Never forget...

Remember those who gave their lives for us...

Memorial Day 2009

R.I.P.: Mayor Mike

Those of you who don't live in Connecticut will have no idea who I'm talking about when you initially read the heading. Once you finish, however, you will know.

Mayor Mike was Mike Peters, who was mayor of Hartford, our capital city, from 1993 until 2001. He was an extremely popular mayor, truly a man of the people. He wasn't one of those stuffy, fuddy-duddy, serious politicians. He was approachable, and always took time to listen to anyone who wanted to talk to him. Mayor Mike had a real casual, yet affective, way of approaching city politics. Here was a man who, as many media outlets have said in the days following his death, was more comfortable talking politics on a barstool than in a boardroom.

I remember a CBS News reporter once called Hartford "the forgotten city between New York and Boston." How right he was about that! This is a city that has long been overshadowed by our bigger siblings to the south and north, a city that many think is unremarkable, a city that becomes a ghost town Monday through Friday at 5 PM, when all of the commuters go to their home in the suburbs.

Mayor Mike, however, believed in his city. I mean, really believed in it. He loved Hartford. He wanted to see it become, as the advertising slogan says, "New England's Rising Star." He tore down drug-riddled housing projects and rebuilt them, so they would be safer. He helped build up after school programs. He tried to get the Patriots to move down here, and they were seriously considering it!

Many hockey fans, however, will remember Mayor Mike because, under his term, the Whalers moved down south in 1997, where they eventually became the Carolina Hurricanes. (NOTE: as you'll see in this Wikipedia article, it wasn't Mayor Mike's fault that the Whalers left!) Their Stanley Cup win several years back was a very bitter pill for many Whaler fans to swallow.

Mayor Mike opened up a restaurant in Hartford in 2004 and named it--what else?--Mayor Mike's. He wasn't involved in politics, but he still frequented his establishment to talk to the people.

He had been in declining health for several years, having disclosed several months back that he had cirrosis of the liver. He received a liver transplant, and was feeling better, even contemplating running for Hartford mayor again in 2011. However, he developed kidney problems as a result of the transplant, and his health declined very quickly after that. He was 60 when he died; far, far, far too young.

I saw Mayor Mike on TV not long ago, and he looked awful. He was really gaunt, with thinning hair and a higher voice. He still had his upbeat enthusiasm and stamina, though; that could never be dimmed.

Mayor Mike was not into corrupt politics or scandal. He was a man who wanted to help his city, his people, his state. He didn't care about party lines; Democrats were none too thrilled that he endorsed Governor Rowland in the 2002 gubernatorial election (but remember what happened there).

Voters responded; he won by landslide victories in 1995, 1997, and 1999.

Ironically, though, even though he was much beloved, he wasn't very powerful as a mayor. Under the Hartford city charter at the time, the City Council held more powers than the mayor did. You'll find out more about it in the link I'm about to give you in a minute. This inbalance of power helped contribute to Mayor Mike's decision not to run again for mayor in 2001.

Read more about Mayor Mike Peters and his accomplishments here. The Courant did a great job on this one.

And now, the end is near...

This afternoon I happened across the Time Magazine website for some strange reason (I really can't remember why), and that's when I first saw the end-of-year lists. You know those lists, Kittens, those Best-Of lists that are always compiled and published in magazines during the second or third week of December, shortly before Christmas.

Every year, those Best-Of lists seem to arrive earlier and earlier.

And every year, times seems to go faster and faster.

I'm not going to get too melancholy with this post; that's not my intention. I just can't believe that tomorrow's December 10th already, and I can't believe how fast this year has gone by.

I can't believe that Christmas Eve is two weeks from tomorrow.

I can't believe that New Year's Eve is three weeks from tomorrow.

I might compose my own "Year in Review" post, but it's not going to be one of those negative ones focusing on the recession, the wars, or any other horrid thing occurring right now. Rather, I'm going to take some of my pictures and make a collage of the highlights of my own year. I figure it'll be a good way for me to post some of the pictures that I promised you all, but never got around to doing.

But now, I've got to focus on getting through the next two weeks. I'm about done with my shopping, but I still have social functions to attend, decorations to put up (I've been extremely lazy about that this year), and Christmas cards to write. All that focus will make the time go even faster!

As if time isn't going fast enough...

World AIDS Day

I was in 4th grade when I first learned about AIDS. It was a topic that hit too close to home for me. I didn't have a family member who had the virus, but I had a classmate who did.

This classmate was in the 3th grade, and he had hemophilia. He contracted AIDS through a blood transfusion. There was a huge controversy in our town--so huge that it made the state news--because his parents wanted him to go to school. The AIDS epidemic was fairly new at the time, and not many people knew about it. Parents withdrew their kids from school because they were afraid that their kids would contract the virus.

