Letters From Camp

When I was about 12, my parents sent me to a Ukrainian camp in the Catskills. The camp was part of a resort called Soyuzivka, which is still operating to this day. It's really a pretty resort.

My parents were quite wise in not telling me that the camp was going to take three weeks out of my glorious summer. I had important things lined up, like following around my town's road department as they paved and repaired our streets.  Like my stint with helping collect the garbage in my town (see my blog post entitled I Was a Child Garbageman) I was obsessed with what was called the Streets and Sewers department in my hometown of Hillside. I would drive my bike to their central garage in the morning, and then depending on my mood, follow and watch one of the crews doing their thing for the whole day. Riding along with Fred , who drove the street sweeper seemed to me to be a great way to spend the whole day. 

I realized quickly that somehow I was not fitting in at camp with my fellow campers. They were all 13 or 14 years old, and here I was only 12! I was quickly shunned with a tag of being a little kid. My parents friends send their kid to the camp as well. Unlike me, he was able to convince his parents that the camp was pretty horrible, and after the first week, they picked him up and took him home.  My letters written to my parents from camp begging to be pardoned from my three week  incarceration were ignored.  Despite my verbal protests when my parents came to visit after the first week, I was informed by them that I was doomed to stay the entire three weeks.

The director of the camp was a female ,who we had to address as Mrs. Commandant. I'm translating it from the Ukrainian version we used. As her title implied, she was a cross between a female Adolph Hitler and Cruella Deville. She led us in military style marches around the resort and one day caught me badmouthing her in front of my fellow campers. Needless to say, I was not one of her favorites

Before eating any meal. we had to say in unison, "Mrs. Commandant, Smatchnoho", which very loosely translated means we trust we will find this meal to be delicious.

After the first week passed and I realized I was going to serve my three week camp sentence, things did improve slowly. I did make somewhat of a friend and really liked several of the male camp counselors who acted like nice older brothers to me. We did go on some nice scenic hikes and cooled off in the big pool.

Like Allen Sherman's classic song about his experiences at the fictional Camp Grenada, 

I had  to agree that things were getting bettah, so like Allan Sherman:  Mom and Dad, kindly disregard this lettah.

Uncle Floyd

Sometime in 1974 when I was still in college and television was a lot different, I ran across this tv show on Channel 68, called The Uncle Floyd Show. It kinda looked like a throwback to those kiddie shows I had watched when I was little kid, but it was quite apparent the cast was playing to an adult audience. All I know is I became hooked to this half hour show, which was on 5 nights a week . The times varied thru the years, but it was always on late afternoon or early evening.

Uncle Floyd, real name Floyd Vivino, was the star of the show. He used hand puppets, from his sidekick Oogie, pictured here, to several others, including really funny stick puppets like Mrs. Brillohead, Bones Boy and Sammy DeSoul, to other creatures made out of rubber like the incredibly funny Mr. Jones.
He played a plethora of characters as well using the non existent budget he had to gently satirize famous people and familiar stereotypes. Dear Blabby, Julia Stepchild, Brother Billy Bobby Booper, Flojo the TV Clown, Ricardo Romantico, Mr, Spooky, Cowboy Charlie The Dull Family, Joe Frankfutter, and more than 100 other characters were all created and played by Floyd. There were no scripts, no rehearsals, no sets, no budget, but plenty of LOL moments.
He surrounded himself with an equally demented cast who acted in the skits Floyd created, or starred in their own creations.  The show always ended with Floyd at the piano, belting out a tune that was written well before he was born.
Those of you who know me are aware that if I become a fan of something, I rarely do it halfway.
I subscribed to Uncle Floyd's gazette, which came out monthly. I started to attend personal appearances he made, from everywhere to local record shops to Macy's, the department store. The people at Macy's  miscalculated Floyd's audience and had him trying on clothes, which almost led to a near riot. The show held a convention at a Masonic Temple, which was awesome, as they had some of the now famous props used in the show. I got interviewed by a camera crew where I stated that Uncle Floyd could be compared to Ernie Kovacs. It aired on the Uncle Floyd Show.

I bought tee shirts, his 45 RPM records, his full album,bumper stickers (Don't Avoid-Watch Uncle Floyd) 8x10 glossies, the whole bit. I entered his TV contests and actually won free tickets to Wild West City, a western themed amusement park that was a sponsor of the show. Eventually Floyd started to know his very loyal fans by name, and I'm proud to say that he knew mine.

