Classic Rant #709 (April 4, 2012): The Day That Still Haunts Me

In 1968, 44 years ago today, civil rights leader Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.

I remember that day, and its aftermath, as clearly as one can remember an event that happened at least a generation ago.

My family and I lived in that unique community I have talked about so often here, Rochdale Village, in South Jamaica, Queens, New York. It was a mixed community surrounded by one of the longest standing black communities in the United States.

I was 10 years old, just a few days away from my 11th birthday. I don't remember what we were watching on TV, but my parents, myself and my sister were in our living room all watching the same program. We had a black and white Dumont TV, and although it was a pretty old TV even by the standards of 1968, it still played pretty well.

Whatever we were watching was on Channel 2, the local CBS outlet and the flagship station of the entire network.

Anyway, an announcer broke into the program we were watching, and said something like the following:

"Reports are that civil rights leader Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. has been fatally shot in Memphis, Tennessee."

I honestly don't remember if the word "fatally" was used, because I don't remember whether at that time whether it was announced if he was dead yet.

But it was at least announced that he was shot.

(The video that accompanies this Rant was not what I just described, but it is the best I can do to bring this all into perspective. I remember that whatever we were watching was broken into as a "Special Report," so I don't think this was it, but I use it to illustrate my point.)

"Oh my God, oh my God," said my mother over and over and over again.

You have to understand the delicate balance that my family and I, and hundreds of other families both black and white, lived in within this community.

Rochdale Village was an experimental community. Very basically, it was created to see if white middle class families could live, and prosper, within a predominantly black community.

Yes, there were many blacks who lived in Rochdale Village, but the majority of people living in this community were white, and a majority of the whites were Jews, so it was something of a novel community.

We did not live in a gated community, welcomed those living on the outskirts of the community into our schools, our retail establishments, and into our community as a whole.

Many on the outside welcomed us, but probably many more hated us for infiltrating their community.

So any incident, however large or small, that would tip this delicate balance was sure to be something to pay close attention to.

So when it was made public that Martin Luther King Jr. was shot, my mother pretty much knew that it was the beginning of the end of our time in this community.

And oh how right she was.

I was a kid, and maybe I didn't fully get it. I had white friends and black friends there, Jewish friends and non-Jewish friends, and really, all that I cared about at the time was whether we had enough kids for two full teams in stickball, or punchball, or what team we were playing against in Little League.

Sure, I guess I did see some interesting things beyond that, but heck, I was 10 years old, so my world was a pretty small one.

But my world changed the very next day at school.

What I remember from that day was that the Black Panthers demanded that the name of our school be changed to the Martin Luther King Jr. School, and it that request wasn't complied with, then they were going to blow up the school. (No, it wasn't complied with and no, the school was never bombed.)

I remember being addressed in school that day about the incident that had happened, and we all seemed to take it in for what it was, a horrible event that impacted us all.

Leaving school that day, I remember someone I knew being chased by another person with a long knife or machete, with the weapon holder yelling, "You killed my father."

I remember most of us, myself included, running home after school that day.

I also remember the sorrow I felt about the whole thing. Maybe that was the time where I changed from a little kid to a much more mature human being, but the aftermath kind of made one grow up quickly.

It was as if the heart and soul of the development died with King, a man who would have applauded this development I lived in as a step in the right direction.

(I also seem to remember that King was scheduled to visit our community later in the year, recognizing that this was a place that he wanted to know more about, and on our side, elevating our community, showing the world a community that could work if given the chance.)

Living there was never the same.

Those who hated us from the outset continued to hate us, but they had something to point to for their festering hate.

They felt that all whites were to blame for his murder, and don't tell me about profiling; many of us became targets because we were white and Jewish.

And I have found out in recent years that the antagonism towards blacks who lived in the development also ramped up; many who hated us hated them too, characterizing them as "Uncle Toms" and probably much worse.

Crime ran rampant in our community, mainly smaller crimes like being hit up for money and having things stolen from us. A lot of this crime, due to its petty nature, never got reported, but it existed. I was a victim any number of times.

Anarchy ran rampant in the schools. I can't tell you how many times we were mugged, assaulted and pointed out for being white within the walls of the public school and junior high school.

Look, times were changing to begin with, but the day Martin Luther King died was the beginning of the end for this community. It was our "American Pie" in a way; not to lessen the day's importance, but for comparison's sake, it was our "Day the Community Died."

After a number of incidents involving every member of my family, we had had enough, and by July 1971, we moved to Long Island, where initially, we found that things weren't that much better than they were in Queens. We were the first Jewish family on our block, and yes, the prejudicial treatment continued for several years afterward.

