I haven’t written anything in my blog recently because I’ve been depressed. My job, which for several years has been the best one I have ever had, has not been nearly as enjoyable lately. It’s a long story and I won’t go into it. The interesting thing is that it is still the best job I’ve ever had, even if it isn’t half as good as it was. I don’t know if that’s a testimonial to the job or an indictment of the previous ones I’ve had.
I sell advertising on the back of weekly church bulletins, primarily Catholic churches, in Indiana and Kentucky, with an occasional trip to Illinois. I go to a different church every week and use their office to call businesses in the area to place an ad on the bulletin. There are usually anywhere from 40 to 120 spaces for ads on the bulletin. They cost from $300 to $495 per year. It is not a small business. The good part is that as I am calling from the church I don’t encounter the hostility the normal sales person would. I still encounter the same rejection. One thing I have always found ironic is that I am a man of Jewish descent selling Catholic products in Baptist country. It must work though…I celebrated my seven year anniversary this week.
As I sell for churches, I have to be very careful in the types of businesses I call on. I can’t have strip clubs or abortion clinics as advertisers. I have a policy for example that I will not allow bars to advertise unless they also serve food. This once led to one of the funnier incidents I’ve had in my job. I was in Kansas City one week working at a Catholic church and was having a miserable week. I was getting rejected at a higher rate than I have in quite awhile. I called a bar listed in the yellow pages and got hold of the owner. I went through my pitch about the benefits of church bulletin advertising. After I finished he told me he was not interested as he didn’t think his business was appropriate for a Catholic church. Frustrated, I asked why. He told me that it was a gay bar. Undaunted by any religious reservations, I boldly inquired, “Do you serve food?”…didn’t sell him an ad.
My very favorite experience in my job though was different in nature. I was working at a very small Catholic church in a Kentucky town right along the Tennessee border. Sometimes when I work at really small churches they will meet me on Monday morning, give me a key, and then come by on Thursday afternoon to pick it up. I will be the only one at the church. This particular church was so small that it had the church proper and just a combination office and confessional in a room off of it. I was working in the room one afternoon when a young woman came in. She wanted to have her confession heard and, mistaking me for the priest, was hoping I could hear it. I was taken by surprise, but for a second I must admit that the idea of role playing was very interested. The pervert in me wanted to say, “Now tell me all about the things you’ve done…make sure you don’t leave out ANYTHING.” The Jew in me felt like saying, “Listen, we’re having a special…one sin for one Hail Mary, five sins for three Hail Mary’s”. Fortunately the sane part of me took hold and I told her how to contact the priest.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Only One For The Rest of Your Life
Today on my drive to Louisville I was thinking about what it would be like if I was only allowed one thing in a category for the rest of my life. For example, if I could only eat one food for the rest of my life, what would it be? Some of the categories I came up with were:
1. If I could only have one source of entertainment, would I choose a video store, a book store, or a music store? Though I love all three, I can only have one. For some people I know it would be an easy choice. My brother Andy, a professor of English Literature, would no doubt choose the book store. My friends Jerry Marotta and Roma Prindle, both professional musicians, would choose the music store. I on the other hand am blessed with no talent. Therefore it takes more thought. I decided that, like my brother, I would choose books. I love TV, but if it was the only thing I could do I think I would go more insane than I presently am.
2. If I could drink only one beverage for the rest of my life it would no doubt be coffee. I’m not talking sissy shit half decaf, high foam lattes with flavors. I’m talking a serious cup of Joe. Somewhere along the line I became a coffee addict, followed after by a love of fine coffee. I order my beans green from all over the world and roast them myself. I am one of those pretentious prigs who say stuff like, “the Africans produce a bold flavor, but the acidity is somewhat off-putting. I prefer the more mellow overtones of the South American, especially the Brazilian.”
