Sports and competition were big parts of what I shared from early childhood with my Uncle Lou Wallach, who died not long ago. But we never actually competed,except for just this one time....
Softball is what we had most in common. I loved that he lead the Wallach Wonders, the team that represented our side of the road in intramural softball games at Lansmans Bungalow Colony. As a boy I rooted for that team with all my heart. And it got even better when, as a teenager, I played in the same outfield with my uncle on the Lansmans Mens Softball team that competed against other colonies. I was 14 in short center and he was 45 in right field. Despite his seemingly advanced years he helped us win the championship that season.
But we never played against each other in softball. Nor did we in basketball, his number 1 sport as a kid. In fact I never even saw him on a basketball court. And it wasn't in gin rummy, his favorite card game, nor in handicapping horses at the track which he had a passion for. No, we did not compete in any of the areas that he loved.
We vied in paddleball, a sport that he'd never previously played.
No one at Lansmans, in fact, played paddleball, at least not when my family and I first arrived there. Handball was the big sport (besides softball) and it was played by barrel chested men who wore gloves to soften the sting of the hard black ball that they used. Maybe that's why I never got into it...too painful. So I was glad when paddleball slowly began to take over. And I was delighted when a group of players organized the first Lansmans Mens Paddleball Tournament.
Though I was a good player, the organizers did not rate me as one of the top, or "A", players. Probably because I was only 15. So they ranked me a "B" and paired me with another, pretty solid, B level player. Marv Grohmen, one of the men at the Colony that I admired, because Marv had played professional baseball! He'd been a high level minor leaguer, performing for the Atlanta Crackers, a Triple A team that still exists today. On the Lansmans softball field, Marv hit the ball a long way but didn't like to run.
And that's the way he played paddleball. He could wack the ball but didn't care to cover too much of the court. That was fine with me. I loved to scamper all over and get to balls that Marv didn't care very much to chase. We easily rolled through our first 2 opponents that way and made it to the semi finals.
In the semis we faced Shelly Moskowitz who was probably the best player. Shelly was not just good...he liked to psyche people out, playing all sorts of mind games. And he dearly loved to beat me. In fact, a few summers later, Shelly won a hard fought game against me though he complained near the end of not feeling well. Later he was taken to the hospital...he'd suffered a mild heart attack. A few days afterwards I got a message from him: "I can even beat you when I'm having a heart attack!" Happily, he was well on the way to recovery.
But in the tournament, Shelly was paired with a "C," a very weak, partner. So, as much as we could, Marv and I hit the ball to the poorer player. By the end Shelly threw down his paddle in disgust. We'd won easily...
...And advanced to the finals where we faced another strong player, Normie Shlesinger. Normie hit the ball harder than anyone and he announced to the entire colony that "there is no way that Mikey can beat me." In fact I didn't intend to even try. Our strategy, of course, was to beat Normie's weaker partner.
And that, in case you haven't guessed it, was Uncle Lou! Though a great athlete, Uncle Lou never played paddleball or any other, similar, racquet sport. He was a weak paddleballer and had thus been teamed with the powerful Norm. And so this was my one big competition with my Uncle!
The game went just as Marv and I hoped. We built a solid lead by playing the ball to Uncle Lou. He did very well, all things considered, but we were just relentless and that kept Normie from being much of a factor. Sometimes as a result, perhaps out of frustration, he overextended himself and that gave us even more advantages.
Finally it was championship point. I hit a shot to Uncle Lou and he swung a mighty, slightly uppercut swing. This swing had propelled many long home runs in softball and here he caught the ball solidly as well. It flew off his paddle towards the wall but up and up, rising about the wall and smacking into the screen above it. It was over and we were champs.
Norm and Uncle Lou congratulated us and walked off the court. Norm was shaking his head and kind of muttering to himself. Not Uncle Lou. He smiled at me, turned to the crowd and announced in a very clear voice: "Okay, next activity, gin rummy game in 15 minutes, in front of my bungalow!"
And that is the way he handled it, that one time I beat Uncle Lou!
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Friday, November 18, 2011
WALLACH WONDERS
A road runs through Lansmans Bungalow Colony, the Catskill resort where I spent almost all my childhood summers. One side of the road contained (and still does)the casino with its pinball machines and restaurant, the paddleball, basketball and tennis courts, the swimming pool, day camp grounds and parking lot. The other side, my side, was much better.
