Tag: New York

Shuttle to Boston – No More Guaranteed Seat

My first commercial flight was a trip from La Guardia Airport, New York to Boston’s Logan Airport. It was sometime late in 1967 and I was flying to my interview at Emerson College.

There are few things I remember about that day. I remember (after it was over) thinking the interview was worthless. I remember riding the “T” from the airport into the city, transferring to an underground trolley for the final stop in Back Bay.

I also remember flying the Eastern Airlines Shuttle. If you don’t remember it, click here for one of their classic print ads.

Back then the airline business was very different. It was heavily regulated, guaranteeing airlines a profit and little real competition. It was also very special. You didn’t get on an airliner unless you were well dressed.

There was no security as we know it – no magnetometers or guards. Anyone could walk into the terminal. At Kennedy Airport there were even outdoor terraces where you could watch the planes as they came in and out. A coin operated radio was available to listen to the tower.

The Eastern Shuttle was something very different. If you walked up and paid your fare, you were guaranteed a seat. If the plane was full, they’d just roll out another one and put you on board.

That first flight&#185, I flew on a ‘student fare,’ which has half off. That also put me at the back of the line as far as boarding was concerned. As it turned out, the flight was full.

True to its word, Eastern brought out another plane. Though the one I missed was a jet, the ‘second section,’ as they called it, was a Lockheed Electra – a four engine turboprop.

This is a long time ago, nearly forty years, but I do have some vivid memories.

There were only 3 or 4 of us on this plane. I remember looking down as we flew over the Connecticut countryside thinking how slow we were going! I expected more. I stared out the window at those engines with their spinning propellers.

I remember very little about the interior of the plane, except there was a step about halfway down the cabin. It seemed strange at the time, and does today, that the cabin’s floor was not all at one level.

Oops – I almost forgot why I was writing this. It’s in Wednesday’s New York Times. The Shuttle, as I knew it, is no more.

Generations of East Coast travelers have been comforted by a reliable guarantee that dangled at the other end of a harried cab ride: there would always be enough seats on the hourly shuttles connecting New York to Boston and Washington, even if another plane had to be rolled out to accommodate them.

Since the 1960’s, that promise had been made by a series of airlines operating the Northeast shuttles, from Eastern to Trump to USAir to Pan Am to Delta. But now, like china coffee cups, it has become part of airline history.

Starting yesterday, Delta Air Lines, the last airline to offer the promise, is flying just one shuttle an hour from La Guardia Airport to Boston and Washington and vice versa, no matter how many people show up and no matter how urgent their need to get to the nation’s capital or its capital of capitalism. The era of the “extra section,” as Delta called the jetliners that would be rolled out to accommodate overflow crowds, has ended.

Of course Eastern Airlines is gone. USAir, which runs what was the Eastern Shuttle stopped this policy a while ago. Delta, which runs what was Pan Am’s route, doesn’t have much choice. They’re all bleeding money.

The days of dressing up to fly are long gone. And now, the era of walking up to the counter and knowing there would be a seat for you is also gone.

I think I paid $16 each way back in 1967. A walk up tomorrow for Delta Shuttle would be $488 round trip. I wonder how much longer that will last? How much longer will it be before Delta, USAir or United disappear?

&#185 – I had flown in a 2 seater from Flushing Airport before this much more sophisticated trip.

Fewer Killings… Not So Fast

I wanted to do this earlier when I saw Jean Meserve interview New York City police commissioner Raymond Kelly on CNN. I forgot. Then a moment ago, I was reminded when I went to the Washington Post website and saw a headline that said, “Killings in D.C. Fewest Since ’86.”

That very well may be true. It’s certainly what Kelly said about New York. It just doesn’t begin to tell the whole story.

A major reason murders are down is because hospitals are able to save more people. I’m not saying it’s the only reason or the biggest reason – because I don’t know. But if statistics came out to say it was the biggest contributing factor, I wouldn’t be surprised.

That Kelly didn’t acknowledge this, nor is it mentioned in the Post story is not surprising. I would have never thought of it myself had I not been tipped off by a doctor friend who works in the E.R.

Today, there is more critical care that can be delivered faster and more precisely than ever before. Hospitals are better equipped. Ambulances are better staffed and equipped. Communications are better than ever.

I really think the more telling statistic is “how many people were shot compared to prior years?” I wonder if that’s even kept?

Pat Child

Pat Child passed away earlier today. I knew something was up when I walked into the newsroom and saw Ann hugging Tim Clune, both of them teary.

He was diagnosed with brain cancer a few months ago. I expected Pat to tell the cancer to screw itself and then get on with his life. He said he didn’t want to suffer thorough treatment – but he did. Life is too precious to give up easily.

Recently he had been in and out of the hospital. As fluid in his brain built up, Pat would suffer only to come back when the pressure was relieved. Today he died at the hospital in Venice, Florida.

Most likely, you didn’t know Pat Child. He was worth knowing.

I first met Pat when I went to work for WTNH in 1984. Even then Pat was a grizzled photographer, wiser by far than any of the kid reporters he worked with.

I will always picture him with a cigarette hanging from his lips or between his stained fingers. Back then we could smoke in the station, in the news vehicles, everywhere. Pat took advantage.

Pat was not an artist with his camera. His shots shook. He never used a tripod.

