watching Laurel and Hardy. On one occasion they came out with a ladder to replace some burnt out light bulbs on the marquis over the front entrance. Artie picks up the ladder, turns and inadvertently hits John in the head. After the stars subsided they set the ladder up and Artie climbed up as John held the ladder in place. Of course the next thing you know Artie is standing on John's fingers.

John calls up (mumbling) "Artie yer standin' on my fingers".

Artie hears John but doesn't actually understand what he is saying yells down, "Shut up".

"But Artie..."

"I said shut up fool".

"But ... "

"Just hold the damn ladder idiot!"

This went on for another five minutes. We yelled up to Artie but he ignored us as well. All we could do was laugh as John shrugged and winced in pain.

Nathan "Nate" Birnbaum was the sad sack of the Colonial. Nate's main job was to pour the cheap liquor into the expensive liquor bottles. He would spend hours in the back room like a chemist pouring solutions into beakers. A good portion of the liquor was probably consumed by Nate as well. In the eleven years I worked at the Colonial only one patron was able to tell that the scotch in the Chivas Regal bottle was not in fact Chivas.  

Nate's wife eventually left him and he had moved into a small, depressing apartment in Bensonhurst. He had no life outside of work to speak of but he had one possession that he had cherished. His Cadillac. One night after work Nate went to his car, sat down in it and passed away. He was in his mid to late fifties when he died.

The porters who worked late after everyone else went home swore that they saw Nate's ghost in the ballrooms re-arranging the plastic fern fronds on several occasions.

There have been many television exposés regarding what happens in restaurants and foods that are tampered with. The same happens in catering halls. I for one have never defiled the food that I served my customers no matter how irritating or insulting they may be. But I have seen co-workers spit in the salad dressing, urinate in a barrel of pickles and when a customer sent back a slab of prime rib that wasn't well enough one of the waiters would throw it on the floor and step on it before placing it back on the grill (you want shoe leather you'll get shoe leather). I understand why someone would want to do it but a little modicum of self control should take precedence.

I had mentioned earlier what I had learned about promises of tips. Here is a list of other things that I have learned from working at the Colonial and I am not stereotyping:

1. Teachers at parties get drunk and randy.

2. Masons and Knights of Pythias lodge brothers eat a lot and have no self control.
3. College students at their senior proms are oblivious.
4. One can actually burst their stomach at a buffet. Not a pleasant sight and requires immediate hospitalization.
5. Most people cannot tell expensive liquor from cheap.
6. Fights usually break out between families when Italian and Irish people wed. Most notably the groom angry at his new bride for putting cake on his face, shoved the entire top tier in her face and knocked her down. A fight ensued that went from the third floor to the second floor where a bar mitzvah was being celebrated. Someone went in and said "look at the fuckin' Jews" which resulted in a new group becoming embroiled in this fight. There was fighting all the way down to the basement and out into the street which resulted in the police getting involved in the festivities and a little old Iridh lady beating a police captain with her pocket book.
7. Minors should not drink. They puke a lot.
8.  Elderly people will put their left over chicken, salad and ice cream in the same doggie bag.
9. Becoming a pizza deliverer is a better career choice than working as a waiter in a kosher catering hall.
10. Cooking scrambled eggs in copper pans turn the eggs green.

As the Colonial was one of the cheapest catering halls they eventually started getting a lower class clientele. I remember my last day working there vividly. We had a party were everyone was nasty and difficult. The party was nearly over when an older patron had asked for more non-dairy creamer. The waiter that had the table was insulted and abused all night and refused to go back to that group. As the head waiter, I went to assist  and was very polite and accommodating. I brought a fresh pitcher of non-dairy creamer to the table when the guy grabbed it out of my hand thus causing the pitcher to fall and get on his clothes. The next thing I know the guy jumps up and is ready to fight.

A minute later I have twenty people coming at me. I retreated into the kitchen as the mob followed me in. I picked up a pot lid as a shield and a twelve inch butcher knife as weapons and brandished them proudly as a roman gladiator fighting a horde of Goths. Finally other people with cooler heads got their family members to go back to the ballroom. I walked downstairs, threw my jacket in the boss's face and said I was sick and tired of the shit they call customers and quit.

