Call Me an Ol’ Sour Puss

Posted on January 12, 2006 by Jim

I am not quite a curmudgeon; but I am working on it. Age and memory does that to citizens. We get older and sand beneath a finger nail is an irritant that we can no longer abide… Combine this with a memory of the way things “used to be”, and you’re a bonifide sour puss… and maybe well on the path to being a board certified curmudgeon… perhaps going beyond curmudgeon and all the way to Andy Rooney!

I have taken a brief review of a few items that have given me pause for thought… or even worse. I have selected a sampling for your consideration.

Our Phone System. You know… there was a time when we had the finest phone system on planet earth. It was A.T. & T. — “Ma Bell.” They had a monopoly in that form of communication. Big deal! They deserved it! They spent decades putting up all those damn telephone poles, and stringing up all that wire. And if your cousin called from Seattle, it sounded as clear as a call from your sister down the street. There was only one phone bill… if there was something wrong with your service, there was just one person to complain to. And just think… no annoying phone calls or advertising pitching competing phone systems.

Egregious Use of Cell Phones. I am not against improvements in technology… I am not advocating a return to the rotary dial phones. I think cell phones are a good thing… very helpful in emergencies… particularly on the road. But do I really need to listen to the toll taker on the Triboro Bridge on her cell complaining to her girl firend about her French manicure while she is making change for me?

“Big Box” Stores. Home Depot, Borders, CVS, Starbucks, Wal-Mart, Bob’s, Chilis, Ikea… take your pick. We have become a country of huge retail chains… for the sake of saving $2 we have sold our soul to the “big guy”. We have lost our retail individuality in a sea of faceless and exceptional mediocrity. Gone are those small individual establishment that added texture and personality to our towns. Go into Barnes & Noble, go into any Barnes & Noble… attractive store, clean, nicely lit, chairs and nooks for reading, pleasant sales help. But ask them about a book (not simply where is a book), or ask what they have read recently… Pleasant is good… but what about being knowledgeable?

Political Conventions. There was a day when Conventions meant something. There was a day when there were fewer Primary States. Candidates would actually travel to their Convention with the outcome not predetermined. States’ delegations were committed to a “favorite son”… there were speeches full of fire… deals made in “smoke filled back rooms”… speculation about the nature of the brokered deals. The good and bad of each Party was on ample display, providing the opposition plenty of material to target. What do we have now? Sanitized, highly orchestrated events devoid of spontaneity and refreshing individuality. Just as boring as another awards show or half time at the Super Bowl.

 

Egg McMuffin. Do you know how great Eggs Benedict is? Has there ever been a more perfect brunch dish? Brunch itself, the most sophisticated meal of the week… not breakfast, not lunch. And perfectly enjoyed on Sunday, or on feast days like New Years morning. Bloody Marys or Champagne added to set the proper tone to the repast. Good linen, handsome flutes, cut crystal, flowers on the table. Having Eggs Benedict was a focused and premeditated activity. Hollandaise, after all, is made fresh (or it shouldn’t be used). And now McDonalds creates its “Breakfast Sandwich”… the Egg McMuffin. No, Hollandaise is not part of the deal. Still, it’s too close to the “authentic” dish for comfort. Too easy to buy it, too easy to wolf it down on the way to the train station. It has made something special into something common and ordinary.

OK… go ahead, move my game piece ahead two squares on the sour puss gameboard. I have a far ways to go before I get to Boardwalk… or should I say curmudgeon… Well, maybe not that far… especially if I roll doubles.

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The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse

Posted on January 10, 2006 by Jim

The prophecy in the Book of Revalation, Chapter Six, foretold of a dreadful time when the world would witness horror and devastation… and this evil would be delivered by four horsemen. These horsemen represented war, famine, pestilence and death.

This symbolism was not lost on Grantland Rice, one of the most eloquent sports scribes of the 20th Century. Here are his words describing the events that transpired on the Polo Gounds between the varsity squads of Army and Notre Dame on October 18, 1924…

Outlined against a blue-gray October sky the Four Horsemen rode again. In dramatic lore they are known as famine, pestilence, destruction and death. These are only aliases. Their real names are: Stuhldreher, Miller, Crowley and Layden. They formed the crest of the South Bend cyclone before which another fighting Army team was swept over the precipice at the Polo Grounds this afternoon as 55,000 spectators peered down upon the bewildering panorama spread out upon the green plain below.

And with those words the legendary “Four Horsemen of Notre Dame” would forever be enshrined in the lexicon of sport.