Many of my friends moved out of the old neighborhood by the mid 1970s, and quite frankly, I haven't been back there in about 36 years or so. I am still friendly with many people from that development, but we have all scattered, throughout New York or in Florida or other parts of the country and overseas.

It was a wonderful place to grow up in, but you grew up fast there ... very fast.

So I remember Martin Luther King's death with sadness on several levels. First, a man who had something positive to say was vanquished by a madman's bullet, and secondly (and honestly, almost more important to me), because it signaled the end of my neighborhood, or at least the neighborhood as I knew it.

Rochdale Village still stands today, but as a nearly all-black neighborhood. It is strong in that regard, but the experiment in black and white was over years ago. Whether it passed or failed is up to further examination, and I still don't have a clear answer myself.

But I can tell you that Martin Luther King's death was both my coming of age and also the breaking point for the community that I lived in, and even these 40-plus years later, it still reverberates with me, and for many others who lived there, both blacks and whites.

It was a day and time period that I will never forget.

And I do mean never.

Rant #2,056: It's Snow Easy

Well, today the snow came, as predicted.

There is a blizzard warning for Suffolk County on Long Island, and since I live a stone's throw away from the western part of the county, that blizzard warning pretty much goes for us too.

I look out the window, see a sea of white, and wonder how the day is going to turn out.

Do I go to work? The snow is supposed to last until the afternoon, and with wind gusts up in the mid-double digits, and with temperatures in the low 20s, do I even venture into my car and try to navigate the roads?

During both good times and bad ones, my work has never had a really good weather plan; basically, if you can make it into work, fine, if not, well, then you're not.

"If we are in, we are in, if we are not in, we are not in."

Yes, that is the philosophy, and I hope that perhaps it won't be worth it to go in today, but it is only a little past 4:30 a.m. now, so I have time to worry about that.

With my wife, she works for a bank, so the weather response is a bit different.

I am sure they will at least have a delayed opening, but again, it is still too early to tell.

When all is said and done, we are expected to get about a foot, which is much less than some other storms, and much more than still others.

The problem is that with the ferocious wind--which I don't hear yet at this stage of the game--it will make cleaning the stuff even more difficult.

I hate shoveling, I really do, but that is something I am going to have to do at some point today, sooner than later if I don't go into work.

I shoveled the other day when we got about two inches, and honestly, it was pretty easy, but today's snowfall, I bet, is going to be a bit more difficult to get off the ground.

My son is still under the weather, so he isn't going anywhere until at least tomorrow, when this snowstorm will be history. He has a doctor's note from the hospital he was in, so he needs to rest up today for a potential return to work tomorrow ... when the temperature is supposed to be in the single digits.

We have our cars parked in the driveway so the plows can get through, which not everyone does, for some unknown reason.

Why chance it, when your car can get even more buried by the plows moving snow all over the place? I have seen cars completely buried during certain storms; you can't even see them with all the white stuff piled on top of them.

I believe the New York City schools are closed today. Boy, what a difference in time! When we lived in the city and I went to school there, the New York City schools had a reputation of never closing! My, how times have changed.

The schools out here will probably be closed, too, but I don't have to worry about that.

My concern is do I venture out to work or not, and I am still contemplating that as I type this.

"To be or not to be, that is the question," I guess.

Classic Rant #708 (April 3, 2012): Much Ado About Something

My allergies continue to greatly affect me.

My right eye is in bad shape today. I guess it is its turn, as yesterday, my left eye was bothering me.

I shaved with basically one eye open today, and did a lousy job as a result.

My allergies are at it again, and I guess I can blame the excessive tree pollen for that.

I actually saw it on the ground today near my car.

Oh woe is me!

As I was suffering, I watched last night's broadcast of the WWE Hall of Fame induction ceremonies.

It is always a fun show to watch, because you never know what the inductees will say, and it's also the only WWE show that is broadcast during the year where the wrestlers can be themselves, not their characters.

Mike Tyson went into the "Celebrity Wing" of the HoF, which is funny, because there is no actual building for the WWE Hall of Fame, so there is no wing.

Tyson's comments appeared to be heavily edited, but he did bring up one point.

He noted that if he didn't appear in one of the Wrestlemanias, he would have lost his house.

Obviously, that payday made the mortgage payment a bit easier.

I would love to have heard Tyson's entire speech, because he was truly "Ranting and Raving" about everything, and then some. I guess I will have to wait for the full induction ceremony until it is released on DVD, probably on the Wrestlemania DVD which should be out by June.

While I ponder what Tyson might have said on the show, I must congratulate Alec Baldwin and Bruce Willis, two emerging altacockas who are acting like guys 30 years younger than they are.