I remember shooting a piece in my Mr. Science series and being assigned Pat. Right away he let me know this wasn’t his type of assignment. He started by calling me Geoffrey. He was a spot news kind of guy. He would do his best… but, you know…

On our way back the assignment desk called. There had been a shooting in New Haven. Could we stop by and get video. Though I am the weatherman, that afternoon I became a reporter for a few moments. That impressed Pat and we were friends from that day on.

Friendship with Pat was totally built on mutual respect.

So, why is a news photographer who wasn’t the world’s greatest photographer so important, so memorable? Pat was one of the brightest and certainly wisest men I’ve ever met. Pat was honest – maybe honest to a fault.

Though a scholarship recipient at Yale, he left early and headed to the Air Force where he shot the early days of the space program on film. I can’t imagine Pat in the Air Force. He was too opinionated and willing to confront authority. Actually, I can’t imagine Pat as a Yale graduate either. Their diploma would have lessened his obvious street smarts.

He came to work at the TV station in the early days of local news. It was a less sophisticated, less slick era of television.

When you were with Pat, you couldn’t let something slide. He was too smart to let you. If he liked you, and I think (and hope) he liked me, he would save your butt by being insightful at a time you thought he wasn’t even paying attention.

You could go to Pat and ask him about any event we’d ever covered (and many we hadn’t) and he would know all about it. He would point you in the right direction. He might even add things you hadn’t thought of including. And he would do it all from the perspective of the intellectual he was – a label I’m sure he’d find objectionable.

As Pat got older, and the run and gun life of a photographer lost his luster, he became a satellite truck operator. Working with Pat was like money in the bank.

He didn’t seem like the type who would ever retire, and yet after 38 years at the station, he did.

Friends threw Pat a spectacular going away party at the Rusty Scupper. I was astounded by all the important and talented people who came back to Connecticut to remember Pat. Others who couldn’t make it, sent back videotaped tributes.

It was a once in a lifetime event for two reasons. First, Pat’s retirement marked the end of one era of television. I don’t know if it was a better era, but it was different. Pat Child represented much of what was good about it.

Second, I have never felt so much love for one man in one room. That was astounding.

Tonight, I feel sad for Pat’s kids, his wife Kim (who also worked here for years) and his identical twin brother Bob. I feel sadder for those who didn’t get to share a little of Pat’s life. He was an exceptional man. He has touched me deeply. I will remember him forever.

I told former Channel 8 reporter, and longtime WNBC anchor, Sue Simmons about Pat here’s what she had to say

Continue reading “Pat Child”

100th Anniversary of the Subway

All kids like trains, I suppose. Kids from New York City like subways. That’s me.

New Yorkers have been taking subways for 100 years. Today is the actual anniversary of that first trip under Manhattan.

Growing up, I went to high school taking a bus and then one or two subway trains (depending on my rush and desire for a seat). It was a long ride.

The optional train was the Express – the “E” or “F” train. The required subway was the “GG.” It is now called the “G,” but it’s the same.

The “GG” is the only subway line in New York that doesn’t go through Manhattan. It started in Queens at Continental Avenue running parallel to the express track that went into Manhattan. At Queens Plaza it turned left, south toward Brooklyn.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the “GG,” which started in an affluent Queens neighborhood of tall apartment buildings, went through some of the toughest, most crime ridden, poverty stricken, neighborhoods in New York. Ignorance, for me, was bliss.

Sometime during my four years of high school, I made friends with a motorman on the “GG.” He’d open the cab door a bit and we’d talk as the train rolled on. He was an Irishman. I think his last name was Sheridan. He spoke with a thick Irish brogue. He was a union man in the TWU – Mike Quill’s union.

Even when I wasn’t on his train, I’d usually ride in the front car, my nose pressed up against the glass, looking at the tunnel and tracks.

The “GG” has an interesting ride. Though we took the same route as the express trains, for a few stops they disappeared. I’m not sure if they took a more direct route or were over or under us. They just weren’t there, where you expected them.

There was one spot that looked like it had been planned as a spur. The tunnel opened to the right side, though no tracks were laid.

In Brooklyn, at one stop, a third track appeared. The station had two platforms with the “GG” on the outside tracks and a phantom track in the middle. If it was used for anything, I never saw it.

The “GG” had old cars. In the late 60s, as stainless cars started appearing on other lines, the “GG” kept rolling with equipment from the 30s and 40s. The seats were padded beneath a wicker material or some red rubbery replacement. That was probably the last time New Yorkers were trusted with padded seats that could be ripped apart and vandalized. The cars were lit with incandescent bulbs that blinked every once in a while, as the train made and lost contact with the third rail.

To cut down on theft, the subway’s bulbs screwed in the opposite direction of the bulbs you use at home. Pretty clever.

I knew these trains well – their ins and outs. If there was someone you didn’t like, all you needed to do was take the ‘arm strap’ above and push it back until it would go no further. A black shower of very fine metal would come down, staining whatever was under it.

I always wanted to ‘drive’ a subway. I know that’s the wrong term. It’s still what I wanted to do. Even today, if given the opportunity, I’d take the controls.

When our family goes to New York. We often take the subway to go from place-to-place. My family thinks of it as necessary transportation. I think they know in the back of their mind, it’s still a fun ride for me.

Blogger’s note: Photos accompanying web entries should reflect the actual content. In this case, they are random subway shots I’ve taken. I wasn’t clever enough to anticipate my blog and shoot the “GG” in 1967. Photography in the subway is now prohibited. This is a real shame. I loved taking available light shots while underground.

I Hate Writing About Dead People

Scott Muni died today. He was 74.

