Congratulations New York!

A big congratulations to the New York Giants for beating the expansion Washington Senators. I watched the series and while the Giants' move to SF predated my addiction to baseball, the Senators move to Texas was in the prime of my career when I was free basing Strat O Matic on an hourly basis. Every time I watch them play, I cannot erase the thought that they are really the expansion Washington Senators. The "real" Senators left DC in 1961 for Minnesota and four years later took Koufax and the Dodgers to game 7 before succumbing to the best pitcher God ever assembled (at least from 1963 through 1966). And speaking of images permanently embedded in one's mind, every time I hear "Dallas" I think not of JR Ewing, the Cowboys, but of JFK. Don't know why but as soon as the city is mentioned, I think Parkland Hospital, Grassy Knoll, Manlicher Carcano rifle, and Texas school book depository.

Thumbing It

I was reminiscing yesterday with an old friend about how our society has become preoccupied with risk avoidance at the expense of taking a walk on the wild side. And it hit me. I am over 50 and grew up in a normal middle class household on the East Coast. As anyone of that era can attest, there was a widely accepted way of getting around: hitchhiking. That's right. Need to travel five or six miles and didn't have a car? Stand on the side of the road, put your thumb out, and hope for the best. I started doing it in 6th grade and didn't stop until I graduated high school. And the funny thing was, my parents knew about it and never thought anything of it. My friends and I "thumbed a ride" at least once a week. Things were different back then. People were more trusting. Very rarely will you see a hitchhiker these days and rarer is the person who would pick one up for fear of being robbed or raped. A reflection of our society and not a good one I guess. Here are some of my favorite hitchhiking stories, in no particular order:
1. 1974. I had to stay late at school. Don't remember why. I hitched a ride home. A couple picked me up. Told me to sit in the front with them. Girl was gorgeous. She had a very loose fitting dress and no bra. The ride was 3 miles. I spent 99% of it staring down her blouse and for the first time in my life saw a perfectly shaped breast live and in color. Got out of the car and thanked them. They probably spent the next 20 minutes laughing at how I was ogling her.
2. 1971. I was in junior high. The Red Sox were playing an afternoon game. They called it the "Businessman's Special." Sort of a day when Don Draper would sit in the stands. My two friends and I, on pure whim, decided to leave school, thumb it to Fenway, and watch the game. For me, school was a waste of time. I never learned anything worthwhile anyway. So I left. Just up and hit the road. We made it to the Wellesley train station and took the trolley to Fenway. Sox played Cleveland. Had a great time. We hitched a ride home. A businessman picked us up and for the next 30 minutes lectured us on the dangers of hitchhiking in the city. I got home around 8 at night and my parents were worried sick. My brother told them I was in school and then noboby saw me, My father wanted to kill me. I don't remember how many detentions I got but it doesn't matter. It was worth it.
3. 1972. Early evening. Got picked up in a VW van. Bunch of hippie types were smoking pot. Ride was about 5 miles. Don't know why but I was scared to death. They were not your friendly peace loving types. More like the Charles Manson cult figures. When I got out, I swore I would never hitchhike again. Ten minutes later, I thumbed it home alive.
Well, that's today's salute to yesterday and the lost art of hitchhiking. Now it's off to work where I hopefully can once again accomplish 25% of what I set out to do.

Can't Say No To A Soldier?

I was on my way to the office on Sunday and made my monthly stop at CD Trader in Hollywood. For music aficionados post Pearl Harbor and pre Sputnik, it is a gold mine of otherwise unavailable jazz and crooner music for less than $3.00 a cd. I always buy 4 or 5 cd's a month, download them to my Itunes and Ipod and listen to them the next week while walking my dog and wish I were somewhere else (permanently). I picked up a collection called Wartime Anthems. The song "You Can't Say No To A Soldier" was part of the set. The lyrics astounded me. I listened two more times. Here is a reconstructed audio/video of the tune:

Amazing. This is 1942. Can you imagine someone singing this today about the troops in Iraq or Afghanistan? Never. The message is clear: it is patriotic to succumb to the prurient desires of some soon to be GI who will be putting his life on the line for his country. And this was no bar room melody sang in brothel parlors in the seedier parts of town. It was mainstream stuff. It makes me laugh when I listen to this song and think back to 1974. I always thought I invented sex and then perfected the art form with my first girlfriend in the back of my father's Bonneville station wagon. What a conceit.