We had the softball field!
It was on that field, on so many glorious Sunday mornings, that the fabled Mens Softball Team, often with me leading off, won championship after championship. It is not about that team or that day that I write.
I want to tell you about Saturdays.
That's when everyone got together for a colony softball game. We kept no records and no standings but everyone loved those games. Most of the men came out and wanted to play. Much of the rest of the colony came to watch and cheer. Every Saturday. Everyone loved that game.
But no one loved it as much as me.
I couldn't wait for Saturday. Even when I was too young to play. I would chase fly balls in the outfield during batting practice and then settle down to watch the game. Sometimes I'd keep score. Always I'd cheer for our team.
And our team consisted of the guys from our side (the good side) of the road. And the captain of our team, the person who got to decide who played and where, was my uncle Lou Wallach! What an honor! And how proud that made me feel!
And that's not all. Not only did he get to make all those vital decision...the team was actually named after him!! The Wallach Wonders! What a great name! Who could possible beat a wonderful team made up of Wonders! Why, it would take a miracle to beat a team like ours!
Unfortunately, that's what we faced: The Muriello Miracles represented the other (not as good) side of the road. It's captain was Johnny Muriello, an elegant, somewhat overweight man, very sweet but not very athletic (unlike his son Tony who was the fastest, best athlete I'd ever seen up to that time...but that's another story). The thing about Johnny is he tended to move v...e...r...y s...l...o...w...l...y in all that he did. And he was the pitcher for The Muriello Miracles. As you might imagine if you are a knowledgable softball/baseball person (and would I be friends with any other type of person?), Johnny's pitches were very, very, well, you know, slow.
How could The Muriello Miracles ever possibly beat The Wallach Wonders? My Uncle Lou was a TREMENDOUS athlete. A really good point guard in his youth (sadly I never saw him play basketball), he was a lefty throwing, lefty swinging powerhitter. I remember one summer when he unveiled a new swing: He'd begin his backswing by dramatically lifting his right leg into the air as the pitch was released and violently bringing it down as he started to move forward into the ball. Truthfully (and I've never said this in all these years) I don't think this helped his hitting. But Uncle Lou loved it! He told me many times that this was how Mel Ott, the great NY Giant, had hit.
Wow! No way a team lead by a slow moving, slow throwing pitcher, now matter how Miraculous, could possibly beat a team lead by a slugger who hit like Mel Ott!
And here's kind of the funny thing. I have NO memory of how any of those games turned out. Probably The Muriello Miracles won some games. Of course I plan on always thinking that we won the majority. But it really doesn't matter. Because what I do remember is how much I loved that The Wallach Wonders was named after my uncle Lou.
He was a really good hitter and outfielder. And uncle.
We had the softball field!
It was on that field, on so many glorious Sunday mornings, that the fabled Mens Softball Team, often with me leading off, won championship after championship. It is not about that team or that day that I write.
I want to tell you about Saturdays.
That's when everyone got together for a colony softball game. We kept no records and no standings but everyone loved those games. Most of the men came out and wanted to play. Much of the rest of the colony came to watch and cheer. Every Saturday. Everyone loved that game.
But no one loved it as much as me.
I couldn't wait for Saturday. Even when I was too young to play. I would chase fly balls in the outfield during batting practice and then settle down to watch the game. Sometimes I'd keep score. Always I'd cheer for our team.
And our team consisted of the guys from our side (the good side) of the road. And the captain of our team, the person who got to decide who played and where, was my uncle Lou Wallach! What an honor! And how proud that made me feel!
And that's not all. Not only did he get to make all those vital decision...the team was actually named after him!! The Wallach Wonders! What a great name! Who could possible beat a wonderful team made up of Wonders! Why, it would take a miracle to beat a team like ours!
Unfortunately, that's what we faced: The Muriello Miracles represented the other (not as good) side of the road. It's captain was Johnny Muriello, an elegant, somewhat overweight man, very sweet but not very athletic (unlike his son Tony who was the fastest, best athlete I'd ever seen up to that time...but that's another story). The thing about Johnny is he tended to move v...e...r...y s...l...o...w...l...y in all that he did. And he was the pitcher for The Muriello Miracles. As you might imagine if you are a knowledgable softball/baseball person (and would I be friends with any other type of person?), Johnny's pitches were very, very, well, you know, slow.