I’m going to write about him even though I write about entirely too many dead people. It makes me seem old. It’s depressing. Still, these are people who have influenced my life and, in a blog that revolves around my life, they should be mentioned.

You may or may not know Muni, though I’m sure you’ve heard his ‘gargling with razor blades’ voice. When I was growing up, Scott Muni was a larger than life figure on WABC, a larger than life radio station.

The fact that he survived for over 40 years in New York radio speaks volumes by itself.

Scott was in radio when radio had amazing power. The best example of that is what happened when the Beatles came to the United States.

Whatever you know about big rock stars, the Beatles were bigger. When they came to New York for the Ed Sullivan Show they stayed at the Delmonico Hotel on Park Avenue. The streets surrounding the hotel were jammed with young girls. They were there by the thousands.

Scott Muni was there, in the hotel waiting for an exclusive interview, and broadcasting live on WABC. When he said, on the radio, that the Beatles had arrived, you could hear a roar – a huge roar from the assembled crowd. Many of those girls outside the hotel had come with transistor radios and they were listening to WABC.

It was very impressive. It’s probably the most impressive example of radio’s immediate power in the 1960s that I have heard. It represents a golden age of radio which will probably never reappear.

As FM radio began to take hold, Scott went with it. He was associated with nearly every rock group of any import over the last 30+ years. He had been with WNEW-FM for 31 years before they finally let him go.

How do you fire a legend?

I heard his show late in his time at WNEW. At that point, to me, he no longer sounded like he fit. He was a 70 year old man playing music for people in their teens and twenties.

My memories of Scott will always be those years on WABC when radio spoke to me and Scott was one of its strongest voices.

Now, I’m asking nicely. Please, no one else die.

My DVR – It’s Not TiVo

I read an article about DVRs, Digital Video Recorders, in the New York Times this weekend. Like most of the New York radio and television stations and the major news networks, I get many of my best ideas from the Times. Unlike them, I admit it.

The article, like so many on this subject, talked about how DVRs are. I have one and I do enjoy it. Unfortunately, I am nowhere near the TV nirvana experienced by the writers I’ve read.

The concept behind TiVo, Replay TV and the others is pretty simple. Record everything on a hard drive instead of tape, and use computer technology to make it easier, yet more powerful than an old school VCR.

The problem is, all DVRs are not created equal. I think mine, A Scientific Atlanta Explorer 8000 that I rent from Comcast&#185, is somewhere near the bottom. This is not the device people are clamoring for, though it is marketed in the same way.

I often hear about how TiVo will ‘learn’ about what you watch and then record programs based on your likes. This SA box doesn’t do that. It is the featured I would most like to see.

The menu system within this DVR is disjointed, non-intuitive and difficult to learn. I have programmed recordings based on time, but I couldn’t tell you how… and would have to hit a bunch of dead ends before I did it again.

Recording scheduled programs is easier, but still not simple. The program guide is two clicks of two separate buttons away. Why? Isn’t this the most used feature? It should be directly accessible.

Working back ward through the guide is nearly impossible. Going backward in time through midnight just doesn’t work.

The guide itself is sorely lacking. Movies and programs on some channels don’t show. Channels that I don’t subscribe to do show, adding an extra layer I have to move through before setting the recorder. The text information describing the programs is sparse.

In using the video-on-demand features, the same function on different menus uses a different keystroke! That violates one of the most basic rules of user interface design.

Possibly the most frustrating problem is the propensity of the 8000 to accept a key press from the remote control, but do nothing for a few seconds. Most likely during that time you have decided the machine didn’t get the first press and have pressed again. Now you have screwed up whatever you were attempting.

If Comcast or Scientific Atlanta asked, I’d tell them. I did once send a note to SA, using a form on their website. I never received a reply.

&#185 – As part of my retirement account I have Comcast stock. So, I am not a disinterested party here. However, since I’m talking down their product, you can see that hasn’t affected me.

To The Mall

There was some thought of visiting my friend Paul in New York this weekend, but when that didn’t work out, I asked Helaine and Steffie what they wanted to do. Mall.

Hey, I asked.

My friend Peter Mokover (gratuitous mention) summarized it properly on the phone. “Girl’s stores.” He’s right, that’s what malls are all about.

In many ways this is similar to gifts given to couples. Yes, it’s for them… but it’s really for her.

We headed out to West Farms Mall, about 45 minutes from here. First stop was Dunkin’ Donuts. I picked up a cup of coffee and the spied something new in the baked goods rack – Low Carb Bagels.

Low Carb Bagels! How is that possible? Is there anything less friendly to carb counters than a bagel.

I bought the bagel.

Before I left the counter I asked if there was any information on this bagel? Was it 10% lower, 20%, 80%? The woman serving me didn’t know. Later I went to the Dunkin’ Donuts website. No info there either.

The bagel was fine. It seemed to be coated with cheese. I’m really not sure. I just wish I could find out what it is.

We went to the mall. Peter’s right – girl’s stores.

I spent some time at the bookstore, Radio Shack and The Discovery Channel Store, but there’s nothing as compelling to me as Abercrombie and Fitch is to Steffie. I also made 3-4 calls to my parents in Boynton Beach. Hurricane Frances has them trapped inside. They’re comfortable, well fed and with friends, but without TV, computer, air conditioning or electricity.

Before we left, we had dinner at the Rainforest Cafe. Wow. I have never seen a business built so much on merchandising. Even the menus had warnings about taking them, because they were for sale in the store… which you walk through to go inside.