Alec Baldwin is getting married again, this time to his yoga instructor, who at 28, is slightly more than half of the actor's age of 54.

And Bruce Willis, 57, just became a dad again, with his 33-year old wife. They had a baby girl, and named her Mabel.

God, when are these celebrities going to learn that naming kids isn't like naming your dog or cat?

Anyway, that's it for me today. Hopefully, my eyes will be better tomorrow, and I can stop blinking and trying to focus like I am now.

Rant #2,055: This Just Doesn't Seem To Be My Day

"I guess I should have stayed in bed
My pillow wrapped around my head
Instead of waking up to find
A nightmare of another kind
She went away
This just doesn't seem to be my day."
     --"This Just Doesn't Seem To Be My Day," Written by Tommy Boyce and Bobby Hart, from The Monkees (LP)

Well, there was no "she" involved, really, but suffice it to say that yesterday was one of the worst days I have ever spent on this earth.

It started pretty innocently, getting up for the first workday of the year, doing what I had to do to get ready, and finally, it was time to leave for work.

I kissed my wife, and little did I know that about a minute later, the tumultuous day was about to begin.

Frigid temperatures aside, I got into the car, started it up, and the dummy light went right on.

My tire pressure was low in one tire, the one on the rear passenger side, so I figured I would go to a local gas station and fill it with air.

I get to the station, someone was ahead of me doing the same thing, and when he was done, I pulled up, got out of the car, and proceeded to fill the tire with air, something I have done countless times during my more than 40 years of driving.

But the air would not go into the tire.

I checked with the worker at the booth there, and he said that the air pump was working, but I tried again, to no avail.

I looked at the tire, thought it had enough air in it to make it to work, and drove there, stopping at another gas station on the way to try to fill up the tire once again.

And once again, I could not get air into the tire.

Right then and there, I figured I would bring the car into a local car shop there, and let them take a look at it, because it must be some type of flat.

I figured I would get an oil change, too, to make it completely worth my while to go there, as I needed one anyway.

I proceeded to the station when it opened, told the guy at the desk of my plight, and proceeded to work.

Once I got to work, I not only prepared myself as I normally do for the workday, but I brought with me the paperwork I needed for an interview I was scheduled for by our state's Social Security department, a necessary interview that they have to make sure that my son, who gets Supplemental Security Income, continues to be in the program, even though now he gets Social Security only.

The interview, which was set up by them, not me, was slated for 10 a.m., so I had all my paperwork set up as the day crept up to that hour.

I received a text from my wife sometime after 8:30 a.m. or so, saying that my son was sick, was throwing up, and did not feel well at all, so she called his place of work and said he would not be coming in that day.

But then later, maybe an hour or so later, I received a call from my son, telling me that he had called the police, because he felt very ill, had almost fainted, and with no one home, he didn't know what to do, so the police and an ambulance were on their way.

At first, I was not only shocked and nervous, but I told him that I wish he had called me first, or my wife first, as we would have come home and taken him to the doctor, but after thinking about it, he did the right thing.

I contacted my wife, and I told her about my car, and the fact that I had this Social Security appointment at 10 a.m., so I was literally stranded at my work.

Right after, the police contacted me, told me where my son would be taken to--a local hospital--and that everything would be OK.

This was getting past 10 a.m., and still no call from Social Security.

My wife rushed to the hospital, and I continued with my workday because, again, I was stranded.

But still no call from Social Security ... 10:30 ... 11 ...

I decided to call them, which is akin to taking your hand, gripping onto a tooth in your mouth, and ripping your own tooth out of your mouth.

The number on the letter I was given was called, but it was not working, ringing on and on and on without anyone picking up the phone.

I called the main number, but if calling the other number was akin to pulling your own tooth, calling this number is like giving yourself your own appendectomy.

You can hang on this line for hours, and they keep on telling you to "hang onto the line, someone will be with you soon."

After hanging for about 45 minutes, Social Security actually called ... about two hours late.

Without any real explanation, the interview started, it went well, and then, the interviewer asked me to send him pay stubs for my son for about the past year and a half.

I had all the material with me, and I asked him if it would be easier to send the material electronically rather than by normal snail mail.

He agreed, and after he gave me his email address, I asked him if he would please send me some type of notification telling me that he had received these stubs. He agreed, and I proceeded to send him the material.

Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

Evidently, his email has some type of capacity limit, because even though I broke down the stubs at about 10 per email, some of the emails evidently went through, others did not, because of capacity size.