3. If I could watch only one sport for the rest of my life it would be baseball. Baseball was my first love. I went to baseball camp for 11 summers. I played Little League. I would have played in high school but my bat developed an aversion to the ball. I was better at football and basketball but didn’t love them as much. In my macho 20’s and 30’s football became my favorite. I’ve found that as I have gotten older and slower the pace of baseball suits me better. I like the fact that each pitch is a separate act that allows enough time between them to contemplate the situation of the moment.
4. If I could eat any one food for the rest of my life I would eat Bran. Nah, I’m just kiddin’ ya! I know, and anybody who knows me knows, that I will commit crimes against nature if it meant I could have an Oreo cookie. Oreo’s are God’s perfect food!
By the time I had finished these first four, my drive to Louisville was over, so I didn’t have a chance to ponder other categories. What would your choices be?
1. If I could only have one source of entertainment, would I choose a video store, a book store, or a music store? Though I love all three, I can only have one. For some people I know it would be an easy choice. My brother Andy, a professor of English Literature, would no doubt choose the book store. My friends Jerry Marotta and Roma Prindle, both professional musicians, would choose the music store. I on the other hand am blessed with no talent. Therefore it takes more thought. I decided that, like my brother, I would choose books. I love TV, but if it was the only thing I could do I think I would go more insane than I presently am.
2. If I could drink only one beverage for the rest of my life it would no doubt be coffee. I’m not talking sissy shit half decaf, high foam lattes with flavors. I’m talking a serious cup of Joe. Somewhere along the line I became a coffee addict, followed after by a love of fine coffee. I order my beans green from all over the world and roast them myself. I am one of those pretentious prigs who say stuff like, “the Africans produce a bold flavor, but the acidity is somewhat off-putting. I prefer the more mellow overtones of the South American, especially the Brazilian.”
3. If I could watch only one sport for the rest of my life it would be baseball. Baseball was my first love. I went to baseball camp for 11 summers. I played Little League. I would have played in high school but my bat developed an aversion to the ball. I was better at football and basketball but didn’t love them as much. In my macho 20’s and 30’s football became my favorite. I’ve found that as I have gotten older and slower the pace of baseball suits me better. I like the fact that each pitch is a separate act that allows enough time between them to contemplate the situation of the moment.
4. If I could eat any one food for the rest of my life I would eat Bran. Nah, I’m just kiddin’ ya! I know, and anybody who knows me knows, that I will commit crimes against nature if it meant I could have an Oreo cookie. Oreo’s are God’s perfect food!
By the time I had finished these first four, my drive to Louisville was over, so I didn’t have a chance to ponder other categories. What would your choices be?
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Lifetime achievement awards
This week I am commuting back and forth each day from Indianapolis to Louisville. It’s about 120 miles each way. I used to stay overnight but decided about six months ago to drive each day. There are a few reasons why I do so. First, I make more money on my expenses by driving than by staying overnight. At the same time it doesn’t cost my company any more money. Secondly, I tend to be claustrophobic in motel rooms…once about six years ago I woke up in a cold sweat while on the road and spent the night literally pacing the room. Most importantly though is I have grown to treasure the time I have alone with my thoughts. I used to study hypnosis back in the 1970’s when I was searching for alternatives to reality that wouldn’t get me arrested. There are times when I will notice it is mile marker 77 on I-65 and get lost in my thoughts and the next thing I know I am at mile marker 45 with no idea of how I got there. It’s just like hypnosis.
Today as I drove down I started thinking about events and occasions in my life and have decided to start giving out my own awards for noteworthy achievements. These are lifetime awards based on my 62 years on the planet. I am the sole judge.
MOST AWESOME ACHIEVEMENT IN MY LIFE (NON-SPORTS DIVISION):
The first moon landing in July, 1969. The idea that three men in a container not much bigger than my car could break Earth’s gravity, travel to a distant planet, and land on it still seems like science fiction to me.
The fall of the Berlin Wall comes in second.