My burger was good and the three of us split a “Volcano.”

Here’s the bottom line. It was really nice to spend the day with my family. It is a pleasure we don’t have all the time and I savor it.

Uncle Murray is Moving

New York is different that the rest of the United States. I can’t imagine there is a part of country where a higher percentage of the population lives in apartments. And, because of New York City’s rent control and stabilization laws, many people stay in those apartments forever.

My parents lived at 6543 Parsons Boulevard, Apartment 5E, from the early 50s to the late 80s. Our next door neighbors are still in the building, having moved in in 1953.

I’m not sure how long Uncle Murray has lived in his apartment, but it has to go back to the early 50s as well.

Before cable they had the worst TV reception I had ever seen. I remember trying to watch baseball games with my dad, Uncle Murray, Cousin Michael and some other family members. Every time a plane approached La Guardia Airport, the signal would go nuts. I seem to remember the TV sporting rabbit ears with tin foil for good measure – as if you could fool the signal into being watchable.

This from an apartment with a line-of-sight view to the Empire State Building where the TV transmitting antennas used to be… and are again, since 9/11.

The apartment is on the ground floor, facing out onto a busy street. It is in Queens, a short walk from the Flushing el, so not far from Manhattan by public transportation.

In that apartment you are never far from the noise of the neighborhood. If a car alarm goes off – if the bus goes by – if a horn is honked (and all of those seem to happen continuously) – you will witness it from inside the apartment, even with the windows closed.

But it is quiet in comparison to my grandparents’ 23rd floor apartment in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. From their windows they could see two elevated trains lines and the biggest yard in the New York City Subway system. The building was right at a curve which caused the heavy metal wheels on the train to squeal a little around the clock. It squealed as each set of wheels in the 8 or 10 car trains passed by.

I have been told Uncle Murray is leaving his apartment, moving closer to my Cousin Judy and her family in Maryland. It will be good for Murray to be closer to people who love him.

It will be the end of an era, as the last of the Fox family leaves New York City.

Uncle Murray will also end another, more universal, era. He is the last person I know whose telephone number is still remembered as a word and 5 digits. Uncle Murray is the last of the TWining-8’s for me.

Until he closed his store, it was the only other number I remembered non-digitally. That was STillwell-6 (I think).

When I was growing up, our home number was JAmacia-6-4308 and then AXtel-1-9790. At some point, the phone companies of America decided that wouldn’t do. I remember hearing some sort of propaganda about how all digit dialing would be easier to remember. I don’t think they were running out of numbers because you can make an exchange combination out of every number combo… though you’d need to use XYlophone for ’99.’

Later, AXtel-1-9790 became 291-9790 and then got changed to 591-0434 when we get our first area code – 212.

I never quite understood why there were exchanges like AXtel. What is an AXtel? Even Google asks, “Did you mean: axtell ?” ‘291’ could have been AWning-1 or AWful-1 or CYrus-1.

New York Telephone made some bad choices other than AXtel. On Staten Island there was an exchange, Saint George. Was that SA or ST?

Today, I know my number should be CEntral… though it’s a ’23.’

Back to Uncle Murray.

I can’t imagine how he’ll pick up and pack fifty years worth of memories? What will be found that had been lost? What will be found that should have been lost? Does he still have the Playboy Magazines I found under his bed forty some odd years ago?

I’ll have to call Uncle Murray this weekend. I want one last chance to dial that number.

Saturday in The City

Fear, trepidation – sure, I had both with the promise of protests preceding the Republican Convention. But, the lure of knockoff handbags was too great and so we went to New York City, Saturday.

After much thought on which way to get there, I decided on driving to Stamford and catching Metro North from there to Grand Central. Then it’s a short subway ride to Canal Street.

I know, looking at my logs, that many of you reading this live far away from Connecticut or New York City, so let me give you some subway advice. There is no better, faster way to get around Manhattan than the subway. It has its shortcomings – nearly no service on the far West or East Sides and multiple routes on the same platform, going different places.

We consider it safe, though sometimes interesting. Yesterday, on the #6 train downtown, a man entered from the next car and began to tell his tale of woe in a loud, non-threatening voice. He was begging. But he never intimidated anyone (that I could see). In fact, in his spiel, he said he would not do anything untoward (OK, he didn’t use that word exactly).

More than anything, the subway gives you the feel for the real New York, which continues to be a city of immigrants. While on the platform at Grand Central, I asked Helaine how many languages she thought we could have had translated?

I’m getting ahead of myself.

We parked in the garage across the street from the Stamford station and bought three tickets with a $4 Metro Pass (subway) add-on from a machine. I must have missed a menu somewhere, as I bought an off peak/peak ticket – overpaying. The conductor pointed this out, and later at Grand Central Terminal I applied for a refund… which may or may not be mailed to me, and which forced me to be another set of off peak tickets for our return.

Neither the train or the subway were a problem. We got to Canal Street, popped back to ground level and started to sweat. It was stiflingly hot and humid. The sky was a steel gray of haze with indistinct clouds.

Canal Street was busier than I had ever seen it. Along with the Chinese and Indian merchants normally there were African men selling watches and sunglasses. I would guess they had been moved from the area, now cordoned off, that will host the Republican Convention. They sold their wares while walking along the street, as opposed to the more entrenched merchants who had tables and tiny storefronts.

While Helaine and Steffie walked along, darting into cramped little spaces, I stayed on the street snapping photos. There’s not much here I haven’t snapped before, but now I have the new camera and a chance to get a different perspective.

