Tag: Philadelphia

Rand McSteffie

Steffie’s college roommate is back at school for some summer classes. Steffie thought it might be nice to bring her their shared television and some other things we’d stored here in Connecticut. So yesterday afternoon, with her friend Sam in tow, Steffie set out for Long Island.

It’s really not a difficult trip and before long they were there.

Flash forward to departure time. By this time Sam, suffering from a headache, dozes off in the front seat. Steffie hops onto the Meadowbrook and heads home.

Everything was going so well, so smoothly until she got to the Cross Island Parkway. That’s how Helaine and I get to the Throgs Neck Bridge. The problem is, just at the point you exit to the Cross Island there’s a sign beckoning you to a different exit for the Throgs Neck!

Confused, Steffie followed the sign… and so began her great adventure through the boroughs!

Instead of heading north, into the Bronx, she was heading west toward Manhattan. Somehow she got on the Long Island Expressway, driving past the apartment where I grew up, past Queens College and the New York World’s Fair site.

Her exact route isn’t certain. She doesn’t totally remember and probably had no way of knowing anyway. I am reconstructing it from a conversation we had a little after 1:00 AM.

“You know that tunnel,” Steffie asked?

“Did you go up on a very high section of roadway with a great view of Manhattan?”

Holy crap! Steffie had made her way to Long Island City and was heading into the Queens Midtown Tunnel.

“It went on forever and was really narrow,” she said.

She’s right. The twin tubes of the Midtown Tunnel run around 1¼ miles. The lanes are narrow and the tunnel does curve. Even worse, as you leave you’re faced with three choices, “Uptown, Midtown and Downtown,” none of which would make any sense to Steffie!

She remembers Lexington Avenue and seeing Times Square on her right. She was totally lost.

“You know the glass building?”

Glass building? I looked at my toes – where all answers emanate. Glass building… uh… “You mean the Javits Center?”

It was around this time in the conversation that Steffie admitted that she knew she’d drive in Manhattan at some point, but had hope she’d wait until she was around 40.

Back in the car she pulled into a parking lot, hoping to find an attendant. No dice there. She yelled across at a taxicab stopped at a light. As he explained, the light turned green.

The time between a green light and horn honk in Manhattan is measured in milliseconds.

The were signs for the Holland Tunnel. She knew she didn’t want to be there. There were also signs pointing toward the George Washington Bridge. That sounded more familiar.

She didn’t know it at the time, but she was now heading north on the West Side Highway.

On family trips, we often make a decision as we approach the George Washington Bridge. If there’s heavy traffic on the bridge heading into the Bronx, we continue north and wind our way through the Bronx and Westchester. If the coast’s clear, we take the easy way – I-95, the Cross Bronx Expressway.

Steffie looked at the bridge and decided to continue. It’s lucky for her she did, because as it turns out, she would have taken the GWB. She would have headed across the Hudson into New Jersey!

Heading north, the West Side Highway becomes the Henry Hudson Parkway. She drove through the toll, over the Henry Hudson Bridge and into the Riverdale section of the Bronx.

Now nothing looked familiar! Exits came and went, but no names she recognized… until Mosholu Parkway.

Unfortunately for Steffie, she knew the name because we’d had brunch at the Mosholu, a boat moored on the Delaware River in Philadelphia. She took the Mosholu anyway.

Even with a map, it’s tough to reconstruct her trip from here. She did panic a little when she saw signs pointing to Albany. A little after that, a sign for the Hutchinson River Parkway.

Steffie headed north on the “Hutch,” finally breathing a sigh of relief as she passed the “Entering Greenwich” sign. She was back in Connecticut.

The 100 minute trip had taken her four hours. She had visited Queens, Manhattan, The Bronx and was within a few hundred yards of Brooklyn.

Steffie probably expected Helaine or me to get angry. We didn’t.

Do I wish she would have called me at some point? Of course.

It’s a great story we’ll have forever… one of those family fables grandparents will someday tell grandchildren about their mother.


Amazing Technology

My friend Farrell is moving from Washington, DC to California. Currently, he’s somewhere close to nowhere – in New Mexico, just east of Gallup. There’s a lot of nothing in New Mexico. Some of it is beautiful nothing, but it’s nothing nonetheless.