MOST AWESOME ACHIEVEMENT IN MY LIFE (SPORTS DIVISION):
Secretariat’s Belmont Stakes victory in 1973. He set a record for a mile and a quarter when he won the Kentucky Derby (a record which still stands). In the Belmont he set a new world record for a mile and a half, beating the previous record by two and three/fifths seconds. What is truly amazing is that he went faster through the first mile and a quarter than he did when he set the record in the Derby. Each fifth of a second is considered a length. That means he would have beaten the previous world record holder by 13 lengths . Most amazing, he was going so fast that he also unofficially broke the world record for a mile and five/eighths, even though he was being eased up the last eighth. Nobody has come within two seconds of his record to this date.
Second would be Bob Beamon’s world record long jump in the 1968 Olympics. Though awesome, it was accomplished at the altitude of Mexico City, which does tarnish it just a little.
I wasn’t alive to see them, but Jesse Owens’ setting three world records at the Big Ten track meet within a span of one hour, and Babe Didrikson winning the women’s NCAA track championship for TCU, as the only member of the team, would no doubt have been something to see.
MOST GRACIOUS CELEBRITY I EVER MET:
Arnold Palmer. I was in a restaurant in Minneapolis about twenty years ago when Arnold Palmer and his wife came in to dine. I watched as person after person came up to him and got his autograph. I am not a fan of golf but I had a neighbor who was a big fan. I went up to Mr. Palmer and apologized for being just another in a long line of people interrupting his dinner. He smiled and thanked me, saying it was no problem because without the fans he wouldn’t be anything. On his way out he must have spent thirty minutes posing with customers who wanted their picture taken with him.
LEAST GRACIOUS CELEBRITY I EVER MET:
Edie Gorme. Not even close. For those of you too young to remember, Edie Gorme and Steve Lawrence were modestly successful singers who each had one major hit in the 1960’s. His hit was “Go Away, Little Girl”. Her hit was “Blame It on the Bossa Nova”. They were more famous as Frank Sinatra’s personal ass kissers. Anyway, one summer while I was doing my college job of delivering diapers I had them on my route. Many wealthy NYer’s go “to the country”, about 40 miles outside the city, during the summer. When I first called on them Edie told me that if I took good care of them she would “take care of me” at the end of the summer. Anticipating a big tip, I practically polished those diapers every week before delivering them. At the end of the summer I got my big reward. The bitch gave me an autographed picture of herself! I tore it up before I was even out of their driveway.
Second place would go to Buddy Hackett, the comedian. When I was fourteen a friend of mine convinced me to caddy with him one Saturday at Winged Foot golf club, a prestigious club in Scarsdale, NY. I knew nothing about golf, including how hard it is to carry clubs for eighteen holes. I was chosen by the illustrious Mr. Hackett as his caddy. I did not realize that he was not a nice man. By the end of the round I thought my name had been changed to “you fuckin’ kid”.
There are more awards to be handed out, but my lunch hour and I need to get back to work. Unless they give out “best slacker” awards.
Today as I drove down I started thinking about events and occasions in my life and have decided to start giving out my own awards for noteworthy achievements. These are lifetime awards based on my 62 years on the planet. I am the sole judge.
MOST AWESOME ACHIEVEMENT IN MY LIFE (NON-SPORTS DIVISION):
The first moon landing in July, 1969. The idea that three men in a container not much bigger than my car could break Earth’s gravity, travel to a distant planet, and land on it still seems like science fiction to me.
The fall of the Berlin Wall comes in second.
MOST AWESOME ACHIEVEMENT IN MY LIFE (SPORTS DIVISION):
Secretariat’s Belmont Stakes victory in 1973. He set a record for a mile and a quarter when he won the Kentucky Derby (a record which still stands). In the Belmont he set a new world record for a mile and a half, beating the previous record by two and three/fifths seconds. What is truly amazing is that he went faster through the first mile and a quarter than he did when he set the record in the Derby. Each fifth of a second is considered a length. That means he would have beaten the previous world record holder by 13 lengths . Most amazing, he was going so fast that he also unofficially broke the world record for a mile and five/eighths, even though he was being eased up the last eighth. Nobody has come within two seconds of his record to this date.