The penultimate Uncle Floyd moment though, was when he and the cast performed a series of live shows at The Bottom Line, a famous night club in New York City. I attended the show with my brother Dave who was also a big fan. It was sold out! Sitting right next to me was David Bowie, another big Uncle Floyd fan. I could have cared less about Bowie, because I was there to see The Uncle Floyd Show! To start of the show, they played the theme music of the show that preceded Floyd's on Channel 68.. a cartoon called Speed Racer. What followed was one of the greatest live events I've ever witnessed. Backed by his brother's band, Uncle
Floyd and his cast put on a show that was brilliantly funny ,familiar,  and frenetic. I've never laughed so much, nor enjoyed a performance more. It was truly the apex of his career in my mind. Some have said that it was at this point that Floyd began to understand what a fanatical and loving fan base he had. This was before the days of the internet or any social media which makes Floyd's success all the more impressive. I know I felt I was part of a special family and it was a great feeling.

The show did return to The Bottom Line for several more appearances, but they never lived up to the magic of the first show.

Eventually, Floyd's show  landed on NJ Public television. What was even cooler, was that the show was now taped in front of a live audience. Of course I was there with my wife and son for the first tapings. I even got to be the first contestant on a new segment called "Ridiculous But Real"  and successfully answered Floyd's  query and won a tee shirt!  (What's the only state in the union who's name is one syllable long? Answer: Maine!)
I had truly come full circle with an appearance on my favorite tv show.
The show did try a run at national syndication at one point around this time, but it was unsuccessful.  About 1998, the show could no longer be found on the airwaves.

I did see Uncle Floyd perform his standup comedy act, a few times, at a street fair, a nightclub, and at a record store in the years that followed, but without  Oogie and the rest of his cast, the shows were not as compelling. While there a few DVDs around with some bits from his old shows, Floyd has resisted putting out the old shows en mass.
And maybe it's better that way. You had to watch 5 nights a week, 52 weeks a year, just like a soap opera, to get all of the inside jokes and references. But man, it was worth it!

The Hit and Run

I was a big fan of the excellent tv show by the name of Breaking Bad. For those of you unfamiliar with the show's basic premise, a high school chemistry teacher starts making crystal meth to pay for his cancer treatments. Despite the increasing bad behavior of the teacher, one cannot help but to be drawn to the complex character that is Mr. White.

My tale today shows the real life consequences of those that buy and use this drug.
I left my house around 6:30 AM this day so I could arrive at my customer's location in the Philly area by 8AM. I got on Route 202 and settled into the right lane quickly. I noticed a car behind me who was evidently in a hurry and I saw that he was going to pass me on the left lane.  As he passed me, I was startled to see how close his car was to my car.

Next thing I know, this guy has sideswiped my car! I could tell the damage was not severe, but I did have some nasty creases and damage to the side of my car. I quickly pulled over to the shoulder , thinking he would do the same, once he realized he had hit me. But to my surprise, he never even slowed down, and continued on Route 202.

It took me a minute or so to realize I was dealing with a hit and run driver. I quickly pulled back out onto the highway in an attempt to follow him.

Simultaneously, I called 911 on my blue-tooth speakerphone and told the cops what had happened. I managed to get within viewing distance of the hit and run driver, but could not make out his license plate. He was driving pretty fast and at times, erratically, so I kept my distance. I proceeded to follow him for a few miles and the cops stayed on the phone with me, as I gave them the blow by blow on exactly where we were. I must say, it was kind of thrilling to be involved in a car chase.
We were coming up to an infamous Jersey traffic circle soon, and even great drivers can have difficulties navigating them. I was concerned how this guy was going to make it around the circle safely.
There was a traffic light about a quarter mile before the circle and just before it, I had lost sight of my nemesis. As I pulled up closer to the light, I saw that my guy had rammed his car into the back of a pickup truck that was stopped at the light. He wasn't going anywhere. I let the cops know what had just happened.  I pulled over to the shoulder  and watched as the driver of the hit and run vehicle calmly got out his car, while sipping a cup of coffee. As he meandered around, cop cars stated to arrive from several directions.
The cops began questioning the driver as I sat waiting in my car  for them to come to speak to me. When they did come over, they let  me know that the driver had no recollection of hitting me a few miles back. Luckily,  the paint from his car was all over the side of my car. The cops indicated to me that there was something not quite right with the driver , and after taking down my info, they let me go on my way.
I found out by reading the police report the next day, that the driver was under the influence  of crystal meth.
I am still thankful there were no injuries that day from either accident. 