Bleeding Dodger Blue

One of the greatest myths in sports history is that the Dodgers abandoned Brooklyn in 1958 and headed out west in an act of betrayal and selfishness while leaving behind many blue collar fans who suffered for years like a jilted lover watching his sweetheart dump him for the captain of the football team. The narrative has a lot of appeal as it romanticizes the small town qualities of civic pride and neighborhood solidarity that are ingrained in the American ethos. Call it a sport version of Billy Joel's Allentown. Pete Hamill and Jimmy Breslin added to the lore when asked who would they kill if they were in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and Walter O'Malley and had a gun with two bullets. The answer, no doubt uttered after one too many shots of Jameson Irish Whiskey, was that they would shoot O'Malley twice to make sure he is dead. Thus was born another variation of the Cold Hearted Capitalist that would make Ebenezer Scrooge smile: This time the scoundrel is O'Malley, a slave to the bottom line, who stole the soul from hard working Brooklynites who toiled by day in the factory and longed for those long summer nights when they could listen to their beloved Dodgers on the radio or go to fabled Ebbets field and watch the game live.


It is all very heart rendering. It has everything going for it except the truth. I just finished reading Forever Blue by Michael D'Antonio. The book offers a very balanced account of the personalities and political and economic dynamics that made the Dodgers leave Brooklyn for the riches of California. In hindsight the move is a no brainer, whether motivated by sheer greed or not. But D'Antonio belies the notion that O'Malley just picked up and left town to enrich himself. That version is simply not true. The other side was never told over the years. Think of a divorce among two once respectable people. You hear one side and accept it but you know deep inside, that life is more complicated than that. The rest of the story comes out and you realize the truth lies somewhere in the middle of a complicated tale indeed. The gist of the book is that O'Malley did everything he could to keep the franchise in Brooklyn while still being able to make money. O'Malley was up against some very strong economic, demographic, and technological developments: Brooklyn's population was declining as its residents left for Nassau and Suffolk counties, Ebbets Field had little parking making a trip to the ball park for a modern suburban family difficult, and television just gave many people another reason to either stay home or watch the game at the corner bar. Contrast this with the landscape of southern California: massive population and economic growth, a culture that worshiped the automobile, and a willingness to build a stadium with 17,000 parking spaces. Despite what seemed like a very easy decision to make on economic grounds, O'Malley clug to his native Brooklyn and negotiated with Robert Moses to build a new park in Brooklyn. It was not to be. Moses, probably the most powerful man in the history of New York politics never elected to an office, put him off seemingly wanting O'Malley to leave town. D'Antonio offers some insights into the era that are humorous and contrary to popular perceptions. Here are a few gems:
1. In 1949-50, Branch Rickey was trying to sell his shares in the team. And who should pop up as a potential suitor?

That's right. None other than Joseph Kennedy, Prohibition financier and scion of the Kennedy clan. And here is an exact quote on page 123: "Kennedy had even talked about his son Jack becoming president of the team if Rickey remained as general manager." Gotta love that one.
2. Jackie Robinson watched Willie Mays play for the Birmingham Barons, a Negro league team. Robinson advised Branch Rickey to sign Mays to a contract. Rickey refused because he had been told by a scout that Mays "could not hit a curve ball."
3. 1951. This was the year of Bobby Thompson's "shot heard 'round the world." The myth is of a city enthralled by baseball. The 1950's are often referred to as "The Golden Era of Baseball." But here is a little cold water to throw in the face of that myth: the Dodgers and Giants played a best of three playoff at the end of the '51 season. The first game at Ebbets Field was not a sellout. There were 2000 empty seats. The next day was worse. 38,609 people showed up at the Polo Grounds. It had a capacity of 55,000.
4. 1952. Game six of the World Series. Dodgers and Yankees. The Dodgers could have won the series with a win. How enthusiastic were the Brooklyn faithful? Five thousand empty seats! Amazing!
5. 1954. The Dodgers won the pennant in 1953 and finished second to the Giants in '54. However, their attendance dropped by 140,000.00. They were ninth in attendance among sixteen major league clubs.
6. After the 1956 Dodger World Series victory, O'Malley who was being lobbied very hard by a consortium of Los Angeles business and civic interests, refused to meet with them, convinced he would be able to build a new stadium in Brooklyn.
7. Walter O'Malley was prescient. Even in the 1950's, he saw the potential of what was then know as "pay per view." He envisioned a system where a small electronic box would be placed atop a TV set and fans would pay a per game fee to watch the game.
8. The Giants moved to San Francisco at the same time the Dodgers went to LA. But that move was not controversial. What was it about Brooklyn that caused such a long term resentment towards O'Malley while the Manhattanites who routed for the Giants didn't really give a hoot what Horace Stoneham did with his team.
It is fascinating reading, especially in hindsight. So if you are a history buff and baseball fan and want a straight up account about an era in New York sports history, read it. Forever Blue by Michael D'Antonio (Riverhead Books, 2009)