Second would be Bob Beamon’s world record long jump in the 1968 Olympics. Though awesome, it was accomplished at the altitude of Mexico City, which does tarnish it just a little.
I wasn’t alive to see them, but Jesse Owens’ setting three world records at the Big Ten track meet within a span of one hour, and Babe Didrikson winning the women’s NCAA track championship for TCU, as the only member of the team, would no doubt have been something to see.
MOST GRACIOUS CELEBRITY I EVER MET:
Arnold Palmer. I was in a restaurant in Minneapolis about twenty years ago when Arnold Palmer and his wife came in to dine. I watched as person after person came up to him and got his autograph. I am not a fan of golf but I had a neighbor who was a big fan. I went up to Mr. Palmer and apologized for being just another in a long line of people interrupting his dinner. He smiled and thanked me, saying it was no problem because without the fans he wouldn’t be anything. On his way out he must have spent thirty minutes posing with customers who wanted their picture taken with him.
LEAST GRACIOUS CELEBRITY I EVER MET:
Edie Gorme. Not even close. For those of you too young to remember, Edie Gorme and Steve Lawrence were modestly successful singers who each had one major hit in the 1960’s. His hit was “Go Away, Little Girl”. Her hit was “Blame It on the Bossa Nova”. They were more famous as Frank Sinatra’s personal ass kissers. Anyway, one summer while I was doing my college job of delivering diapers I had them on my route. Many wealthy NYer’s go “to the country”, about 40 miles outside the city, during the summer. When I first called on them Edie told me that if I took good care of them she would “take care of me” at the end of the summer. Anticipating a big tip, I practically polished those diapers every week before delivering them. At the end of the summer I got my big reward. The bitch gave me an autographed picture of herself! I tore it up before I was even out of their driveway.
Second place would go to Buddy Hackett, the comedian. When I was fourteen a friend of mine convinced me to caddy with him one Saturday at Winged Foot golf club, a prestigious club in Scarsdale, NY. I knew nothing about golf, including how hard it is to carry clubs for eighteen holes. I was chosen by the illustrious Mr. Hackett as his caddy. I did not realize that he was not a nice man. By the end of the round I thought my name had been changed to “you fuckin’ kid”.
There are more awards to be handed out, but my lunch hour and I need to get back to work. Unless they give out “best slacker” awards.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Why I'm anti-abortion; the child that never got to be
Most, if not all, people who know me are very surprised when they find out I am totally against abortion. My position is not based on theology. In most instances my philosophies bear no more resemblance to the Catholic Church than Taylor Swift does to “The Biggest Loser”.
I am usually ultra liberal. For example, I believe marijuana should be legalized. That way we can remove the criminal tag from 30 million otherwise law-abiding citizens, eliminate a major source of funding from the black market, and wipe out a significant amount of our national debt by taxes. It would also provide a great cash crop for America’s farmers.
I believe prostitution should be legalized so it can be taken off the streets. Prostitutes could receive proper medical assistance and again we’d have another source of taxes. I believe gambling should be legalized everywhere. I believe in gay marriage. I believe in equal rights for all…but I don’t believe in abortion.
I admit that when I was younger I didn’t really give the subject of abortion much thought. Nobody I knew in high school ever got pregnant to my knowledge. In college I was friends with a girl who used abortion as an apparent birth control alternative as she had three abortions in the three years we were in school together. I always thought of it as sad, but I didn’t put much thought into it at all. I thought it didn’t concern me what a woman did with her body.
Two things happened in my life which led to a change in my attitude. The first occurred in November 1971. I had been involved in a relationship with a girl from college which ended in September 1971. In November, while I was home in NY for Thanksgiving, she called me and hit me with this message, “You and me created a we…but don’t worry about it…I’ve already taken care of it”. Besides my resentment for telling me this when it was already too late for my voice to be heard, I felt a tremendous sense of loss. I’m realistic enough to know that I would not have been able to care for a baby at that point in my life. Yet there have been times throughout my life when I’ve stopped and wondered if it would have been a boy or a girl. I think of how old he/she would be. I miss the child they never got to be.