Farrell and his wife, Vered, are driving cross country. Maybe I’m getting too old. I don’t hear of friends doing that anymore, as I did when I was in my twenties.

They left DC and headed to Memphis. From there it was off to Amarillo. Who knows how far they’ll get tonight before stopping and resting.

Here’s what makes this so interesting for me. We’ve been talking for much of the trip. Sometimes it’s on the phone. Mostly it’s on Instant Messenger.

Farrell has a Blackberry (aka – Crackberry) permanently affixed to his hip. So far, reception’s been good.

Between the Blackberry and satellite radio in the car, he has all the advantages of travel without the really awful parts – horrendous local radio and no communication.

He’s probably near one of the few places I was ever stopped for speeding. It was on I-40 in Quay County, NM. I was moving from Phoenix to Philadelphia, so 1975 sounds right.

I was stopped for doing 65 mph in a 55 mph zone. Of course, before the ‘gas crisis’ of the early 70s it was a 75 mph zone! Farrell tells me it’s a 75 mph zone again.

This October, Helaine and I will also be driving through New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada. My chats with Farrell have further gotten me in the mood.

I’m hoping there’s a statute of limitations, because I’m not sure I paid that speeding ticket.

Joe Moore – I Feel Your Pain

A few years ago, we installed some automated control room equipment at the TV station. Most of the problems have been ironed out now, but for a while our staff pulled their hair out.

Was it noticeable on the air? I don’t know. It was noticeable in the studio, where we’re all basically dancing backwards in high heels&#185. Any little disturbance ripples through your performance.

It’s because of that, that I can say I feel Joe Moore’s pain. He’s an anchor in Honolulu where the transition to automation had its problems.

A friend sent me this video of Joe, who finally had enough.

By the way, these problems aren’t limited to automation. There is a story I’ve heard over the years about John Facenda, fabled anchor at WCAU in Philadelphia. Through the 70s, he was also the “Voice of God” narrator at NFL Films.

One night Facenda went on, called for the first piece of film… nothing. The next cue and again, nothing. When it happened the third time, Facenda tossed to a commercial, stood up, walked into the control room and said, “We’re going to do this **cker again, from the top.”

And they did.

&#185 – The high heels line refers to the movie role played by Ginger Rogers. It is said, though Fred Astaire got the majority of credit, Ginger did everything he did, backwards, while wearing high heels.

Backyard Woodpecker

It wasn’t quite 8:30 AM when Helaine heard the sound. A woodpecker was drilling holes in one of two dead trees in our backyard.

No one knew to look before, but the tree is full of holes where the woodpecker had already done his thing. Alongside the trunk there’s a pile of splinters. The woodpecker doesn’t neaten up after himself.

Helaine raced upstairs and got the camera. Luckily, it was still set from a concert, and though not perfect, reasonably close to what was needed in this morning’s gloom.

Helaine snapped off a dozen or so shots through the screened window in our Sun Room.

She’s from a congested part of Philadelphia, and I grew up in a building with a brick facade. Woodpeckers are way beyond our expertise.

As long as he doesn’t try to peck our house’s siding, he’s welcome to stay. It’s our treat… and let the chips fall where they may.

My Wife And I Have Balls

It’s cold. It’s the winter. The countryside is covered in snow. This is not perfect weather for the Fox Family.

It’s also Saturday. We wanted to do something and not waste a perfectly good weekend day.

A quick check of the paper showed nothing at the movies we wanted to see. The Yale Rep and Yale Cabaret are both dark&#185.

I looked for a comedy club. The Treehouse, in Fairfield County, had listings for Wednesdays and Saturdays in November (update the website guys) and December, but is mysteriously empty this weekend.

Finally Helaine suggested we go bowling. She made the suggestion knowing full well I’d find an excuse to say no. I didn’t.

I called our local bowling alley (I’m sure they’d rather be called a bowling center… and they can, on their blog). There were lanes open, but they asked for my name, in case things got busy. No names – I had my info.

We went and had dinner at the local Chinese buffet. Overhead speakers blasted Christmas music from a local radio station. My favorite, Darlene Love’s “Christmas (Baby Please Come Home),” played.