Throughout the afternoon, I watched at least 3 or 4 caravans of police vehicles, lights and sirens running, move through. Often there would be a marked patrol car or two, black Yukon or similar big vehicle (with police lights), a few enclosed scooters (normally used for traffic enforcement) and another marked police car at the rear.

New York is not Connecticut. Cars do not part because of lights and sirens in New York. First, there’s usually no place to part to! Second, it’s New York and even lights and sirens don’t get you an advantage.

It was quite a fruitful day for Steffie. She came home with three bags. I saw some computer books, but nothing I wanted. In the past I had seen a few software vendors, selling what could only be bootleg software. They were not evident, nor was there the normal amount of bootleg DVD dealers.

I also looked at watches. I tried on a very nice tank watch but couldn’t ‘pull the trigger.’ It was very handsome, emblazoned with the name of a very well known, high end watch company. The quality was excellent. There’s no one I know who would even suspect it wasn’t the genuine article. It will be there next time we go.

We decided to head uptown to eat. Over time, there are traditions a family develops – ours is the Stage Deli. Forty years ago my Uncle Dave was a waiter there. They don’t hold that against us.

We headed into the subway, swiping our Metro Cards to go through the turnstile. Helaine’s didn’t work. A station cleaner, not doing much but yakking on his cellphone, told us we were out of luck. This, of course, was the fear of New Yorkers when the city switched from tokens to Metro Cards. What happens if there’s trouble in a station without a token booth? We found out – you lose $2.

Well, not exactly.

Even New York has its street justice. A man getting off the train at Canal Street saw our plight. He must have had a weekly or monthly pass, allowing him unlimited rides, because he turned to Helaine and me, smiled and said, “Here, use mine.” And, she did.

We took the train to 47th and Broadway, the north end of Times Square, and prepared to walk the few blocks to The Stage. As crowded as Canal Street was, Times Square was just the opposite – empty. I looked across the street at the TKTS booth and saw something I had never seen before – no line!

On many occasions Steffie and I have gone to New York and waited 1-2 hours in line at TKTS to buy Broadway show tickets. TKTS sells unsold Broadway and Off Broadway tickets for half price, plus a small surcharge. They’re still not cheap, but it’s one of the best bargains in New York and we’ve often gotten great seats.

I checked the board and was amazed. Nearly every hot show was available – and for 50% off! We had seen Hairspray, Mama Mia, The Producers and a few others. Among the listed shows I hadn’t heard about was “The Frogs.” I asked someone nearby what they knew of it and she said two words that immediately made our decision, “Nathan Lane.”

The Frogs was playing way uptown at the Vivian Beaumont Theater in Lincoln Center on 65th Street. The Stage was on the way. Life was good.

There is nothing special about the Stage Deli – nothing that would strike you if you were only looking at it from the street. I suppose its days as a New York City show people hangout are long over. Now it’s inhabited, mostly, by tourists who vaguely connect with the name.

The Stage is known for its immense sandwiches, huge desserts and unlimited sour pickles at every table. Helaine and I had roast beef sandwiches while Steffie had a Denzel Washington – pastrami and sauerkraut under melted Swiss cheese. For dessert we shared a piece of chocolate cake the size of a Manhattan apartment.

It would have been a moderate walk to the theater, but Steffie wanted Jamba Juice, so we backtracked four blocks. While Steffie and Helaine went inside, I saw these two mounted New York City policemen. I thought the look of Times Square with horses in the foreground would make a good shot. I’m pleased with how it turned out.

I mentioned earlier how I had seen lots of police activity on Canal Street. The same was true in Times Square, including two or three policemen visible standing in front of every hotel.

It’s easy to think suburbanites should be healthy and New Yorkers flabby but reality trumps perception. New York is a walker’s city.

We headed up 7th Avenue to Central Park South, then turned west toward Columbus Circle. We passed a man, with his dog laying on the sidewalk. As hot as it was, the dog was at ease. I decided this dog led a better life than I ever would… certainly in a better neighborhood.

We crossed Columbus Circle, catching a glimpse of the Time Warner Center across the way. Along the edge of Central Park we passed a small army of protectors. They were probably there regardless of the Republican Convention, protesting political conditions in China.

There was also a lone protester with a sign complaining about the press. I asked if I could take his picture. He asked, “For who?” Me! I took the picture.

We still had a few blocks walking along Columbus Avenue to Lincoln Center. The Center itself was busy with at least two performances.

When we couldn’t find our theater, I stopped a man wearing a tuxedo shirt with no tie. He led the way, giving me the opportunity to ask if he was a ‘player.’ I meant it in the old school way… and he was – a bassist in the Mozart performance at Avery Fisher Hall.

The Vivian Beaumont Theater is one of the best performance spaces I’ve ever seen. It seats about 1,100, but with its amphitheater design and staggered seating, no one was far from the stage or without a great sight line. The stage extended well beyond the curtain, forming a semicircle big enough to mount a play (though that was not the case for The Frogs).

Our half price seats were in the 10th row, slightly to the left of center. They would have been great in any theater.

The Frogs, written by Aristophanes and first performed over 2,400 years ago (though heavily adapted and rewritten) started strong, ended weak. The Steven Sondheim score is excellent. It’s just that second act. It dragged interminably – especially during a debate between Shakespeare and George Bernard Shaw.