The Elevator Accident

When I graduated college, I had absolutely no idea on what I wanted to do career wise. I had applied to several law schools, but did not get in any of them. So here it was, September, and I had to find a job. Turns out that Hahne and Co, an upscale department  store in  Newark, NJ, was looking for an executive management trainee in their warehouse. Management trainee was a code word for you're a college graduate who majored in something worthless, (mine was history) that can't find a job, and who was willing to work hard for a small salary.
The actual job I landed was as a warehouse supervisor, managing about 30 old ladies who checked in and price ticketed  all of the apparel that was to be sold in the 5 stores Hahne's operated in New Jersey, including the flagship location in Newark.  The warehouse was located on the top floor of the store. Trucks with the store merchandise would deliver on the street level, or "the walk" as it was known, and then the merchandise would be delivered up to the fourth floor where I worked, via 1 of the 2 giant freight elevators.
My area would check in the apparel deliveries, make price tickets, ticket the merchandise, then separate the orders that were destined for each of the five stores and then from there they would be transferred out daily in the merchandise  "cages" via a daily truck run.

The other side of the warehouse did the same with most of the non apparel merchandise that the store sold.
Working at Hahne's was like being in the cast of a soap opera, with a heavy dose of daily human drama. Working in retail is not for the faint of heart, as it's a very dynamic, stressful business, with a lot of pressure and daily, critical deadlines to meet.
 One particular day though  will always stick in my mind.
My immediate boss was a guy named Art who had limitless energy as he practically ran from one side of the warehouse to the other on a daily basis. He was really a nice guy who took me under his wing and taught me many lessons on how to handle people.
On this fateful day, Art was rushing around as usual and for some reason was going down to "the walk" and was going to use the old freight elevator, which was side by side with the "new " elevator. This old elevator was operated by hand, as you had to pull these giant thick  cables to get the elevator to start moving. What happened next was never fully explained, but just as Art was getting on the elevator,  Eddie, the guy who was riding down with Art and who was controlling the elevator, pulled the cable to get it moving just as Art was in the process of getting on it. As a result, Art lost his balance and his body fell into the small space between  the elevator car and the elevator shaft. He was literally pressed and scraped between the small space between the  cement elevator shaft and the body of the elevator.
I was doing my usual stuff on the other side of the warehouse when someone came running over and said Mr. H was injured in an elevator accident. I rushed over to the other side of the warehouse, made my way down to to walk area on the street, where an there was already a chaotic scene that included an ambulance ,fire rescue trucks, and the police. I looked in the elevator which was mangled by the rescue guys in the process of  extricating Art out of it.(The outside of the elevator and "the walk" are  shown in the photo below. The door that has the pink heart on it is THE elevator)


Next thing I knew, I was in the ambulance with my boss, flying down to the hospital that was close by. Art looked like he had been through a war, with giant bandages on the wounds he suffered on his torso and extremities.He was strapped into a gurney, talking like he was a crazy person, and obviously suffering from shock. He was in critical condition. He babbled something to me about not telling his wife Peggy right away about his condition.
I was flipping out, ready to cry , and totally devastated. We made it quickly to the hospital and the rest of that day's experience is a blur. I do remember walking back to Hahne's after they stabilized Art and completing the rest of my day in a trance.

I visited Art many times in the hospital after that day and eventually he did return to work, with a pronounced limp and some other visible damage.
Twenty or so years later, there was a human interest article about  my old boss in our local paper.  It did not mention that fateful day and Art's near fatal elevator accident.

The Sexton's Tale

Looking back at my childhood, it's apparent that we were somewhat poor as I was growing up. We never went out to eat...and I mean never. The first time we went out to eat as a family was when I was 16 or 17 years old and only because we had to as we were traveling in Canada to visit my older brother at school. I could give you some other examples, but you get the picture. One of the consequences of our economic status, was that my dad had to take on other employment besides his job at the brewery.
Since my dad was a porter at Ballantine (porter being the fancy word for janitor), he sought out similar work and ending up being the sexton at a church. (sexton being the fancy church word for janitor).

For a few years, he was actually sexton at 2 churches, the one we attended as a family as well as another one.

Cleaning the churches meant that almost all of my Saturdays for a good many years, were spent helping my dad, along with the rest of the family, getting these 2 churches clean on a weekly basis. While the other kids my age  were enjoying their Saturdays off, I was busy as one of my dad's helpers. At both churches, we were also responsible for the grounds-keeping, which meant shoveling snow and mowing the lawn, and most horrifically at one of the churches, raking leaves in the autumn. Most of the time I didn't complain about pressed into what we called around our house, The Communist Labor Farm.
I did get paid a very modest sum. Every other week or so my dad would give me a quarter. As in twenty five cents.  In today's terms, that was less than $2, for about 5 hours work every Saturday. Occasionally, actually very occasionally, he would take me out for ice cream.