It took me over an hour to sort out what went through and what didn't, and to this moment, I have no idea if he received all of this, because he never sent me the notification that I asked for to tell me that he had, so also to this moment, I have no idea if he received anything that I sent him.

And remember, through all of the above, I am at work, supposed to be doing work, and well, let's just say that I multitasked pretty well yesterday.

Anyway, I was sending this material out through lunch, and I got a text from my wife about my son's progress at the hospital. He was resting, was hooked up to various machines, and he was basically in a sit and wait situation. If you have been in a hospital, you know exactly what I mean.

Anyway, with the interview over, I also finally got my car back. It was not a flat. The worker said that I should never use a gas station air pump, because none of them ever work, and I have to believe him, because I have successfully put air in car tires before, and never had any problems at all--yesterday was the very first time I had had a problem.

So with the interview over, and my car available to me once again, I decided to leave work early. I just finished up what I was doing, and by a little after 2 p.m., I left work.

I got to the hospital, and finally met up with my wife and son, and yes, he looked pretty bad.

Over the next four hours or so, we were in a waiting game until his vital signs improved.

To make this very long story a bit shorter, he had a severe intestinal virus and was dehydrated. He had a slight fever, but by 6 p.m. or so, he was released, and while my wife drove home with him, I went to the local pharmacy and picked up a few things for him that the nurse said he need to recuperate.

He also has a doctor's note, saying he cannot go to work until Friday, so the next few days, he will sleep, rest up, and get better.

Thank God that he is OK, and thank God that he had the presence of mind to do what he did.

So finally, by about 7:30, I finally sat down to relax myself, after experiencing one of the most tumultuous days of my life.

By 8:30, I was a goner, and I slept fairly well, now knowing that everything that happened yesterday was over and done with, and that my son was safe and sound.

Yesterday was just a terrible day, period. To have it come so early in the new year, well, I hope it is not an omen for the year. I had some great hopes for this year, but it didn't start off very well.

Right before I left work, a co-worker told me to simply put this day into the trash can, forget about it, and move on.

I have to do that, I really do, and I will certainly try to do that, but really, how low can it go?

That is what I wonder as I have typed this Rant out.

Classic Rant #707 (April 2, 2012): Wrath of the Allergies

Pardon me for this short Rant today, because my eyes are killing me, due to the winter that almost wasn't.

We are now in April, and the summer months, and warmer weather, are just around the corner.

Now that we are in spring, everything from the non-winter winter season carried over to the spring.

I guess the tree pollen is killing me today, because I am having trouble seeing clearly out of my left eye.

It feels as if someone punched me in the eye, but without the pain.

It is tearing, not heaving, and it is better than when I woke up, but it is still bothering me.

And it effects my entire body. My left side feels in disarray, out of place, and not functioning correctly due to the way I feel today.

I am sure this all has to do with allergies--and I just got my shots last week. They don't appear to be helping me any today.

I hope I can get through the day.

If I have to have this type of malady, I wish I could have had it yesterday, as my family and I saw another piece of trash that Hollywood is pushing as entertainment.

"Wrath of the Titans" is a sequel to "Clash of the Titans," which itself was a remake/reboot from the 1980s movie of the same name.

It is about mythological figures, and whatever the name of the film, it is bad, really bad, as bad as "John Carter" was and not worth the money, whether you see it in 3D--like we did--or not.

I should have known something was coming, because when we saw the film yesterday, I couldn't really see the 3D clearly. Some scenes I saw it, some scenes not.

Now, I can barely see 2D via my left eye.

I will be OK. It will probably do as it normally does, get better throughout the day.

It is annoying, but at least I didn't have to shave today.

Ever shave with just one eye open? Try it the next time you shave, you will see how uncomfortable that can be.

And I'm talking to the guys here. Heaven knows what ladies do when they have this same eye-sore and they have to get themselves ready for the day.

I am suffering today, but I will be OK tomorrow.

Speak to you then.

Rant #2,054: A Brand New Me

Welcome to 2018!

2017 is in the rear view mirror, thank goodness, and it went out with the whimper that it deserved in my house.

We celebrated the end of a pretty dismal year by shoveling our sidewalk after a snow that lasted pretty much the entire afternoon.

If you read this column regularly, you know that I hate the snow, and hate shoveling it even more, but I did it myself as the show dissipated. Happily, it was a very fine snow, and it was pretty easy to clean the walks, but nonetheless, it is something that I hate to do.

Later in the day, with that done, we celebrated the end of the year with my parents. We ordered Chinese food from our local Chinese food outlet, and when the order was ready, we picked it up, brought it home, and soon realized that they completely messed up our order.