My father continued to work there for the next ten years working 60 to 70 hours a week. He worked there nearly 30 years and was let go at Christmas without a thank you, pension or any health benefits. Luckily he was able to start collecting social security and had coverage through my mom's retirement benefits. I have no regrets about working there. There are many good memories and I met many good people who went on to achieve wonderful things. Aside from a few celebrities I had also met a Shaolin priest working as a dish washer, Runyonesque characters who talked about the horses, Lieutenant's in the Columbo crime family and people straight out of a Dicken's novel (think Great Expectations and Oliver Twist). Most are gone and many I have enjoyed working with and wish that I could get in contact with again.

Shortly after my father retired the Colonial Mansion went out of business after fifty years of catering to the masses. The last time I was in Bath Beach the noted kosher catering hall was a Muslim Cultural Center. Another example of how the Jews and Muslims are linked from Abraham not only in scripture but in Brooklyn as well..

A Life Examined: The First Six Years

In my blog I occasionally make references to the history of Brooklyn. As I approach my older years I realize that my memories of growing up may be considered historical by my children and their children. Therefore I will be including  my memoirs to provide a historical reference as to who I am and provide insight as to what the hell happened to me.

I was born September 12, 1953. The same day that future president John Kennedy and Jacqueline Bouvier were wed. World War II ended eight years prior and the Korean War ended the prior year. The first space flights were less than nine years away and we were becoming embroiled in another war in Vietnam. We were also living under the shadow of a nuclear winter as tensions between the USSR and our country were escalating. Gasoline was less than 20 cents a gallon and cars got ten miles to the gallon and that was considered economical.

The first six years of my life where spent mostly on East 4th street and 18th Avenue in Brooklyn, We lived in a one bedroom apartment in a four story walk up on the 4th floor. Yes, Alyssa, I lived in an apartment and not in a cave. When my daughter, Alyssa, was younger she asked my wife what we did for fun when we were children. When Ilana told her we played hide and seek, ring-a-leevio, spud and watched TV just like children do today Alyssa said "You had television in caves?"

I have a lot of memories from East 4th street. For one there were lots of kids and there was never a want for companionship. We were known as the East 4th Street gang, The toughest and rowdiest gang in our building. Ronnie, Bobby, Franky, Ralph, Little Barry (I was Big Barry), Ricky, and Charlie to mention a few. To mention the fun things we did included tying all of our bikes up to form a train and chugged around the block, we ran up the block, we ran down the block, we pretended we were on a lion hunts and caught cats. Mind you we never hurt them and always let them go a just a little frazzled. I stopped doing this when one clawed my face and nearly missing my eyes. Believe it or not cats do not like to be caught and placed in bags.

The building had three small courtyards and each were designated after the kid whose apartment overlooked the yard. There was Frankies yard, Ricky's yard and our most favorite, Cecelia's yard. The reason for this was that Cecelia's mom always baked small sweet potatoes for us and passed them out though the window. There was another yard in the building next door but we were prohibited from going there after Ralph stuck his head through the black iron fence and couldn't get it out. For the life of me I cannot figure out why someone would want to stick his head through a fence. I think Ralph was trying to prove that his ears were not that large. They were Ralph, get over it.

Good times yes, but there were bad times as well and most of the bad times were  caused by Charlie. Charlie was a walking disaster area. He was what is known as a shlemiel (pronounced as shleh-meal). Shlemiel and shlemazel (pronounced as shleh-ma-zl) are two yiddish terms describing people who constantly have bad things happening to them. My friend Mark had explained the difference to me once. A shlemiel is a person who goes to the ball park with seats in the upper tier, buys a hot dog with the works and a beer and drops it. The shlemazel is the guy below who they land on.