The bowling alley was only a few minutes away. We walked in and found the place more empty than full.

Helaine and I have a history with bowling, and this seems as good a time as any to tell the story.

Back in Buffalo, among other duties, I was the weekend weatherman. Helaine, living and working in Philadelphia, would come and visit on weekends. We were the proverbial strangers in a strange land.

Saturday nights, after the late news, we would join a bunch of people from the station and go to “Moonlight Bowling.” There would be Phil Kavits and Mike Andrei, Rhona Shore (one of our reporters) and Jim Sherlock (assistant news director and her boyfriend).

I’m sure there were others, but this was nearly 25 years ago. Forgive me.

The concept of “Moonlight Bowling” is simple. You turn off most of the lights, light a few black lights, add a smattering of multicolored pins on each lane, and pay bowlers cash when certain pin arrangements come up and they make a strike.

It was a quarter here, fifty cents there. Not big money. It was a blast. And we had fun blowing off a little steam. Like all employees, we weren’t adverse to second guessing our bosses.

This group from the TV station would go nearly every Saturday night. Then, when it was over, we’d get breakfast. That was around 3:00 AM.

It should be noted, somehow in those years I had entered into a pack with the Devil, allowing me to eat anything and never gain a pound. The Devil and I have had a falling out since then.

None of us were ever good at bowling. But, we had a great time bowling.

Flash ahead to Connecticut. When we first moved here, Helaine met some people and ended up in a bowling league. When she bought a ball and shoes, I did too. So, as the title says, we both have balls. Even better, neither of us wear rented shoes – one of life’s stranger concepts.

Over time, we just haven’t bowled much. Steffie had a bowling birthday party while growing up and I’m sure we went to parties thrown for other kids, but that’s a long time ago.

12-10-05_1910Actually, there’s a better way to demonstrate how long it’s been since we bowled. When we went to unzip our bags to take out the balls and shoes, the zippers were rusted shut! Really. You could see a tinge of green around the immobile zipper.

The bowling bags ‘live’ in the garage, so the culprit is probably salt spray from our cars’ tires. Another reason to dislike winter.

Luckily, the guys behind the counter were happy to help… and much stronger than me. Before you knew it, the zipper was zipping and we were ready to bowl.

12-10-05_1915We moved to lane 11.

Just as we were about to begin, the lights went out and the music started blasting. It was “Moonlight Bowling” all over again! There was one addition, stage fog, and one subtraction, no cash payouts.

We started slowly. My first ball was a gutter ball. In the first game, I barely broke 100. Helaine wasn’t far behind.

The second game went a little smoother, but I was still out ahead. In fact, Helaine trailed by thirty pins in the seventh frame.

bowling1Then, she caught fire!

Helaine rolled a strike in the eight frame… and the ninth… and two in the tenth – four strikes in a row! By the time all was said and done, Helaine had beaten me 158 – 143. She will be tested for steroids later.

Did she want to bowl again? Hell yeah!

bowling2We started our third game, and this time it was my turn to get hot. I made marks in my first 8 frames, finishing with 175, my personal best.

Helaine probably won’t admit this, but she’s just as competitive as me. Now there’s incentive for us to go again.

I’m a lucky guy. Two decades and change since “Moonlight Bowling” and I still have fun with the girl I took back then… and I still beat her.

&#185 – I’m embarrassed to say we’ve been to neither. That’s a shame. As much as I enjoy theater (and I really do), I need to be taking advantage of local resources like that.

The Worst Job In Radio

I seldom put an entry in the blog knowing Helaine will see it and smile, but this is one. Helaine and I share a heritage in radio and this is a story about radio.

Back when I did mornings in Philadelphia, radio was the big gun at wake-up time. I haven’t done comparative snooping, but I would guess most people at home now watch TV while getting ready for school or work. Maybe I’m wrong? There is certainly a higher percentage watching TV than there was when I got out of radio, 25 years ago.

I loved doing mornings. There was a great deal of freedom to do and say what I wanted (which in those days was less edgy than what’s done today, though hopefully just as entertaining).

My job was great every morning, except after a snowstorm! In those days, before automated TV crawls, radio stations read ALL the school closings.