The second epiphany was when I found out my wife was pregnant with our first born. I watched as that little embryo evolved into a fetus evolved into a baby evolved into my daughter evolved into a woman and mother of her own. It was all part of the natural order of things. It told me that the embryo, from the moment of conception, has a life of its own.
Many women I know disagree with me totally on this subject. Some of these women are people whose opinion I greatly respect. I have been told by a few that as a man I have no right to have an opinion on this topic. They may be right, but I don’t see this as a women’s issue. I see it as a human rights issue. Someone has got to speak up for the silent voice inside the womb. This to me is not about a woman’s right to do whatever she wants with her body. Once conception has taken place, the womb is out on loan. No baby born has to be kept…it can be turned over via “safe haven laws” to hospitals, police stations, or churches. It must be allowed to live though. Life is the most precious thing in the world. Nobody should be allowed to end one…even one that hasn’t been born yet.
But that’s just my opinion.
I am usually ultra liberal. For example, I believe marijuana should be legalized. That way we can remove the criminal tag from 30 million otherwise law-abiding citizens, eliminate a major source of funding from the black market, and wipe out a significant amount of our national debt by taxes. It would also provide a great cash crop for America’s farmers.
I believe prostitution should be legalized so it can be taken off the streets. Prostitutes could receive proper medical assistance and again we’d have another source of taxes. I believe gambling should be legalized everywhere. I believe in gay marriage. I believe in equal rights for all…but I don’t believe in abortion.
I admit that when I was younger I didn’t really give the subject of abortion much thought. Nobody I knew in high school ever got pregnant to my knowledge. In college I was friends with a girl who used abortion as an apparent birth control alternative as she had three abortions in the three years we were in school together. I always thought of it as sad, but I didn’t put much thought into it at all. I thought it didn’t concern me what a woman did with her body.
Two things happened in my life which led to a change in my attitude. The first occurred in November 1971. I had been involved in a relationship with a girl from college which ended in September 1971. In November, while I was home in NY for Thanksgiving, she called me and hit me with this message, “You and me created a we…but don’t worry about it…I’ve already taken care of it”. Besides my resentment for telling me this when it was already too late for my voice to be heard, I felt a tremendous sense of loss. I’m realistic enough to know that I would not have been able to care for a baby at that point in my life. Yet there have been times throughout my life when I’ve stopped and wondered if it would have been a boy or a girl. I think of how old he/she would be. I miss the child they never got to be.
The second epiphany was when I found out my wife was pregnant with our first born. I watched as that little embryo evolved into a fetus evolved into a baby evolved into my daughter evolved into a woman and mother of her own. It was all part of the natural order of things. It told me that the embryo, from the moment of conception, has a life of its own.
Many women I know disagree with me totally on this subject. Some of these women are people whose opinion I greatly respect. I have been told by a few that as a man I have no right to have an opinion on this topic. They may be right, but I don’t see this as a women’s issue. I see it as a human rights issue. Someone has got to speak up for the silent voice inside the womb. This to me is not about a woman’s right to do whatever she wants with her body. Once conception has taken place, the womb is out on loan. No baby born has to be kept…it can be turned over via “safe haven laws” to hospitals, police stations, or churches. It must be allowed to live though. Life is the most precious thing in the world. Nobody should be allowed to end one…even one that hasn’t been born yet.
But that’s just my opinion.
The strangest coincidence...like ever!
I was thinking today about the most bizarre coincidence that ever happened to me. In fact, it was such a bizarre coincidence that I defy anyone to tell me one that is more bizarre. I don’t know what the odds of what happened to me in the spring of 1971 would have been, but I would guess they would fall somewhere between getting hit by lightning and winning the lottery.