That’s the bad news. The good news is Nathan Lane. He is amazing. After this show, I’d pay full price to see Nathan Lane read from the phone book. As I was disappointed seeing The Producers without him, I can’t imagine this show post-Lane. His presence is so strong. His timing is so exquisite.

In a way I feel sorry for Roger Bart who is wonderful as Lane’s slave. In any other cast he would receive the raves. Trading lines back and forth with Nathan Lane allows much of the show to be stronger than its script alone. The same can be said, though not quite as strongly, for Peter Bartlett.

As has happened so often recently, I was surprised by another name in the show, John Byner. He plays Charon, the boatman who crosses the River Styx to deliver Nathan Lane and Roger Bart to Hell.

Originally, the part played by Roger Bart was going to be performed by Chris Kattan of Saturday Night Live fame. Ten days before the opening he was canned. I’ve got to find the back story on that!

After the show we caught a cab to Grand Central and made the 10:10 train to Stamford. Actually, an express that left a few minutes later got to Stamford a few minutes sooner. We didn’t know that at the time.

The story should end here… but it doesn’t. We left the train station and headed to our car. The garage was, by this time, virtually deserted. We drove around and around searching for the exit! Finally, after at least 10 minutes of scouting, we saw a service vehicle. I flashed my lights to get the driver’s attention.

As it turns out, to exit this garage late at night you have to drive all the way to the roof and then connect to an adjoining garage. Unfortunately, there are no signs that say this – none!

It was a full day. We were home around 1:00 AM

Blogger’s note: All of the photos with this entry are linked to larger versions. Just click on the photo. There is also a gallery, with these photos and more, here.

Why I’m Not Sleeping

We’re supposed to be going to New York City later today. Who knows what kind of traffic or tumult we’ll find? With the Republican National Convention in town, New York is geared up for pretty much anything (except protesters in Central Park).

I was going to bed a little earlier than usual… but then I decided to play cards.

A $5 tournament was starting at midnight. This tournament is a ‘satellite’ to another tournament on Sunday (though if I cash out, I will put the money in my bank and forget the tournament on Sunday).

Of course like most costs in gambling, the real number is hidden. This is a $5 tournament with $5 rebuys and a $5 add-on. Some people rebuy like crazy. It has cost me $15.

Because this tournament is a satellite, it is structured differently than most. Instead of the big winner getting 25% of the pot (or similar amount), the top 17 finishers get a $500 + $30 entry for Sunday (or cash equivalent) and the 18th gets $300.

609 players signed up. I didn’t expect it to last too long – but I was wrong. We are now 4 hours into the game and there are still 45 left. At the moment I’m in 8th place, so I can’t leave… though I wish I could.

If I’m still in when the tournament reaches 17, I’ll sign off and let others finish without me. There are bonus points for doing well in tournaments, but I never have enough to be meaningful.

If I go out between now and 17, I’ll be upset at the time I’ve pissed away.

Hurricane Questions

After the loss of life, and confusion, following Hurricane Charley, an interesting op-ed piece was written by Bryan Norcross, Chief Meteorologist from WFOR in Miami. You can read it here now, or click the ‘continue’ link at the end of this posting.

Norcross makes some interesting points, many of which I agree with.

Though we make our own forecasts at the TV station, we respect the Weather Service’s watches and warnings (though there are times I mention them, followed by what I think will actually happen).

The bigger problem occurs when watches and warnings are contradictory. Uncoordinated watches, warnings and statements for hurricanes, severe storms… even winter weather, is a continuing weakness of The Weather Service. All hurricane watches, warnings and statements should come from one place – period.

This certainly led to the disservice done to the people for Florida.

When local offices speak, they address problems from their own perspective, which is not necessarily the public’s. And, the public and media are probably concentrating their attention on the Storm Prediction Center (Whose idea was it to change this from the much more meaningful Hurricane Center?), which is where most people would expect to find hurricane info.

I work in Connecticut, a small state served by three NWS offices. Their statements often mislead the public because each only refers to the region for which they forecast.

Here’s an example. If Boston says a watch has been canceled for Connecticut, they mean their counties. No one in Connecticut could read a statement like that and understand that half the state is still under a watch.

During the winter, Litchfield County, our ‘snowbelt,’ might be under a lesser category of alert because the Albany office uses somewhat different criteria than the New York or Boston offices. When I post a map which shows a Winter Weather Advisory for Litchfield while there’s a Winter Storm Warning for our other counties (even though Litchfield has the more wintry forecast) it does nothing but confuse.

I have been to NWS ‘customer’ conferences in Washington, and have tried to sensitize them to this confusion. As you see – no change.

Continue reading “Hurricane Questions”

Why I’m Envious of Rick Allison

When I was a kid, growing up in the heart of the 50s, I knew the name and voice of every booth announcer on TV. There were men like Wayne Howell, Gene Hamilton, Don Pardo, Bill Wendel, Ed Herlihy, Fred Foy, Don Robertson, Bill Baldwin, Carl Caruso – you get the idea.

Back then, even when the show wasn’t live, the announcer was. There was someone sitting in a darkened announce booth at each station every hour of the broadcast day. It was all part of the agreement the New York stations, and networks, had with AFTRA (American Federation of Television and Radio Artists – I’m a member).

So, when you heard someone say, “This is NBC,” or “That’s tomorrow at 8, 7 Central time,” it was one of these guys, live. I knew them all. Secretly, I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to say, as Mel Brandt did, “The following program is brought to you in living color on NBC.”