In the Philadelphia region, this was accomplished through the use of an (even then) old teletype which would spit out a list of numbers. Each number would correspond to a school district or individual school. Everyone knew their own personal code.

The morning of the snow I’d spend most of my on-the-air time reading from the list. “Number sixteen twenty seven, closed. Number sixteen twenty nine, closed.” It was tedious and tiring.

It actually got worse the next morning when closings weren’t as clear cut. “Number sixteen twenty seven, two hour delay, no morning kindergarten. Number sixteen twenty nine, one hour delay, no after school programs, afternoon kindergarten report at 11:00 AM.”

That second day, the list could take two or three times as long to read!

I don’t expect they still do that on the radio. Television is much too capable of handling this faster and more efficiently… and the Internet is an order of magnitude better than that.

I still miss radio, just not when it snows.

Advice To Newcomers (Looking For My Job)

A weather newbie posted a request on a bulletin board I frequent. He wanted advice on putting together a tape for a first job.

Historically, applicants for on-the-air broadcasting jobs have sent audition tapes, usally containing some short snippets of ‘outstanding’ performance followed by full length reports (whether that be reporting, weathercasting or anchoring).

Though I think the concept of audition tape is outmoded, and random access digital media should rule the day, I thought I’d answer anyway.

Your weathercast should be a meaningful story with beginning, middle and end. Tell them what you are going to tell them. Tell it to them. Tell it to them again.

Honest.

Be confident. Be composed. You are on-the-air because you are an expert. I don’t want to learn anything from you but how to be prepared for the weather.

Don’t use jargon. I’m not impressed. If you use any term you had to identify on a meteo test or quiz, I will get a gun and shoot you.

Don’t let your appearance or actions distract the viewer from your presentation. You don’t have to be pretty, handsome, slim or have all your hair. If that’s what counted, we’d have the CBS Evening News with Daisy Fuentes. Just be neat and business-like.

Among the tidbits Don Fitzpatrick&#185 had in his classic audition tape advice was, do not confuse a good situation with a good presentation. His example had to do with reporters showing the President coming to town. It’s a big deal and might show the pecking order at your shop, but local reporters never get anything meaningful in these brief controlled events. Seen one, seen them all.

For weather the analogy is: does your tornado coverage showcase you as well as airchecks from more normal days might?

There is an apocryphal story… though I believe it is true. Three decades ago, Mark Howard, trying to leave Hartford and go to Philadelphia, sent a tape of the show from hell! Everything went wrong. He told the potential news director, anyone can send a perfect tape, here’s what I do when skills are really needed!&#178

After you make your third, fourth, fifth dub of the tape, you will see every imperfection. You will anticipate that millisecond pause or glitch. Your tape hasn’t gotten worse. Trust me, no one else will watch it five times, even your folks.

In fact, the sad truth is, your tape is made or lost in the first few seconds. Put your best stuff first – right at the top. No one is getting to minute eight.

Finally, when you send your tape, don’t go after my job. The world is lousy with meteorologists who are younger, smarter, better looking and will work for less. I hate you all.

Of course I haven’t gotten a new fulltime job in over 20 years. What do I know?

I expect most of you aren’t in the ‘biz’ and will never put together a tape. For you, the sobering point to bring home is how little of a tape is watched before an initial go/no go decision is made.

Obviously, the final hiring decision takes a lot of time (because everyone is scared to make a wrong decision). Most people don’t get that far. I’ve seen tapes watched less than ten seconds before they were ejected.

Actually, I think solid negative decisions can often be made that quickly. Tough business.

&#185 – There was an earlier reference on the bulletin board to Don Fitzpatrick, who ran an amazing talent search business in San Fransisco. Don was a trailblazer. He published advice for TV news applicants seeking a job, from the perspective of someone who truly had seen everything.

&#178 – If someone knows Mark, will you ask him if this story is real? I’ve been telling it forever, but I just don’t know.

Poker With The Boys

2 Dec ’05, 9.27pm EST

Originally uploaded by geoff_fox.

I enjoy playing poker. Mostly I play on line. From time-to-time I’ll make it to a casino. I like poker because it’s a real game of strategy, guts, intellect… and a bit of luck.