We had ordered shrimp with lobster sauce for my father, and ribs for me, but neither dish was to be found. We got everything else that we paid for, and these other dishes were left off the bill, so we didn't pay for them, but I know that it was a letdown not having them as part of our meal.

I could have gone back to the Chinese food place and ordered them again, but you know what? I was lazy. I did not want to go out again into the frigid single-digit cold. All I wanted to do was relax.

And we didn't pay for either one according to the bill, so the order taker just messed up, that's all, and we had plenty to eat, so why put myself through that torture?

When that was over, my wife and I watched some movie which I don't remember the name of, which was OK and kept me going, and when that was over, she conked out, and I soldiered on, watching the Knicks win a road game for only the third time this season, and then prepared to do what I always do, watch the ball drop and then watch an episode or two of "The Honeymooners" before retiring to my first sleep of the new year.

Well, something got messed up with that too, as for the first time that I can remember, I missed the ball drop, evidently falling asleep a few minutes before the big happening and waking up with Ryan Seacrest saying something like, "Well, the ball drop is history ... ," or something to that effect as I woke up out of my 20 minute nap that spanned two years, the end of one year and the beginning of another.

Reports are that other than Mariah Carey's exposed phony bosom, I didn't miss much of anything (that is what I read on Facebook, I did not make that comment up).

Yesterday, we visited my sister for a belated Hanukkah get together (don't ask), found out my daughter had food poisoning, and conked out at 8:30 p.m.

So today is the second day of the year, the first working day of the year, and it is a brand new me, looking forward to a year which I have to believe, and of which I have convinced myself, has to be better than last year was.

I don't know if I am going to be correct in my belief, but I am sure going to do everything in my power to make sure that it is a better year.

Right now, going to the morgue that is my work is very unappealing, and I dread the thought of going there for any length of time, not knowing what my future is.

I have to believe that 2018 will change all that, and I will know what my future holds, even if it is a future without a regular job to go to.

Before the new year ended, I learned the plight of three of my former co-workers, and it wasn't pretty. One has only been able to get two part-time jobs--one overnight yet--and the other has not been able to get anything after being out over a year, and applied for disability.

One other starts a new job today, so if I lose my job, it is going to be a crapshoot whether I can get anything, less than anything, or nothing.

So with those odds staring me in the face, I have to plod on, milk my current place of work for everything that I can get out of it, and convince myself that 2018 will be a better year than 2017 was.

It is sort of like self hypnotism, and I hope it works.

Classic Rant #706 (March 30, 2012): Gomez Hits 82

While people wait on line to get their tickets for tonight's more than $500 million lottery jackpot, I prefer to sit back and snap my fingers.

You know: duh duh duh duh--snap snap--duh duh duh duh--snap snap--duh duh duh duh duh, duh duh duh duh, duh duh duh duh--snap snap ...

"They're creepy and they're ooky, they're altogether spooky, The Addams Family--snap snap."

That was part of the theme song to one of television's creepiest series, "The Addams Family," starring John Astin.

Astin turns 82 today.

As a kid, I really didn't know what to make of the show. It was ookly, it was creepy, but it didn't wow me as "The Munsters" did.

I think this has to do with the fact that on "The Munsters," the characters were what we would call monsters: the Frankenstein monster, the vampire, etc.

On "The Addams Family," there weren't any "real" monsters, just very, very weird people.

And John Astin led the stellar cast as Gomez Addams, the husband of Morticia and the father of two of the weirdest looking children television has ever seen (actually, Wednesday was pretty cute, so it was really "one of the ... .").

Anyway, Astin was quite a well-known actor prior to this role, having appeared on numerous television shows and also with a minor role in the film classic "West Side Story."

But this show took him to new heights.

His portrayal of Gomez was spot on, sort of a mix of Groucho Marx and J. Paul Getty.

And when he romanced wife Morticia, played by another great actor, the late Carolyn Jones ... well, as a little kid, maybe this turned me off even more to the show; there was romance on "The Munsters," but it was more subtle.

Astin later married Patty Duke, and had several children with her, including Mackenzie Astin. He is the stepfather of Sean Astin.

They aren't married anymore, but their legacy together is solid, having appeared on numerous games shows as husband and wife. Patty Duke even took his last name for years.

I haven't seen Astin do anything for quite a while, so I assume he is retired from acting per se, although I do know he kind of morphed off screen as an acting teacher.

But when I conjur up that Gomez smile and look in my mind, well, I have to smile, too, even though I liked Herman Munster more than I did Gomez Addams. I did like Lurch, however.

"You rang?"

But happy birthday to Astin, an excellent actor who will forever be etched in our memory as the dashing Gomez Addams.

"Mon amour ... ."