Now this you should know about football… When Grantland Rice was covering football the backfield on offense consisted of four players: a quarterback, a fullback and two halfbacks. These were the positions of the Four Horsemen.

Today, backfields number no more than three and sometimes only two: a quarterback and a halfback (now called a tailback).

But the “concept” of Four Horsemen lives on… but it has now shifted to the defensive side of the scrimmage line where the four “down linemen” stand to bring havoc and destruction to the opposing offenses.

In the 60s the Rams from Los Angeles sported a defensive line of Deacon Jones, Roosevelt Grier, Merlin Olsen and Lamar Lundy… and the Four Horsemen became transformed into the “Fearsome Foursome.”

But the artist’s conception, seen above, of this heroic quartet of defenders is titled “Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse” drawing on the earlier images spun by Grantland Rice.

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The Sermon

Posted on December 30, 2005 by Jim

I am less familiar with the purposes of the Sermon in religions outside of Judaism. But I can imagine that all of the great religions use some form of an address to speak to their congregants… something meant to in some way move us. Religions are different… but the “sermon”? In abstract, probably cut from pretty much the same cloth.

For Jews, particularly Reform Jews, the Rabbis will address the major portion of his or her Congregation twice a year. On our High Holidays… Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It’s not like there are not weekly Services on Friday Evening or Saturday Morning. And during the course of the year, folks will attend services here and there (or perhaps not)… but even for the most detached member of a Congregation… attending Services on the High Holidays is most common.

Rabbis know that the High Holidays are the time when the unique opportunity is presented to address the “complete” Congregation… to make an impact. Therefore the Sermons, four in number over the High Holidays… Rosh Hashanah Eve & Day and Yom Kippur Eve & Day… become very important. The topics and nature of the Sermons are carefully planned and selected.

Often, Rabbis select a theme… and in some way try to link the four Sermons together. Rabbis will usually draw from our sacred texts and try to find contemporary applications to the words of our Sages and how it relates to our lives. The Sermons are meant to uplift, define issues and in some way contribute to our spiritual well being.

This is not an easy task.

And maybe the hardest part is to find the theme. You know… maybe an idea or theme would be good for 2, maybe 3 Sermons… but what do you do with the other Sermon(s)?

The topic for today’s Sermon is “For more than 2000 years people have tried to eradicate Jews from the face of the earth… It didn’t work. Why do we think we can do it to the Palestinians?”… Talk amongst yourselves…

Years after he left the pulpit, I had a conversation with Bob Goldburg… that would be Rabbi Robert Goldburg of Temple Mishkhan Israel. And the conversation dealt with Sermons… selection of topics and themes. My point was that I felt that I rarely found the sense of trying to bind 4 addresses to each other.

Bob agreed that it was a mistake that many Rabbis made. Well, of course he would agree! In my years of attending Services at Mishkan Israel, he never sought a theme to define his addresses… rather he used his Sermons as the opportunity to speak to the Congregation on the issues of the day, regardless of how they related to one another. The issues that were important to us as men and women, issues that affected our daily lives, perhaps less spiritual than temporal… and he challenged us as a people, a people steeped in prophetic traditions, to respond to the issues of the day, to rise against the apathy.

I grew up in the time of Viet Nam and Martin Luther King… at time when social upheaval in the country was thick in the air… Rabbi Goldburg’s Sermons focused on social injustices, the plight of the Blacks and the poor in this Country, the senselessness of our policy in Viet Nam…

And in speaking to us, he drew examples not only from our Sacred Texts; but from Maimonides, Spinoza, Baruch… and also from Shakespeare, Brecht, Whitman… from the breadth of great thinkers of this age, and from great thinkers of the past.

It was said in those days that Temple Mishkhan Israel was the only Jewish house of worship to have a declared foreign policy.

Rabbi Goldburg demanded that we look around us… that we should speak out against those things that were clearly wrong… that it was our responsibility as Jews, raised in a humanitarian tradition, to act… to vote, to talk, to write.

To make a difference.

Bob Goldburg lived a life of making a difference. Whether it was being jailed with Martin Luther King in an Alabama march, turning his pulpit over to Wayne Morse, the only Senator to vote against the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution that got us so deeply involved in Viet Nam… or in other small ways, like catching the ear and mind of a Jim Winston.

But we do not live by intellect alone. We are people of heart and soul… people who can laugh or cry with equal gusto.

And there are those addresses, those Sermons that can strike an inner emotional chord. That these addresses can occur when we mark the passing of a loved one is understandable (and to be expected); but that we should be so moved in the more neutral terrain of a High Holiday Sermon caught me completely off guard.