I first started playing in a regular weekly game way back in Philadelphia. I lost often. That was more than made up for with the friends I made, some of whom are still really good friends today. You don’t get that playing online.

Tonight I invited some guys to the house to play again. It was great. We had a good time, ate all the food Helaine made (and she made way too much), and laughed a lot. The stakes were low enough that no one could get hurt, but there was still an incentive to winning.

Not letting anyone get hurt is very important to me.

This game’s got the makings of a regular game. That would be great.


Twenty Two Years Ago Today

Helaine and I were married 22 years ago tomorrow, but one of our most memorable moments happened 22 years ago today.

Most of the out of town guests were staying at a hotel near Philadelphia. Helaine was there, in my room, with a group of friends. One of them, my friend Paul, had just produced a video, “Do It Debbie’s Way,” an exercise video featuring Debbie Reynolds.

OK, it probably seemed like a good idea at the time.

This was 22 years ago, before PCs and DVD players. Even VCRs were a little uncommon, but I managed to borrow one. We all sat and watched.

Debbie Reynolds was in the video (obviously) along with Dionne Warwick, Teri Garr and a number of moderately well known names. As I remember, the production looked like it cost about $12 to produce.

As we watched, eyeing the exercising celebs, Helaine turned to Paul and asked, “Is that Jackie Joseph?”

Paul was obviously amazed. It was Jackie Joseph!

OK – this begs the question (and Jackie, if you’re reading this, my apologies) who is Jackie Joseph? She is, maybe was, an actress of modest success. At that time her biggest claim to fame might have been she was the ex-wife of Ken Berry.

To Paul, purveyor of everything show business, Helaine’s amazing recall was nothing less than magical. He knew I was marrying well before – now I had hit the motherlode of wives!

Jackie Joseph. Who knew? Even today I’m astounded she pulled that out of the ether. Though part of the fun of our marriage is, she never ceases to amaze me.

Cold Weather Refresher Course

As anticipated, I was outside for the Fantasy of Lights. It’s actually very nice, even though I’ve done the same basic live shot for 11 or 12 years.

Students from Nathan Hale School sing Christmas carols (and for some reason The Lion Sleeps Tonight). I introduce some of the people who paid for the displays. We light the lights. This year Santa showed up!

It’s fun.

Weatherwise, it was better this year because we weren’t right next to the beach. Just a few blocks inland, with the wind blocked by the trees, was much more comfortable… sort of.

I bundled up. My coat was winter weight. I wore a new pair of gloves. What I forgot was heavy shoes! That was my undoing.

It’s impossible to realize how cold you can get, through your feet. It doesn’t happen immediately, but I was there close to two hours.

Actually, the coldest I can ever remember being is at a football game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia. My feet rested on concrete for four quarters. The cold seemed to radiate from my feet to the rest of my body.

The stranger part is how long your feet remind you of the cold. Here it is four hours later and I still feel it in my feet. I wish I would have worn heavy soles and white socks.

Maybe next year I’ll be wiser. Meanwhile, I’m that much more prepared for winter… and dreading every moment.

Football Grief

I hadn’t mentioned it here yet, but if you missed it, the Phillies missed the playoffs by one game. That is the kind of result Philadelphia fans expect. It is our destiny.

What brings this up now is the Eagles – Dallas Cowboys game I’m watching. It’s not that the Eagles are losing… they are losing as if they never got off the team bus.

As I write, the score is 30-10. It’s not that close.

This is a team sport. You would think on any given week some players would be good, others would be bad. Not so. This week everyone seems to be awful.

Here’s the stupid part. Why is this so upsetting to me? I shouldn’t be so concerned. I am.

This will stick with me all week… actually two weeks. The Eagles have the ‘bye’ to replay this over and over again.

Bob Comes To Visit

I’m writing this early Sunday morning. I want to make sure something’s posted for Sunday and I don’t expect to be home for much of the day.

My friend Bob Lacey came by tonight. Bob has lived in Charlotte, NC for the last 30+ years. First he worked for WBT-AM, then WBTV, and now the FM, “The Link,” where with Sheri Lynch he hosts a nationally syndicated morning show.

I met Bob my first day in commercial radio.