In the summer of 1970 and into early fall I was involved with a folk singer named Nancy, but everyone knew her as Bart, a play on her last name. We were casually involved in Lexington, Kentucky, where I went to school, until December, 1970. She moved from Lexington to Atlanta to live with a mutual friend Sylvia and her boyfriend Jody. During Easter break of that year (my senior year) I decided to hitchhike from Lexington to Atlanta to pay Bart, Sylvia, and Jody a visit. Lexington to Atlanta is about 375 miles. My first ride got me as far as London, Kentucky, about 70 miles down the road. After standing on the ramp to I-75 for about 20 minutes a car stopped to pick me up. Inside were three guys who looked like they enjoyed a good time, 1960’s style. They asked, “Where you going, dude?” I told them Atlanta and they said it was my lucky day…that’s where they were headed.
The ride to Atlanta was fun if uneventful. We drank a little, smoked a little, and made small talk. About 10 miles outside of Atlanta we hit a sharp turn. “You ought to have seen my old roommate Jody go around this curve in his car” said the driver. Knowing that Jody wasn’t that common a name for men, I asked him, “Does Jody drive a Volkswagen?” He said, “Yeah, how the hell did you know that?” I said “I’m going to visit a girlfriend and she lives with another girl who lives with her boyfriend Jody”. “No shit! Is her name Sylvia?” He exclaimed. “Yes!” I replied. He said, “Man, we’re going to the same house!”
I often think of what a confluence of events had to take place for that to occur. I was going 375 miles. I had to be dropped off in London, a town of 10,000. They had to be getting gas at that exit at the same time. Atlanta was a city of over a half a million people at that time. As I said, it has always struck me as one of the strangest coincidences that could ever be.
In the summer of 1970 and into early fall I was involved with a folk singer named Nancy, but everyone knew her as Bart, a play on her last name. We were casually involved in Lexington, Kentucky, where I went to school, until December, 1970. She moved from Lexington to Atlanta to live with a mutual friend Sylvia and her boyfriend Jody. During Easter break of that year (my senior year) I decided to hitchhike from Lexington to Atlanta to pay Bart, Sylvia, and Jody a visit. Lexington to Atlanta is about 375 miles. My first ride got me as far as London, Kentucky, about 70 miles down the road. After standing on the ramp to I-75 for about 20 minutes a car stopped to pick me up. Inside were three guys who looked like they enjoyed a good time, 1960’s style. They asked, “Where you going, dude?” I told them Atlanta and they said it was my lucky day…that’s where they were headed.
The ride to Atlanta was fun if uneventful. We drank a little, smoked a little, and made small talk. About 10 miles outside of Atlanta we hit a sharp turn. “You ought to have seen my old roommate Jody go around this curve in his car” said the driver. Knowing that Jody wasn’t that common a name for men, I asked him, “Does Jody drive a Volkswagen?” He said, “Yeah, how the hell did you know that?” I said “I’m going to visit a girlfriend and she lives with another girl who lives with her boyfriend Jody”. “No shit! Is her name Sylvia?” He exclaimed. “Yes!” I replied. He said, “Man, we’re going to the same house!”
I often think of what a confluence of events had to take place for that to occur. I was going 375 miles. I had to be dropped off in London, a town of 10,000. They had to be getting gas at that exit at the same time. Atlanta was a city of over a half a million people at that time. As I said, it has always struck me as one of the strangest coincidences that could ever be.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Random Thoughts
Random Thoughts:
I’ve developed a theory that people pass from this world in perfect harmony with their inability to comprehend the technological advances in society. As more advances take place and we seniors no longer can follow them all, we move on. It almost seems like “Ray Bradbury presents the Natural Order of Things”.
When I look out from inside my eyes I am much younger, thinner, and more attractive than when I look in the mirror or at pictures of myself. I am trying to learn to comb my hair, shave, and brush my teeth without looking in the mirror. A few razor cuts are a small price to pay for youth.
I have grown to really resent drivers who tailgate me when I am going five miles over the limit in the extreme right lane of the interstate. I have taken to imperceptibly slowing down to the speed limit just to piss them off. I am passive aggressive…I admit it.