My classmate was able to go to school.

He died when he was in the 4th grade.

We had a memorial service for him--the whole school--when I was in 5th grade.

I still think of my classmate every now and then, and how his life was cut short, and how he had to fight to go to school.

When Ryan White fought to go back to public school, I knew exactly what he was going through, because it happened in my town.

We dedicated the school courtyard to him. The town dedicated the little league fields to him.

His high school classmates dedicated their yearbook to him, the year he would have graduated.

His memory will never be forgotten.

It still saddens me to this day.

I Am A Child of the 70s

I was born in 1976, grew up in the 80s, came of age in the 90s.

So why am I such a fan of 70s pop culture?

When it comes to entertainment, all the reviews you've seen so far on this blog have to do with 70s icons: The Carol Burnett Show, The Magic Garden, and Patti LuPone's nightclub act from 1980. (Yeah, I know, it's the first year of the 1980's, but it's one year off from the 70s, so that should count, n'est-ce pas?)

Now...I loathe shag carpeting, bellbottoms, and hot pants. But I do have a fondness for ABBA, James Taylor, Bruce Springsteen, Billy Joel, and Carole King. I love disco and all of the 70s singer-songwriters who wrote their own material and played their own instruments. I remember when my mother had a fondness for Tab Cola and drove an orange Pinto hatchback. My father was floored when he heard I could pronounce "Ayatollah" at the age of 3. (I kid you not.)

I remember when the Muppets were cutting edge, and had biting, satirical humor wrapped in their shows, and weren't Disney-fied like they are now. I remember when reruns of I Dream of Jeannie, The Brady Bunch, and I Love Lucy ruled the airwaves, not the manufactured, over-produced, badly written crap that's written for today's kids. I remember trying to play fake sick so I could watch these shows, as well as The Price is Right. I remember when Bob Barker had dark hair, and was upset when he let it go grey. (Although I got used to the grey hair pretty quickly).

I remember when the USA Network had the Cartoon Express, with reruns of The Flintstones, Devlin, The Banana Splits, and all of those old Hanna-Barbera shows from the 70s that are almost completely forgotten now. I remember coming home from school, flipping on USA, and watching reruns of Tic Tac Dough, The Joker's Wild, and Press Your Luck (the favorite of me and my sister). I remember watching reruns of The Gong Show when I was in high school, and my mother yelling at me for those acts being too risque. (Although, in today's standards, most of those acts are pretty tame now).

I remember watching the old episodes of Zoom, when the kids wore those striped rugby shirts, and learning how to speak Ubbi-Dubbi with my friends on the playground. I remember when Mr. Snuffleupagus was imaginary to everyone on Sesame Street except for Big Bird. I remember watching The Electric Company, and was amazed that the same guy on Fat Albert was also on my favorite show.

I remember Fat Albert, and all of the Cosby Kids. That is, the Cosby Kids whose names weren't Saundra, Denise, Theo, Vanessa, and Rudy. I remember Bucky, Mushmouth, Dumb Donald, Rudy (not the little girl), Old Weird Harold, and Russell.

I remember the original Not Ready for Prime Time Players, and how they could put today's cast of SNL to shame.

I remember those old In the News segments on CBS, as well as Schoolhouse Rock on ABC, and how my Saturday mornings weren't complete without them. I remember being freaked out by those old production company logos: The Viacom V of Doom, and the ITC spinning diamond logo (the latter of which creeps me out to this very day).

I remember when WPIX was known as "11 Alive", and when Jim Jensen was the man to watch on TV news on WCBS. Well, he was the man to watch for local news. My dad always, always, always stopped whatever he was doing so he could watch "Uncle Walter" Cronkhite. That I remember especially.

I remember when Bugs Bunny, Daffy Duck, and Porky Pig reruns greeted me in the morning before I went to school, and am saddened that few kids know who they are today.

I am a child of the 70s who grew up in the 80s and came of age in the 90s.

I still have fond memories of the 80s and 90s, though--but those are for later posts.

Eighty Years Ago Today...

...on the 11th hour, of the 11th day, of the 11th month, the Armistice Treaty was signed in France. It was the treaty to end "the war to end all wars."

Eighty years later, the United States is involved in two overseas wars.

And let's not forget World War II, Vietnam, Korea, and the Gulf War.

Most of my colleagues, and I include myself in this, were grumbling that we had to have Tuesday off, as opposed to Monday. Come back one day, only to have the next one off?

And then it hit me.

Why am I grumbling? Most Americans look at this day as just another day off. They've forgotten why we have this holiday in the first place.