During a rain storm Charlie asked me to help him close the hallway windows so the floors wouldn't get wet. My window had a ten inch triangle of broken glass that popped out and almost severed two fingers off my left hand. Charlie also punched Bobby in the face while Bobby was tying his Keds forgetting he also had a twig in his hand thusly puncturing a hole through Bobby's cheek. Charlie also hit Ricky in the head with a brick giving him a few stitches as well. I do not believe that anyone was spared the wrath of Charlie.

Then there was Cheryl. Yes ... Cheryl. All of the boys had a crush on Cheryl. Charlie and I were always vying for her attention. This may have been the cause of Charlie's hostility. I no longer remember who had won her affections but I do know that shortly thereafter we moved to an apartment in a two family home owned by my mother's sister, Margie, leaving Charlie without any real competition. While growing up I had two cousins living nearby that were approximately three years older than I was. Stan (who by the way is an actor from TV and movies who goes by a different name)  the son of Margie and Seymour and there was Larry (now a successful dentist in Pennsylvania)  son of my father's sister Esther and her husband, Hank.

Each weekend my parents asked which cousin that I wanted to visit. My choices were Stan, who was fun and entertaining, and Larry who hit me and inflicted pain. Hmmm? Did I want to have fun or ne subjected to endless pain and humiliation? Difficult choice. If only there was some other factor that would help me make my choice.

There was.

Brennan and Carr, the legendary double dip roast beef emporium on Avenue U and Nostrand Avenue. This was a no brainer. Ok dad, lets visit cousin Stan. What I cannot figure out even to this day is as I had the power of choice, how is it that every other week I had to visit cousin Larry?

In 1959 we moved to our new apartment on Avenue X in Sheepshead Bay. My parents dropped me off at my Aunt Margie's house the day before the move. The next morning Stan said that we are going to go war with the Brodleib boys who live up the block. Stan's strategy was that he will take care of the two older brothers and I am to take on Richie the youngest of the three who was my age. What I didn't know was that this was a play fight so when Stan said, "Ok Barry. Kill!", I went running down the block with Stan and trying to impress my older cousin I had tackled Richie and started banging his head into the floor. Finally I was pulled off of him and Stan said "What the hell, Barry! what are your doing! We're only playing!". 

Stan, this was an important piece of information. It may only be me, but I think some advance notice of this was in order.  Luckily Richie had the hardest head of anyone I ever knew and did not suffer any immediate physical damage even  though there may be some evidence that there may have been long term damage as Richie exhibited questionable behavior later on like having biting contests with his dog and dousing his hands with lighter fluid and setting them ablaze.  But that, as they say, is another story.

In 1959 Avenue Y was still a partially dirt road as so was a 1/4 mile of Nostrand Avenue leading up to Sheepshead Bay. Rainbow Lanes on Knapp Street was a vacant lot and the Sheepshead Bay Water Treatment processing center was less than half the size it is today. Incidentally, you may find it interesting  (or not) to know that the Water Treatment center is one of the largest in the country and processes most of  the sewage (human feces) produced by the three million plus inhabitants of Brooklyn that gets dumped into the ocean to feed the fishes that are so abundant in the New York Bight. About six years ago the odor scrubbers caught fire and stopped functioning. With typical city efficiency the rehab that was supposed to be done in two years has still not been completed creating a somewhat pungent earthy aroma when you pass by.

Rainbow Lanes has been closed down for several years and has been converted to a nameless warehouse type facility. Word is that it is a DOD/CIA terrorist

prison and interrogation center. The Burger King across the street probably loses many customers because of the treatment center odor but stays in business by supplying meals for the prisoners,  sorry I mean, detainees. This may be a human rights violation but I do admit that I have partaken in a double Whopper (number 2 on the menu) from time to time.

This was essentially the first six years of my life. How much of this defined my life I may never know. But every decision one makes and every experience one has contributes to the definition of that person. The East 4th Street Gang, Brooklyn style pizza, Brennan and Carr, Roll-n-Roaster and Nathans definitely played an important part in who I am today. There is a saying that you are what you eat. And conversely you eat what you are, whatever that may mean.