The Greatest Movie Scene Ever

I watched The Pope Of Greenwich Village last night for the umpteenth time and it never disappoints. The above scene with Geraldine Page is probably the greatest movie scene ever. In a few minutes, the essence of working class culture circa New York City in the mid 70's hits one in the face like a shot of stale whiskey. Why she never got an Oscar for this is beyond me. Watch it and watch it again.

"On The Cover Of The Rolling Stone"

So Barack Obama cashiers his top general in Afghanistan for mouthing off to the press. That is a big yawn for me. But what really piqued my interest was the medium through which the general chose to voice his opinions: Rolling Stone Magazine. Like many old actors and singers you see pop up on Larry King, I assumed the magazine died a natural death years ago. The last time I read it was 1979 while buying some drug paraphernalia in the back room of a head shop in Philadelphia. But I remember it very well as a quintessential reflection of a slice of a part of the American landscape post Woodstock and pre Reagain. I first stumbled upon the magazine while making a pit stop in an upper end Jewish neighborhood circa 1974 to cop some quality Colombian Gold from some kid named Horowitz. Rolling Stone readers smoked good pot or hash, had liberal/left political views, owned the latest and greatest stereo equipment, watched Saturday Night Live went it was still an underground pilot, and listened to the trendy progressive rock stations that dotted the FM landscape back then. And oh yeah, they wore painter's pants (without real paint stains of course) and earth shoes. In other words, they excelled at one of the great art forms of the 1970's and 1960's: pretending to be a member of the proletariate while living the life of a bourgeoisie. Rolling Stone was a great window to watch the spectacle. While it felt good to feel ideological solidarity with some oppressed farm worker in some third world country (right wing of course), it felt even better to have the most expensive Pioneer receiver on the market sitting on your bedroom dresser or front row seats when David Bowie was in town. Because let's face it: the goal of every pseudo revolutionary was the same as every conservative firebrand: using every means at your disposal to get that damn bra off of that girl who was dumb enough to go out with you. The symbolism, though, was more a function of the readers as opposed to the editors. If you looked beyond the fancy cover page, the magazine contained some quality writing. Hunter Thompson was a great writer who cut his teeth there. Ditto William Greider. As much as I disagreed with the magazine's political perspective, the writing was top notch, especially during an era when the mainstream media did not give much credence to the music tastes of the younger generation. But then, like its readers, it moved into the mainstream and thus, complacency. I guess most of its readers when on to Vanity Fair and The New York Times as irreverent hipness lost its panache. Irony is what makes life funny and I have to laugh that Rolling Stone Magazine is the forum that a four star wartime general used to voice his opposition to his commander in chief's policies.

All That Jazz

I like jazz and blues music. The lyrics, cadence, and artists capture a certain slice of Americana much the same way that film noir did in the 40's and 50's. And what is that slice: a recognition that life ain't always easy and is just as likely to be filled with tragedy and disappointment as with happiness and success. But the human spirit trudges along against overwhelming odds. The music is a window into the soul of those people who through their own transgressions or just plain bad luck have swung and missed at life's opportunities but realize that there can be redemption at the end of the line. Listen to Billie Holiday or Dinah Washington or any of about 20 African American crooners from yesteryear. The theme is unmistakable: life is very tough at the bottom of the food chain whether it be spiritual or material. Which brings me to a wonderful website I discovered thanks to Eugene Volokh. It is called It is Ejazz News New Music Weekly Sampler. Every week the site publishes a group of songs that you can download for free. And the music is not the cheap stuff you get at Starbucks every week on some card they hand out with your coffee. It is quality stuff. So download it, put it in your Ipod, go on a bike ride or walk, and appreciate the little things in life. Happy Father's Day.