How could The Muriello Miracles ever possibly beat The Wallach Wonders? My Uncle Lou was a TREMENDOUS athlete. A really good point guard in his youth (sadly I never saw him play basketball), he was a lefty throwing, lefty swinging powerhitter. I remember one summer when he unveiled a new swing: He'd begin his backswing by dramatically lifting his right leg into the air as the pitch was released and violently bringing it down as he started to move forward into the ball. Truthfully (and I've never said this in all these years) I don't think this helped his hitting. But Uncle Lou loved it! He told me many times that this was how Mel Ott, the great NY Giant, had hit.
Wow! No way a team lead by a slow moving, slow throwing pitcher, now matter how Miraculous, could possibly beat a team lead by a slugger who hit like Mel Ott!
And here's kind of the funny thing. I have NO memory of how any of those games turned out. Probably The Muriello Miracles won some games. Of course I plan on always thinking that we won the majority. But it really doesn't matter. Because what I do remember is how much I loved that The Wallach Wonders was named after my uncle Lou.
He was a really good hitter and outfielder. And uncle.
Monday, November 14, 2011
AN AFTERNOON SPENT OCCUPYING WALL STREET
Walking down Broadway I almost missed it. I was on Broadway's east side and the occupied area ended just short of Broadway's west side. Had the colorfulness of Zuccotti Park not caught my eye I'd have gone right by it.
So here is the first thing: The area of Occupy Wall Street is pretty small.
And here is the second thing: As is almost always the case, my right wing friends are wrong. No way the Occupation and its related traffic are hurting nearby businesses. The Park is isolated and doesn't border on any stores. In fact, on the sidewalks closest there are a whole bunch of food carts, T Shirt vendors, button dealers and such folk.
Small business is thriving!
The perimeter of the Park is crowded with people passing out leaflets carrying signs and talking up a whole variety of causes. The inside is practically busting over with tents of various sizes, almost all tightly packed upon one another. There are some walk ways in between, but so little room that I feared I'd step on someone's tent or, worse, someone lounging inside. The outer and inner areas are separated by metal barriers that you often see at parades. It helped give the tent area a very segregated, almost imprisoned look. But people moved easily between the areas.
Feeling like the inner part was more "hard core" and that it would be intrusive for me to be there, I walked around the perimeter. I saw 1 sign supporting Obama, several against fracking, a sign about owning a railroad so it could be changed...apparently a quote from Teddy Roosevelt...and another next to it about taking over a bank. There was a huge placard extolling getting along with the community and containing a list of rules to minimize problems. It had the number of "community relations" people to call about any difficulties...I wondered if these problem solvers were the occupiers themselves, the police or city officials.
There were lots of cops, all in the outer area and practically all standing around casually with nothing to do. One cop told a group of people who'd gathered to closely examine a sign to move on as they were blocking the sidewalk. A young man came up on a cop who was walking along and began giving him a shoulder massage. Reminded me of the time that President Bush did that to the President of Germany. She didn't like it at all and I remember her shoulders really tensing. The cop, however, handled it better. He just kept walking.
A young man came up to me and asked if we knew each other. He didn't look familiar so I said no and introduced myself. "Now we know each other," he noted and began walking with me. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Looking for a bathroom," I honestly answered. He gave me directions that made absolutely no sense. I thanked him and went off, grateful to be away. He seemed a little odd and I'd expected him to ask for money. I found a restaurant 2 blocks away that immediately let me use the facilities...didn't seem like a lot of bathroom use tension.
Relieved now and summoning up a bit of courage I walked inside the Park. There was a medical tent filled with stuff and also with a great big dog laying on the floor. The library felt a bit more friendly and I walked thru it...books and magazines tightly packed. Seemed odd to be in a library that was so dark. Hard to imagine life without electric lights! In the middle of the Park...the big communal kitchen. I saw 4 women inside hard at work. A sign outside said "if you steal from the people's kitchen, you're stealing from the people. Don't do it."
A young man asked me if he could ask me a question. When I agreed he asked if I could name the state that ends with a "k." Can you? "Alaska is close," I said, feeling clever. He laughed and looked impressed, before replying "as is Nebraska and North and South Dakota." Smart ass! No wonder the 1% hates him! "It's not a trick question," he emphasized, so I thought about it some more before it hit me:
New York!