I broke in at WSAR in Fall River, MA by doing an hour of Bob’s show. Bob supervised. It was my first real on-air job. We’ve been friends ever since.

We’ve both been through a lot of living since that day in early fall 1969. I can’t go into all of it here, but there’s not much that’s remained constant, except our friendship.

Bob jokingly calls me his “Gold Friend.” It’s tough to think of anything anyone’s ever said of me that is quite that flattering.

In 1975 out of work and with my life falling apart in Phoenix, Bob flew out and together, we drove the Western United States and a small part of Mexico. That was an amazing trip.

When I think back of what we did, hitting Puerto Penasco, Mexico, Los Angeles, San Francisco, San Diego, Barstow, Las Vegas and the Grand Canyon, it still boggles the mind.

This was before cellphones and the Internet. We had a little cash and of the two of us, I had the lone credit card – an Esso card!

There were girls we tried to pick up… who blew us off, and two guys in San Diego who tried to pick us up! We cleaned our clothes by the dawn’s early light at a dusty laundromat alongside the railroad tracks in Barstow, CA. I spent all day playing $2 blackjack at Caesar’s.

We got along famously. Bob was my guiding light on that trip. By the time we returned to Phoenix, a new job had mysteriously appeared and I was off to Philadelphia.

Later today we plan on returning to the ‘scene of the crime,’ WSAR at the foot of Home Street in Somerset, MA. Then we head north to Boston and the Red Sox – White Sox game.

We don’t have tickets… but I’ve stuffed some cash in my wallet and we’ll hope for the best with scalpers. This will make three major league games in a month or so, after 15 years with none!

If everything works out as planned (and who knows) I’ll be on Amtrak before dark and in New Haven before midnight.

Photos and the actual trip report to follow.

Greetings From Birmingham, Alabama… Y’all

I was planning on leaving for Birmingham a little before 4:00 PM. Helaine had a suggestion – leave earlier.

How do you react to that? You really have no choice, because if you leave ‘on time’ and miss the flight&#185 it’s incredibly embarrassing. On the other hand, what’s a little time in the terminal?

I left early and the trip was even quicker than I had anticipated. It took 20 minutes door-to-door.

This is not LAX or JFK I was going to. This is Tweed/New Haven Airport. This little field is a gem. All it’s missing is frequent service! Right now, you can fly to Philadelphia via USAir (prop) and Cincinnati on Delta (jet) and no place else.

I’ve attached two pictures to give you a feel for the place. The first, a residential street scene is actually the last street you drive on before you get to the airport.

Tweed is in a neighborhood.

The second shot is the ticket counter. This is not a cropped shot. This is everything. The whole shooting match. USAir’s on the left. Delta’s on the right.

What’s good about the airport is that it is so easy to get around in. Everything is close. Everyone is friendly.

I hear about people driving to New York or Hartford and say, “why?” Yes, sometimes these bigger airports are appropriate, but Tweed has so much going for it and too few people use it.

I cleared security and headed upstairs to my gate. Though there is a jetway, these little jets (mine was a Canadair CRJ40) board from the tarmack.

In the gate area, a TV suspended from the ceiling was showing Fox News. I looked up. The picture was an Air France passenger jet on fire at Lester B. Pearson Airport in Toronto.

Oh my God!

The dozen or so of us watched attentively. What kind of omen was this?

The flight was called and we all walked back downstairs and onto the field. I had brought both my bags as carry-ons. The bigger didn’t fit in the overhead.

The one advantage smaller jets and prop planes have is the ability to check something at the plane. You get a little ticket, watch it get put into the belly of the jet and then pick it up at as you deplane. No waiting for checked baggage. It’s sweet.

As we took off, fully nine minutes early, the plane accelerated like a little sports car. Other than my ride in a Navy F/A-18, I can’t ever remember a takeoff with this much ‘push you into your seat’ kick. The climb was swift and smooth.

I’d liike to say the flight to Cincinnati was smooth. Instead, we bumped our way up to 32,000 feet.

The CRJ40 is a very nice plane. It is about the right size for a single aisle regional jet. There are 40 seats and a crew of three.

I didn’t have a tpae measure, but it seems like the distance between rows is substantial. The width of the seats is not. I’m 5′ 9″ and I was too tall for the bathroom!