In this case the Sermon was delivered by Rabbi Daniel Syme at Temple Shalom. I no longer remember the context of the following extract. It seems logical that it would deal with the subject of aging, how we responded to it… or perhaps how we responded to the aging of our parents & older relatives…

As Rabbi Syme noted… This piece appeared when an old lady died in the geriatrics ward of Ashludie Hospital, near Dundee, Ireland… she had nothing left of value; but the nurse who was asked to go thru her possessions found a poem… “Look Closer… See Me!”

What do you see , people, what do you see?

Are you thinking when you are looking at me,

A crabbit old woman, not very wise,

Uncertain of habit, with far away eyes…

Who dribbles her food and makes no reply,

When you say in a loud voice —

“I do wish you’d try.”

Who seems not to notice the things that you do,

And forever is losing a stocking or a shoe.

Who unresisting or not, lets you do as you will,

With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.

Is that what you are thinking,

Is that what you see?

Then open your eyes, you’re not looking at me.

I’ll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,

As I use at your bidding, as I eat at your will.

I’m a child of ten with a father and mother,

Brothers and sisters, who love one another.

A young girl of sixteen with wings on her feet,

Dreaming that soon a new lover she’ll meet.

A bride soon at twenty — my heart gives a leap,

Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.

At twenty-five now I have young of my own,

Who need me to build a secure, happy home.

A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,

Bound to each other with ties that should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown & are gone,

But my man’s beside me to see I don’t mourn.

At fifty once more babies ’round my knee’,

Again we know children, my loved one and me.

Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead,

I look at the future, I shutter with dread,

For my young are all rearing young of their own,

And I think of the years & love that I’ve known.

I’m an old woman now and nature is cruel,

‘Tis her jest to make old age look like a fool.

The body it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,

There is now a stone where once I had a heart.

But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,

And now and again my battered heart swells.

I remember the joys, I remember the pain,

And I’m loving and living life over again.

I think of the years all to few — done too fast,

And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.

So open your eyes, people, open and see,

Not a crabbit old woman…

Look closer… see ME!

When Daniel Syme concluded his Sermon, the Congregation remained still, silent and frozen in time. Slowly you could feel the collective response opening… the muffled sniffles, the sighs… and a few had to leave the Sanctuary to better compose themselves.

I had a catch in my throat & tears traced a quiet path down my cheek.

Bob Goldburg stirred my intellect, Daniel Syme touched my heart.

And I think that sort of sums up Sermons… of any stripe.

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The Battle of Balaclava, October 25, 1854

Posted on December 23, 2005 by Jim

The Charge of the Light Brigade, the gallantry of the Scots Greys, the stalwart stand of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders… few engagements have captured the imagination of historian, artist and poet alike than the Battle of Balaclava.

But buried beneath the pages of military history and legend of this storied battle lay the following footnotes to sartorial history.

Commander of the British Forces at Balaclava: Lord Raglan.  He sported uniform tunics with a distinctive “drop” seam at the shoulder.  To this very day, this unusual construction is known as a raglan sleeve.

Commander of the Light Brigade: Lord Cardigan.  Handsome and “well turned out” in uniform or in mufti.  His preferred form of attire in the field included a thick wool shawl collared sweater that buttoned down the front and had two lower patch pockets (perfect for storing pipe tobacco, writing material and the like).  The garment would forever be remembered as the cardigan sweater.

Commander of the 93rd Highlanders (Argyll & Sutherland): Sir Colin Campbell.  In the face of the Russian Cavalry charge, he formed his men into The Thin Red Line and uttered these historic words, “There is no retreat from here, men! You must die where you stand!”  He was noted for wearing a long undergarment that had socks attached.  After the military he retired to the life of a country Doctor in rural Denton.  His “signature” underwear?  Lives on as Doctor Denton’s.

Colour Sergeant-Major Grieve of the Scots Greys.  Grieve was awarded the pretigious Victoria Cross for uncommon bravery and heroism in the face of the enemy.  To make it easier for his men and officers to identify him during the heat of battle, he always wore a bright purple paisley shawl, which stood in marked contrast to the traditional scarlet tunic.  This shawl, and subsequently the paisley pattern itself, became known as the grieve.  And in honor, the Scots Greys are the only Regiment to eschew the traditional Regimental Stripe in favour of the Regimental Paisley.

In addition to the above, the knitted woolen hats (that converted to masks) worn by the Don Cossacks became known as a Balacava.

And it should also be noted, not that it has anything to do with clothing, that Greek mercenaries returning home form the Crimea were treated to celebratory pastries of honey in thin layers of baked phyllo dough… “balacava”… which over time would become known as baklava.

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