"I ask people," he said "so people will understand it's important to look at things differently." O.K. We can miss the obvious. Cute. "And what about you," I asked. "How do you look at things differently?" Well, it seems he's from Arizona and came here last week to talk about this project he's gotten involved with...and then his friend came along and whisked him off. Oh, well. I walked to the west end of the Park and the drummers.
THIS was intense. Five or six drummers pounding away. A saxaphone player. A really focused looking woman dancing to the beat. Non stop. Fierce. Loud. Many people on the street, most with their phones out, shooting the scene, recording it. Louder and louder, I sat down to listen. There is a pizza place across the street. Two stories of apartments about it. I wondered what it was like to live there. Not good. I went over to a shrine like table filled with chachkas. Then I was back out on the perimeter.
That's where I came upon the bikes! At first I thought it was the Occupation work out place. But no, it's where stationary bikers generate electricity for the community. Two bikers were active and the guy I spoke to looked in great shape. "I'm really a runner," he bragged. An older gentlement next to me said, "well, you certainly look like a runner." I waited to see if either would comment on the kind of athlete I looked like. Nope. Instead we discussed reforming capitalism v overthrowing it. We agreed that reform was really the way to go.
Down the street I walked and came upon a sign woman. She wore 3 layers of signs, each filled with very small writing. I put my glasses on and read. Seems I was having difficulty concentrating. Can't remember a word of it. But she is an anthropology grad student just back from a year in Fiji and on her way to the big anthropology conference beginning tomorrow in Montreal. She's from Georgia and finds New York to be overwhelmingly big and noisy. But she felt she had to be to the Occupation and, now that she has, thinks New York is pretty neat. She took out a bag of vegetable and offered me some. We both ate a raddish and commented on its surprising spiciness. She spoke about the families she met in Fiji and how, over time, they got beyond seeing her as a stereotypical american. This reminded me of my time in Kentucky and getting beyond my "hillbilly" stereotypes and theirs of Jews and New Yorkers.
She said that the diversity, the many different things that mattered to the people there was what had most impressed her. But then we spoke of a diverse person of a different sort...a guy who'd approached her to discuss his big issue...sniffing the butts of women. His ultimate goal was for people to be having sex in public. We agreed that his approach was unlikely to succeed. More importantly this represents the kind of crazies that can be attracted there. Since I'm working in therapy with an occupier who was sexually abused there, no doubt this is something bad.
I got to the corner ready to head for the subway when I heard singing...This Land Is Your Land, one of my favorites, so I stopped to listen. A group of elderly gentlemen, old lefties in song. Really wonderful. They tried to get me to join them for their followup, even giving me a copy of the words. The Occupy Wall Street Song. It concludes: In parks and squares across the land
People are rising hand in hand
So join the movement, take a stand!
Occupy for change
I helped out by not joining in. It was a really nice way to end.
So here is the first thing: The area of Occupy Wall Street is pretty small.
And here is the second thing: As is almost always the case, my right wing friends are wrong. No way the Occupation and its related traffic are hurting nearby businesses. The Park is isolated and doesn't border on any stores. In fact, on the sidewalks closest there are a whole bunch of food carts, T Shirt vendors, button dealers and such folk.
Small business is thriving!
The perimeter of the Park is crowded with people passing out leaflets carrying signs and talking up a whole variety of causes. The inside is practically busting over with tents of various sizes, almost all tightly packed upon one another. There are some walk ways in between, but so little room that I feared I'd step on someone's tent or, worse, someone lounging inside. The outer and inner areas are separated by metal barriers that you often see at parades. It helped give the tent area a very segregated, almost imprisoned look. But people moved easily between the areas.
Feeling like the inner part was more "hard core" and that it would be intrusive for me to be there, I walked around the perimeter. I saw 1 sign supporting Obama, several against fracking, a sign about owning a railroad so it could be changed...apparently a quote from Teddy Roosevelt...and another next to it about taking over a bank. There was a huge placard extolling getting along with the community and containing a list of rules to minimize problems. It had the number of "community relations" people to call about any difficulties...I wondered if these problem solvers were the occupiers themselves, the police or city officials.