I knew a lot of older men, my parents' age or my grandparents' age (if my grandparents were still alive), who had fought in foreign wars. But this past Sunday, that all changed. My minister honored the veterans during this week's service. One of the veterans was a woman--a woman my age, perhaps younger, who had served in the Gulf War.

That's when it really hit me.

It's not just a day off for me anymore.

Remember our veterans today, whether you buy a poppy from someone at the VFW or go to the cemetary, or even have your own moment of silence, please, don't forget them.

Don't forget. Never forget.

R.I.P.: Paul Newman

My sophomore year in college, I was entering the cafeteria with my friends Frank and Carolyn when our friend Jason bumped into us, lunch tray in hand, all excited about the news he was going to share:

"Paul Newman's here! He's talking by the salad bar with Father Kelley!"

Our eyes widened. "Paul Newman, really?" I asked.

"The real Paul Newman?" Frank queried.

Only Carolyn was puzzled by our excitement.

"Who's Paul Newman?" she asked.

It wouldn't take her long to find out. Paul Newman had donated $10 million to the Charles F. Dolan School of Business at Fairfield University. We all knew he lived in Westport, the next town over, and was a huge supporter of the Westport Country Playhouse.

And as we were getting lunch, there he was, in the flesh, chatting with Father Kelley, who was, at the time, our college's president.

He didn't attract too much attention, nor did he seek it. The hungry college students were so focused on their next meal that they didn't take the time to say hello. Then again, not many Fairfield students took time out of their day to talk to Father Kelley during one of his on-campus appearances, either.

Paul Newman looked good. He wore half rimmed glasses, which were laying low, near the tip of his nose, a white oxford shirt, and a beige cardigan with black dress pants and shoes. He was laughing with Father Kelley, and even from a distance, you could see the piercing blue eyes which helped make him so famous.

I must confess that I never have seen a Paul Newman movie, but I am more of a fan for his humanitarian efforts than anything else. He did so much for kids with cancer through his Hole in the Wall Gang charity, and all of the profits from his Newman's Own line went to charity.

Even though I didn't get closer to the man than five feet, I feel that I can say that I met a Hollywood legend in person.

I wonder how the Connecticut media will respond to this one.

My thoughts go out to Joanne Woodward, his widow, and their family.

Seven Years Ago Today

I was only two weeks into my teaching career, when my principal pulled me and my colleague outside of our classrooms to tell us the horrible event that happened in New York earlier that morning...

9/11/01. A day that will live in infamy.

I honestly don't know how I got through the rest of the day. Much of my family lives in the Long Island-NYC Borough-Westchester County area, and I was worried about their safety. I also have some college friends who live in that area, and I was just as worried about them.

I remember driving back home to my apartment in New London, and there was hardly anyone on the road. I unlocked the door and immediately turned on the TV. Every single station had either suspended their broadcasting or was offering wall-to-wall coverage of the event. I had heard that the Twin Towers had collapsed after the planes had crashed into them, and I had to see the footage for myself. I really didn't want to, I was terrified to, but knew that I had to.

It was surreal. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The throngs of people racing across the Queensborough Bridge, running from the debris of the Twin Towers' collapse, people actually jumping from the top floors of the Twin Towers. So many emotions were pumping through my veins, too many to describe here.

I called every single member of my family, and reached as many friends as I could. Fortunately, everyone was accounted for.

Seven months after September 11th, a friend and I took the train down to New York and got tickets to see Ground Zero. You know the phrase "Silence is deafening?" You never heard so many people be silent in your entire life. My friend and I hardly spoke to each other on the train ride home.

One woman, who was visiting from Kansas, asked me how tall the Twin Towers were. At that very moment, a plane flew right above where they stood. It was eerie.

My parents had to drive down to Long Island the weekend after 9/11. As they were crossing the Throgs Neck Bridge, my mother looked at Manhattan, and saw the trails of smoke stream up from near Battery Park, where the Twin Towers once stood. My mother, who never cries, started weeping.

Whenever we drove down to visit family in New Jersey, we'd take the Turnpike, and my sister and I would gaze in awe at the Manhattan skyline--a skyline that still makes me a little sad every time I look at it. I'll always know that something's missing, and it's not just two skyscrapers--it's the lives of those innocent souls who went to work that Tuesday morning, not even thinking that it would possibly be their last day.

A week after 9/11, I found a photo of myself on the Ellis Island Ferry, posing with the skyline in the background. I put it up on the wall right next to my phone.

With all of this talk about "The War on Terror," there's a word that we're all misusing.

War.

You want to fight for something? Use violence! You want to defend yourself? Use your fists! That's the message we're sending to our future generations!

Is THAT the message you want to send to your children? Your grandchildren? The future human race?

Whatever happened to peace?

Don't mean to sound naive here, but it's something to think about.