It was not to be. In order to be a booth announcer you needed something I never had, and even at age 54 still don’t have – pipes.

When I was a disk jockey, doing mornings in Philadelphia, Julian Breen (who was in charge of programming at the station I worked for, WPEN) thought it might be a good idea to use a “Harmonizer” on my voice. That’s a device which would allow them to change my pitch – make me sound more grown-up.

When I worked at WIP in Philadelphia, at that time the premiere adult station in town, they gave me a pass on doing voice over production. With Tom Moran, Dick Clayton and Bill St. James on staff, there was no reason to use me.

It’s been a disappointment, but I understand. I just don’t have the most important natural tool for the job. My voice is unique, just not in the right way.

Today, I got an email from Rick Allison. He’s a friend who lives here in Connecticut. He is an announcer.

I’m not sure if that’s the job description he would use, but that’s what he does. From a studio in his basement, as well maintained and acoustically perfect as any, Rick reads other people’s words into a microphone and cashes checks. With high speed data lines carrying his voice, it’s usually not necessary to leave the house.

He is the voice of MSNBC and Bob’s Stores. He’s on ESPN, HBO and USA and a load of radio stations. You have heard him on a thousand commercials, a deep voice with a touch of gravel. It is friendly and assuring.

In person, he resembles everyone I knew in the 60s and 70s. That is one of his most charming features. He is at once commanding and disarming with long hair on his head and more on his face.

Rick does a show on Sirius satellite radio. My guess is, he does the show for the same reason other men raise tomatoes. It takes time and money to raise tomatoes. It’s not like you can’t buy them at the store – maybe for less than you can grow them. Still there’s an immense satisfaction in creating something of value.

Rick’s in radio for the satisfaction of growing something. I can’t believe he’s in it for the money.

Anyway, hearing from Rick today just reminded me of this childhood fantasy that would never be. It’s what got me into radio – and probably what finally got me out and into television.

I am envious of Rick, not because of the work he does, but because of the talent he has. It’s a talent I always wanted – a gift I never received.

Eartha Kitt and I Go Way Back

The AP story was short and to the point:

WESTPORT, Conn. — Eartha Kitt, the original Catwoman on the Batman television show, suffered minor injuries when the vehicle she was driving collided with another car and flipped over, police said.

Kitt, 77, was treated at Norwalk Hospital and released, hospital officials said.

The accident occurred Thursday morning, said Sgt. Jerry Shannon. Kitt’s all-terrain vehicle was crossing an intersection when it collided with a car, causing Kitt’s vehicle to roll over onto its roof, police said.

Her two toy poodles, who were in the actress-singer’s car, escaped injury.

The cause of the crash was under investigation.

I’m glad she’s out of the hospital. I’m surprised she lives here in Connecticut. To mention Eartha Kitt and not mention her one-of-a-kind voice and amazing jazz perfomances is tragic.

I first ran into Eartha Kitt in 1967 at CBS on West 57th Street in New York. Since I was in high school at the time, you might be wondering how I got there? It was not where most 16 year olds got to hang out.

In high school, I was a radio actor. My junior and senior year, instead of taking English in the conventional way, I was a member of the New York All City Radio Workshop. The workshop members, drawn from high schools across the city, were cast in radio plays which ran on WNYE-FM, the Board of Education’s station.

Even in the late 60s this was an anachronism. Drama on radio had been dead for a decade or more. On the other hand FM radio was a underdeveloped technology that few people listened to. We were the worst of both worlds!

At the same time, somehow, the Board of Education ‘sponsored’ a weekly public affairs program, “Dial M for Music,” which ran on WCBS – TV. Why the Board of Education would care about this was, and still is, beyond me. It seemed then, as it does now, like a weasel deal for Channel 2 to get some sort of FCC Brownie points.

“Dial M” brought jazz acts into the Broadcast Center and then taped their performances in front of high school kids. That’s where I came in. Instead of rounding up random kids and then letting them roam free through the CBS studio complex (which is what we did, as the show taped 2-3 episodes on a Saturday afternoon), they called on members of the All City Workshop. I guess the idea was, we already knew a little about broadcasting and would be less troublesome.

I got to see some jazz legends – people like Lionel Hampton, Mongo Santamaria and Hazel Scott. And, I got to spend 6-7 Saturdays a year at CBS, poking around the studios and signing for food in the cafeteria. I remember visiting “The Treasure House” set from Captain Kangaroo, some soap opera studios, and an elaborate set-up for a Barbra Streisand special. The center core of the Broadcast Center was a circular ramp, loaded with props and sets.

One Saturday we came in to see Eartha Kitt. I knew the name and recognized the voice, but wasn’t a fan. Her core audience was around my parent’s age.

Before the show started, the director (as I remember a laid back man with a Southern accent) came and gave us the drill. Don’t look at the cameras. Applaud with your hands cupped to sound a little louder. Pay attention to the artists.

So as Eartha Kitt started to sing, I watched with rapt attention. The studio was small and there weren’t more than 15 or 16 of us in the audience, sitting on low stools.

Eartha looked at me. She looked at me deeply.

The more she sang, the more intently she looked into my eyes. I was 16 – and a young 16 at that – what did I know? But she was mentally undressing me! Though it may have been enjoyable for her, it was unnerving to me.

I remember her performance was great. I also remember being as uncomfortable as is humanly possible. I should have been flattered, but it totally weirded me out.

If she’s 77 now, she was about 40 then and overtly sexy. She was a catwoman before she played Catwoman on TV. I’d like to think I helped her performance.