There were lots of cops, all in the outer area and practically all standing around casually with nothing to do. One cop told a group of people who'd gathered to closely examine a sign to move on as they were blocking the sidewalk. A young man came up on a cop who was walking along and began giving him a shoulder massage. Reminded me of the time that President Bush did that to the President of Germany. She didn't like it at all and I remember her shoulders really tensing. The cop, however, handled it better. He just kept walking.
A young man came up to me and asked if we knew each other. He didn't look familiar so I said no and introduced myself. "Now we know each other," he noted and began walking with me. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Looking for a bathroom," I honestly answered. He gave me directions that made absolutely no sense. I thanked him and went off, grateful to be away. He seemed a little odd and I'd expected him to ask for money. I found a restaurant 2 blocks away that immediately let me use the facilities...didn't seem like a lot of bathroom use tension.
Relieved now and summoning up a bit of courage I walked inside the Park. There was a medical tent filled with stuff and also with a great big dog laying on the floor. The library felt a bit more friendly and I walked thru it...books and magazines tightly packed. Seemed odd to be in a library that was so dark. Hard to imagine life without electric lights! In the middle of the Park...the big communal kitchen. I saw 4 women inside hard at work. A sign outside said "if you steal from the people's kitchen, you're stealing from the people. Don't do it."
A young man asked me if he could ask me a question. When I agreed he asked if I could name the state that ends with a "k." Can you? "Alaska is close," I said, feeling clever. He laughed and looked impressed, before replying "as is Nebraska and North and South Dakota." Smart ass! No wonder the 1% hates him! "It's not a trick question," he emphasized, so I thought about it some more before it hit me:
New York!
"I ask people," he said "so people will understand it's important to look at things differently." O.K. We can miss the obvious. Cute. "And what about you," I asked. "How do you look at things differently?" Well, it seems he's from Arizona and came here last week to talk about this project he's gotten involved with...and then his friend came along and whisked him off. Oh, well. I walked to the west end of the Park and the drummers.
THIS was intense. Five or six drummers pounding away. A saxaphone player. A really focused looking woman dancing to the beat. Non stop. Fierce. Loud. Many people on the street, most with their phones out, shooting the scene, recording it. Louder and louder, I sat down to listen. There is a pizza place across the street. Two stories of apartments about it. I wondered what it was like to live there. Not good. I went over to a shrine like table filled with chachkas. Then I was back out on the perimeter.
That's where I came upon the bikes! At first I thought it was the Occupation work out place. But no, it's where stationary bikers generate electricity for the community. Two bikers were active and the guy I spoke to looked in great shape. "I'm really a runner," he bragged. An older gentlement next to me said, "well, you certainly look like a runner." I waited to see if either would comment on the kind of athlete I looked like. Nope. Instead we discussed reforming capitalism v overthrowing it. We agreed that reform was really the way to go.
Down the street I walked and came upon a sign woman. She wore 3 layers of signs, each filled with very small writing. I put my glasses on and read. Seems I was having difficulty concentrating. Can't remember a word of it. But she is an anthropology grad student just back from a year in Fiji and on her way to the big anthropology conference beginning tomorrow in Montreal. She's from Georgia and finds New York to be overwhelmingly big and noisy. But she felt she had to be to the Occupation and, now that she has, thinks New York is pretty neat. She took out a bag of vegetable and offered me some. We both ate a raddish and commented on its surprising spiciness. She spoke about the families she met in Fiji and how, over time, they got beyond seeing her as a stereotypical american. This reminded me of my time in Kentucky and getting beyond my "hillbilly" stereotypes and theirs of Jews and New Yorkers.
She said that the diversity, the many different things that mattered to the people there was what had most impressed her. But then we spoke of a diverse person of a different sort...a guy who'd approached her to discuss his big issue...sniffing the butts of women. His ultimate goal was for people to be having sex in public. We agreed that his approach was unlikely to succeed. More importantly this represents the kind of crazies that can be attracted there. Since I'm working in therapy with an occupier who was sexually abused there, no doubt this is something bad.
I got to the corner ready to head for the subway when I heard singing...This Land Is Your Land, one of my favorites, so I stopped to listen. A group of elderly gentlemen, old lefties in song. Really wonderful. They tried to get me to join them for their followup, even giving me a copy of the words. The Occupy Wall Street Song. It concludes: In parks and squares across the land
People are rising hand in hand
So join the movement, take a stand!
Occupy for change
I helped out by not joining in. It was a really nice way to end.
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