 One particular Saturday when I was about 10 or so, my older brother and I accompanied my dad to one of the churches. I was in a rather foul mood, complaining about how I had to work while every other kid my age, was out playing with their friends. As we arrived at the church, I guess my dad had enough of my attitude that day and said that if I didn't want to help, that was fine. "Go home", he said. With that he and my brother walked in, leaving me standing outside the church.
The church was one town over from where we lived , about 3 and half miles away,  I contemplated my options, and decided I would take my dad up on his offer. Without telling my dad what I had decided, I started down the street, very confident of the route home as we made this trek twice a week. Right down the street there was some parking lot construction going on, and I watched that for probably a half hour. I then proceeded to walk the rest of the way home, taking my sweet time.
My mom was startled when I arrived at our house by myself. She asked where everyone else was and I told her what had happened. At this point, I was sure that I was in no trouble, as I had simply taken up my dad on his offer. Man, was I wrong.
My dad was really mad at what I had done. Corporal punishment back then was the norm. I got the norm, and then some.

Oh Deer!

Living in a town that still has some farms left and a great deal of wooded areas still intact, can lead to unexpected animal encounters. A few years ago, when our beloved dog Moses was still with us, I took him outside to do his business early one evening, when what should be walking down my street, but a huge brown and white cow! 

It was so unexpected and really caught me by surprise. The cow was moving fast, seemingly headed for some special destination. I quickly went back inside, Moses in tow, and called the cops. By the time I got back outside to see where the cow was, he was out of sight. No doubt that one of the local farms was shy one cow that day.

One creature I'm never surprised to see in our area are deer. Our town is overrun by them and you can see herds of them, groups of 10-12 deer, at any given time. 
It's a weekly job in every season but winter, to go to the back yard and pick up their deposits. One warm, sunny afternoon in the spring a few years ago, I was headed home on Route 202 and when I was almost at my exit, I noticed that everyone ahead of me was hitting their brakes. I slowed down as well, and saw that several deer were
crossing the highway. Everyone in my direction avoided hitting any of the deer.
But, it was a different story on the other side of the highway, where there was less traffic. A speeding
car in the other direction, hit one of the deer with such impact, that the deer was propelled up in the air like 30 feet and it began rotating in the air, end over end in an arc over the highway.

By pure chance a  convertible, with it's top down was heading in the deer's direction, as it made it's inevitable downward descent. The deer landed in the convertible's back seat, positioned perfectly like a stuffed animal, it's head resting against the side cushions. If you had manually placed the deer in the back seat, you could not have done a better job at situating the deer so perfectly!
The horrified couple in the convertible  quickly

pulled over to a nearby shopping center and hastily exited their car. I called the police on their behalf. As you can see, I've made some bizarre calls to the cops over the years.

The Greatest Fishing Day Ever!

As regular readers of my blog know, my dad was a very avid fisherman. Whenever he had a day off, he usually went fishing. When we had our summer vacations however, he could not join my brother and my mom during the week, as vacation slots were determined by seniority. Here was a guy with like 8 weeks of vacation, but he never had one in the summer!
This one summer, we were on vacation again in the Catskill Region of New York state, in a town called Hunter. We stayed at a house which could hold 4-5 families or so, with some shared kitchens.
The Schoharie creek ran in the backyard, and my younger brother and I spent countless hours on the creek, fishing, swimming, and catching minnows and crayfish for use as bait .

When my father came up on the weekends,it would be non stop fishing the whole weekend. His fishing partner, Andrew, from my blog story "Andrew Rode the Boat Ashore", spent his entire summer staying at this house , so he of course would join my father and I on any fishing trips.

This particular summer was a very dry one and the drought had really taken a toll on the Schoharie Reservoir

where we were headed that day. The creek of the same name flowed for miles, eventually ending up at this huge reservoir which was probably 15-20 miles from where we were staying. The minnows I caught on the creek were so fragile, that we would stop at least 2 times on the way to the reservoir, to change the water in the minnow bucket.
When we finally made it to the water, after winding our way thru the forest path, we were all astonished at how low the water level was.There were only a few "ponds" of water here and there where the remaining waters had collected.
We quickly got our poles ready and began to fish. You've heard the expression of "shooting fish in a barrel". Well, this was hooking fish in a barrel. With virtually every cast in the water, regardless of what bait was used, a fish of some type was after it! We started to pull in walleyes, pickerel, perch, bass, crappies, and sunfish. It was a feeding frenzy! At one point, I had lost my bait  and was reeling my pole in when a fish struck at my line, because there was a small flashy metal blade that went with the hook!

Within  less than an hour, the three of us hauled in over 50 fish of all sizes and shapes. We would have caught more, but got lackadaisical when reeling them in and lost more than we would have on a normal fishing day!
Our success no doubt, was because the fish population, which was normally spread out over miles of water, were now crowded into some pretty small pockets of water.

With 50 fish caught in about an hours time, we decided to call it a day. We hauled the heavy load of fish back to the car and once we got back to our vacation house, gutted and cleaned all of them and boasted to anyone who would listen, about the greatest fishing day ever!