She probably forgot about me as she left the studio. I’ll never forget her.

Greetings from Atlantic City

The trip down wasn’t that bad. Helaine and Steffie attempted to sleep, but it was nearly futile. A car is not a bed in so many ways.

We left the house around 12:30 AM, stopped quickly at Dunkin’ Donuts and headed out. As we approached I-287 Helaine asked if I was going to take the Tappan Zee? I wasn’t sure – so I did.

It always seems longer to go over the Hudson River with the Tappan Zee, but there were rumors of construction on the George Washington Bridge and a problem with one of the smaller bridges connecting Staten Island to New Jersey which was backing up onto the New Jersey Turnpike.

Real True Honest to Goodness Fact: The Garden State Parkway’s northern terminus is actually in New York. I can’t explain it, but it’s true.

As we headed south on the Garden State Parkway, I was glad to have E-ZPass. The New Jersey Turnpike has a toll booth when you enter and exit the highway. On the Garden State, there’s a toll booth every 20-30 feet! OK – it only seems that way.

The first toll plaza had something I had never seen before. There were a few lanes segregated to the side where EZPass drivers could go through the toll area at full speed. Wow.

We headed south on the Parkway, through Newark and the urban areas of the north and then down, along the shore. As we hit mile marker 72 something strange started appearing by the side of the road – deer. I’m not talking about a deer or two. There were dozens and dozens of deer, all on the right shoulder. Most had their heads down, grazing on the shoulder of the road.

As I buzzed by at 75 mph (slow for me, but I didn’t want to get a ticket in New Jersey where the speed limit is a reasonable 65 mph) I realized that any of them could dash into the road for no apparent reason. I turned to Helaine and told her, should a deer dash into the road, he was lunch meat. I would not swerve at that speed while driving an SUV.

The more deer I saw, the more scared I became. It was eerie with their eyes glowing from the headlights like a road reflector.

We got to my friend Peter’s house at 4:00 AM. He lives in a nice apartment building (it’s condos… but it’s apartments) in Ventnor City. Peter and Elisa have spent the last year or so re-doing their place, and it’s really nice. He said there’s only one or two original walls left!

They have a nice view to the south, looking toward Cape May. They are on the ‘ocean block’ with the boardwalk and beach at the edge of their building.

We were all asleep sometime before 5:00 AM

My next post is from the Borgata.

It Is Paradise

After a few days of eating buffets, you do fill up. You do need to slow down. That awakening came today.

Breakfast this morning was at a small coffee stand in the hotel. I had a bagel and cup of coffee.

This coffee stand, like every other food place in Las Vegas, features oversized portions. Imagine muffins, baked at a nuclear power plant. That’s what you get. You won’t find this anywhere else… or we’d all be waddling around.

Michael, Melissa and Max were at the pool, and I headed there. I haven’t had my shirt off in public in a really long time, but the whole pool area was so inviting. The air was warm. So was the water.

Max, Michael and I took the slide down into the pool a few times. It was really a lot of fun.

I’m starting to think this is the perfect climate. Though the temperature was north of 100 today, it was comfortable. The humidity was bone dry low. In fact, sitting at the pool I wondered what the advantage of Florida or the Caribbean was?

Of course Las Vegas does have winter and it does get chilly. But, for someone like me in Connecticut, this would be considered a mild winter. Florida, on the other hand, has virtually no winter. Maybe this climate would be better when retirement comes along.

My sister and brother-in-law, busy with work related things most of the time we’d been here, showed up at the pool to say goodbye. They were catching a flight back to Milwaukee. Talk about culture shock!

Michael and Melissa had a friend coming over around lunch time, so Michael and I got a table at an open air restaurant at the pool. The birds at this restaurant must feel like they’ve died and gone to heaven as they have run of all the leftovers until the tables are bussed. I’m sure there’s some health concern, but it was sweet and no one seemed to mind. It’s like the birds are part of the whole aura of the place.

Jacques, the friend, showed up and had lunch with Michael, Melissa and a fading Max. Jacques is a choreographer involved with the new Cirque du Soleil production that will open soon at the MGM Grand. My cousin Michael works with Jacques’ dance company, Diavolo Dance Theatre, in Los Angeles (their website is www.diavolo.org). Jacques is French and seemed very theatrical (in a good way) with long flowing hair. Jacques’ family had a lot to do with the view at the pool: his grandfather, a Parisian fashion designer, is credited with inventing the bikini.

When my folks joined us at the table, Jacques kissed my mom on both cheeks. Very continental. She swooned. He kissed her on the way out too.

Tonight, my plan is to play in a very pricey poker tournament. This will be the highest stakes I’ve ever played. I don’t think I would be doing it, except I’m up for the trip. A loss here will turn my net into a negative number – but an acceptable one.

So, while I play this, and Helaine plays elsewhere, Steffie, Ali and my parents will be at New York, New York seeing Rita Rudner.

Oh – one last thing which I do not want to forget. While I was walking through the casino earlier today I passed an area of new slot machines being installed. I stopped to look and see what was going on. These slots are really just sophisticated video games – often built on PC platforms.

As I looked, one machine was actually booting. I looked at the screen and saw some things I recognized. The slot machine was booting into Linux! I thought that was geeky cool.

Blogger’s note: I continue to add photos to the gallery for this trip. You can see them by clicking here. The whole Vegas trip has its own category, which means you can link to these stories specifically by clicking here or read about the 2003 Vegas trip here.