We landed in Cincinnati (actually, Northern Kentucky) about 7:15. We were sent to C72 with my connecting flight at C12. It’s as far as it sounds.

As I walked through the terminal, I looked at the TV screen to see my flight and an earlier flight to Birmingham, leaving in ten minutes. Was it possible?

I got to the ticket counter and explained how I had just flown in, was scheduled to leave later, but would gladly take a seat on this flight. No problem!

I walked onto the CRJ 700 and settled into the aisle seat in row 17. The man sitting at the window was speaking to someone on his cellphone. Swedish possible? It had that ring to it.

Whereas the 40 seater is sized right, this 70 seat jet is all wrong. It is cramped and much too long for a very narrow single aisle.

For takeoff and landing, one of the two flight attendants sits in a jump seat centered on the rear bulkhead. I turned to her and asked if this was punishment for something she had done wrong?

We were in Birmingham by 7:30 CDT. That meant it took three and a half hours to fly from New Haven to Birmingham. Unreal. That’s more than I could have ever asked for.

I walked into the terminal and, seeing the courtesy phones used, called the Radisson on my cellphone. Ten minutes later a van driven by a very nice man with a very bad hairpiece drove up.

We started to the hotel, but before we could get off airport property, his cellphone rang. There were more. Would I mind?

The hotel is fine, though nothing special. It could have been a Holiday Inn or Sheraton or any of a zillion moderately priced business hotels. It does have a floor mounted air conditioner in this room which is noisy.

It also has something I’ve never seen in any building before – a 13th floor!

More later today from Birmingham. Registration for my conference is at noon and I’m bushed.

&#185 – I have been flying commercially since 1967. I have never missed a flight – never. I have stated this fact to Helaine enough times that she is entitled to slug me if I ever say it again… which I will.

Significant Weather Night

It was a busy afternoon at work. The Storm Prediction Center issued a Severe Thunderstorm Watch a little after 1:00 PM. They weren’t kidding.

As the afternoon progressed and the storms moved in, the watch turned into a series of warnings. At one point I decided it was futile to separate them and just told everyone to get inside and wait the weather out.

You know the old phrase, “It never rains, it pours?” That is so true with my work. The workload on a day like this increases exponentially. There’s so much information coming out, I don’t think viewers can absorb it all. So, you simplify a little in order to make points everyone will understand.

My friend Peter had it worse than me. He was scheduled to leave Philadelphia tonight, heading to France. In order to upgrade and get a larger seat, he was flying Philadelphia – Washington – Frankfurt – Nice. Ouch!

On his way to Philadelphia International he got a call telling him his flight to IAD was canceled!

He had hired a car to drive him to the airport which then turned south, heading to the Washington suburbs. I don’t want to think about how much this drive will cost – this is a very long trip. There’s not a chance United will absorb any of his cost.

We spoke a few minutes ago as he approached the terminal. He’ll make the flight, but this is going to be a very long night for him.

Meanwhile, here in Connecticut, the severe weather has moved on – thankfully.

The Rest of Our Philadelphia Trip

One of the prime reasons for going to Philadelphia was to go the see a Phillies game at Citizens Bank Park.

Before we go on, let me say how displeased I am with naming rights to stadiums and arenas. It’s a shame there’s no longer a Veteran’s Stadium in Philadelphia or Oakdale Theater near me in Wallingford, CT. Maybe there is a benefit to me by having Citizens Bank or Chevy (in the case of the Oakdale Theater) kick in some cash… though I don’t see it.

I am tilting at windmills. It’s never going back.

My friend Peter picked us up at the hotel and it didn’t take long to drive to South Philly and the stadium. Citizens Bank Park, Lincoln Financial Field and the Core State Arena (it’s hurting me to write this) are all located on the same tract of land that held the Vet, Franklin Field and the Spectrum (still there, but now with a corporate name preceding the word Spectrum).

I paid the $10 to park and we found a space fairly close to the entrance. Helaine had bought four tickets from a broker – though they were only marked up $4. We walked into the stadium.

Since this was my birthday trip, Helaine had arranged for my name and age to be flashed on the scoreboard with the other 11 year olds. We went and signed in. There was a charge, but I got a very nice Phillies hat.