I haven’t told many people that I have cancer (other than 76 facebook friends and 10 people from work). What I mean is that almost everybody I work with and all the personnel at the churches I work with have no idea. It has been very interesting to observe the reaction of the people who do know. Previously they would greet me with a very enthusiastic and hearty “Hey, how ya doin’!”. Now the words are the same but they are said in almost funereal tones. It reminds me of the lyric from the old Joe Walsh song, “everybody’s so different, I haven’t changed”. Guys, I appreciate the concern but I’m fine! I don’t even qualify for a handicapped placard…and I’d really like one of those!
Writing a blog is turning out to be one of the best things I’ve ever done. For the past few years I had become both bored and boring. Just ask Kathie. I had no hobbies other than watching TV, coffee beans and roasting them, and taking naps. Now I find that I really look forward to sitting at the computer and getting my thoughts out. Sort of like a geriatric Doogie Howser. Tonight I even wrote this instead of watching “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart”, a show I seldom miss. However, it IS time for “Jeopardy!”, so I’ve got to go.
My dad, a/k/a "Big Jake"
As I’ve mentioned before, my father was one of the most distinctive people I knew. Not many children can say that their father wanted to be a bank robber. I can. Fortunately, he never had the nerve to go through with it.
My dad, Jack Solomon, was born in December, 1904, the sixth son and seventh child of Abraham and Sarah Solomon (could they sound more Jewish?) in a ghetto in London’s East End. His father was a tailor and his mother, judging from the fact she had nine kids in all, spent most of her time taking her clothes off. He quit school in the fourth grade to help earn money for the family. In 1922 he traveled to the USA by himself to live with his older brother Dave and Dave’s wife Rae in Pittsburgh. He spent most of his twenties and early thirties traveling throughout the country selling jewelry wholesale to stores. He would regal young farm girls in Kansas with tales of working for Schwartz & Steinberg Jewelers, which, according to him, had a beautiful 42 story building in the heart of Manhattan. The girls were terribly impressed. Of course, Mr. Schwartz and Mr. Steinberg, toiling away in their one room walk up on the lower East Side would have been surprised to find out that they were so successful. In his late 30’s he met and married my mom. Here are examples of what made him different:
1) My dad tried to convince my brother and I when we were little that he attended college at Oberhauser College in Ossawatomie, Kansas. He went there on a bagel cutting scholarship. His roommate was called “Yardsey”…so called because he had three feet. No such college ever existed and we never got to meet Yardsey.
2) Situation: Panhandler comes up to him and me on the streets of NYC one day. Normal responses might be to ignore the gentleman or say sorry. Jack Solomon rises to his full 5’8” and says disdainfully, “Sir, I do not contribute to the Devil’s Brew”.
3) Situation: My dad ran a diaper service. Sometimes the customers would cheat by not returning the plastic can that held the dirty diapers when they cancelled the service. Normal responses might be to ignore it or send a bill for the can. Jack Solomon borrows me and an old school crossing guard badge I had from elementary school. He goes to errant customer’s door and when they open it he says, “ O’Brian, 43rd precint. Man here (pointing to me) says you stole his diaper can. This can go down hard or it can go down easy”.
4) Back in the day when gas was affordable and families did things together on a Sunday, we would go for family drives “in the country”. Inevitably we would find ourselves in some small town with a bank. At that time my father became a Bizarro version of Walter Mitty. He no longer was Jack Solomon, mild-mannered businessman and father of two small boys. He was now “Big Jake”, wanted fugitive and legendary bank robber. My mother was no longer a registered nurse. In his mind she was the moll behind the wheel of the getaway car. Even I, at age eight or so, was transformed into “Mugsy”, his faithful lookout. We would drive around the bank two or three times, or as he called it, “casing the joint”, planning the best way to break in. The fact that he had no idea what the bank set up was during the week when it actually was open did not deter his fantasy. He would then have us stop at a local café so we could plan out the robbery as well as our escape route. I must point out what a good sport my mother was to indulge this behavior. But then again she had her own idiosyncracies…but that’s another story for another day.
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