The ballpark itself is a very nice place. Whereas the Vet was all concrete and steel with no thought of aesthetics, there’s lots of exposed brick and other warm touches now. And, Vet Stadium’s turf – possibly the worst playing surface in all of professional sports, has been replaced by beautiful real grass.

Beyond the outfield is a huge food court – Ashburn’s Alley. That’s where we headed first.

Steffie wanted to have a genuine Philly Cheesesteak, and Geno’s of South Philadelphia fame is represented. This is not ‘old school’ baseball food. It wasn’t soggy. It was hot. It was delicious. We found a place to sit and ate our lunch.

The game was scheduled for 3:15, so we headed down and took our seats. I was surprised that there had been no hassle when I brought my camera and two lenses in. The Phillies web site said it would be OK, but I had a sneaking suspicion there would be scrutiny over any camera with a removable lens.

These were probably the best baseball seats I’d ever had. We were behind the Phillies dugout, in the sun, 25 rows from the field. We were in foul ball territory. We were very close to the action.

The Phils were playing the San Diego Padres… and the Phils had gotten hot! The night before, Chase Utley ended the game with a walk off homer. Is there a more macho act?

For us, the game began slowly. It seemed like Robinson Tejeda, the Phillie starter wasn’t in control. I say ‘seemed’, because when you see the box score, you see a pitcher totally dominating the opposition. It’s funny how those two elements don’t always match up.

I took a lot of pictures at the game. Some might say I took too many pictures. Here’s my favorite, Bobby Abreu ducking out of the way of a Pedro Astascio fastball. Judging by the catcher’s glove, this pitch was traveling where it was aimed.

We stayed until the very last out, anticipated the worst when Real Cormier was called in, but getting a one inning gem instead. Billy Wagner picked up the save.

After a short stop back at the hotel, the four of us (Peter included) went out searching for dinner and the sights. We hit South Street first, but realizing that wasn’t the right spot for dinner, headed to Market Street and the Penn’s Landing area.

Again, we found Italian food. Again, it was very good. But we were very tired.

Our walk back to the hotel was uneventful, but left me uneasy. There were too many places which seemed sinister.

Tonight, I sent an email message to Mayor Street. It’s attached to the link at the bottom of this entry. Whether this kind of message makes any difference or not is beyond me, but I am always willing to write and make my opinions felt.

We finished up our stay Sunday with brunch on the Moshulu.

Since the launching of the Moshulu (pronounced Mo-shoe’-loo) in 1904, she has had a long and exciting career on the seas working the ports of Europe, South America, Australia, America and Africa. She was confiscated by the Americans in one war and by the Germans in the next. She has traveled around Cape Horn 54 times. She has hauled coal and coke, copper ore and nitrate, lumber and grain. In lesser days, she has served as a floating warehouse. In grander days, she won the last great grain race in 1939. Today, the Moshulu is the largest four-masted sailing ship in the world still afloat.

I once heard someone say you should never go out to dinner at a revolving restaurant. I think the same applies to converted sailing ships. The food was OK – nothing special. The ship was OK too… but just OK.

The interior of the ship was larger than I expected. I know that because of the schlep from our table to the buffet!

By 1:30 we were heading home. We headed north on I-95, over the Delaware via the Betsy Ross Bridge (A white elephant when it was built, I hope it’s more useful now), Route 90 to Route 73 to I-295 and then the New Jersey Turnpike.

We waited as long as we could before getting off I-295 and onto the Turnpike. It made no difference. We were stuck in stop-and-go traffic for the better part of an hour before things opened up. The rest of the trip was uneventful.

Oh – there was that sign on the George Washington Bridge that I captured. I’m hoping it’s legal to take photos before you get to the sign, as I did.

So, what have we learned? We were surprised and pleased that Steffie enjoyed the game. Yes, she got a shirt and excellent junk food… but she bought another shirt with her own money and seemed to be interested in the game.

We also enjoyed visiting Philadelphia, the place where we met 25 years ago, as tourists. There are rough edges that need to be smoothed for Philadelphia to become a better tourist destination, but so much is in place right now.

Continue reading “The Rest of Our Philadelphia Trip”