John Delach

Recently, I wrote about the lyrics near the beginning of Billy Joel’s Piano Man, “Son, won’t you play me a memory…”  as being my favorite from his prolific mind. Another is from the less popular Ballad of Billy the Kid,  near the end of the song:

Well, one cold day a posse captured Billy,

And a judge said, “String him up for what he did.”

And the cowboys and their kin

Like a sea came pouring in,

To watch the hanging of Billy the Kid.

Kelly Willis really grabbed me with the first verse of her title song , Talk Like That:

Talk like that

Well, I don’t know where you’re from

But, oh how it takes me back

When you talk some

Well, I can hear my father

And his Oklahoma drawl

I hear my grandmother

I can hear them all

Paul Simon, another genius wordsmith has given us so many. I begin with Verses 5 and 6 from The Boxer 

And I’m laying out my winter clothes and

Wishing I was gone

Where the New York winters aren’t bleeding me

Leading me

Going home

In the clearing stands a boxer

And a fighter by his trade

And he carries the reminders

Of every glove that laid him down

Or cut him till he cried out in anger and his shame

“I am leaving, I am leaving”, but the fighter still remains

Whenever I play a collection of Paul Simon’s songs, I end up with America:

Cathy, I’m lost, I said though I knew she was sleeping

I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why

Countin’ the cars on the New Jersey turnpike

They’ve all come to look for America, all come to look for America.

Depression has its place in music and Dorey Previn addresses that in Lady with the Braid:

Would you like to stay till sunrise

It’s completely your decision

It’s just that the night cut through me like a knife

Would you care to stay awhile

And save my life?

I don’t what made me say that

I’ve got this funny sense of humor

You know I could not be downhearted if I tried

It’s just that going home is such a ride

Going home is such a ride

Going home is such a ride

Isn’t going home a low and lonely ride?

This brings me to my last song, one written and sung by a Canadian by the name of Lyn Miles accompanied only by a single guitarist. Its name is self-evident: Loneliness:

Loneliness is an envelope that you can seal yourself into

And send out to a stranger in a place across the sea

Loneliness is a tired old friend

Who carries your baggage to airports and train station for free

Loneliness wears a suit and tie to big city streets

And makes you cry at parties filled with people that you know

Loneliness will take you to the shoreline

On a fogey day to find an undertow

It is the hurt that hurt’s the deepest

It is the ache that you can’t cure

It is the desperation of a late-night call

It is the lover in the shadow

It is the one who got away

It is the cry of the southbound bird in the fall

(On the Outside Looking In will not publish next week and will return on August 7. )

The two puppies were eight weeks old when they arrived at our house on a Wednesday, November 11, 2010. That day also happened to be Veteran’s Day and Mary Ann’s and my forty-third wedding anniversary. Mary Ann had engineered the purchase through a breeders’ network based in Florida who acted as our agent with the breeder. They were sent to us by truck via a pet-oriented shipping company with the unlikely name, PetEx Express. The driver and his helper found us through a complicated series of events, and here they were, two lively and healthy puppies being handed over to Mary Ann and Jodie.

Both gals lifted the pups into the air to determine their sexes. We were taking delivery of the male while the female was Jodie’s birthday gift. Once the right sexes was determined, the grand kids moved in as part of this exciting morning. Both families had already named them, Max and Ruby after the story-book and cartoon rabbit brother and sister. Ruby went off to Fairfield, CT with three kids, ages 11, 9 and 5 and their sister Golden Retriever, Barely, seven-years old. Max stayed in Port Washington with two sexagenarians.

Separating the puppies reminded me of an old Budweiser commercial where two Dalmatian pups arrive and the pick goes to a fire house. The lucky pup sticks out his tongue at his sibling as they depart not knowing that it is heading for Bud’s Clydesdale’s wagon. At the end of the commercial they pass on a road, the shunned pup sitting on the wagon seat with the teamster driving the Clydesdales. The chosen pup sits in the open cab of a fire engine. The shunned pup retunes the gesture and sticks out its tongue at its sibling.

Max became our sixth Golden Retriever. The first was Harry, then came Fred, Bubba, Jumbo and Maggie. Harry was a grand dog. Knowing what I now know about Max, his disposition, attitude, temperament, etc. Harry would have been a great name for this Missouri bred dog. Failing that, I would have pushed for Truman because he is a “show me dog.”

Max was our first pup in a long time. We acquired Maggie when she was ten-months old and a certifiable Looney Tune. Anyone who knows us and knew Maggie will certify that she was f—ing nuts.

Folks we know looked at Mary Ann and me in a way that clearly showed their thoughts: “The two of you are either dumb or crazy.” I too had real doubts about what we had done. The biting, destruction, housebreaking, sleepless nights and other unpleasant happenings and events: WHAT HAD WE DONE!

Admittedly, we had some bad moments, but this new pup was special. He gave us a pass on several fundamental problems. He never cried through the night and he was house broken when he arrived. Max remained happy in his crate and would return to is for naps during the day. In the morning, once we opened it, he usually reacted by looking at us, stretched, got up, stretched again and then began his day.

Max was clean even for Goldens who by nature house break themselves quickly. His only early accidents happened when he was excited and these stopped after a few months. Max also proved to be very trainable. He cooperated for love and he would do almost anything for food.

Biting, however lasted more than a year. Never vicious, he just had the need to use those teeth. Unfortunately, this meant that play sessions deteriorated into bloody sessions, especially for Mary Ann whose thin-skinned arms and hands soon made her look like the victim of a series of knife fights. Mary Ann’s ultimate defense was to cut the toes off of athletic socks and fashion them into shields to minimize the damage to her skin.

Max grew rapidly, almost before our eyes and quickly became known in our development as the dog who proudly carried sticks around in his mouth the size of small trees. A fine-looking dog, one gal remarked to me one day, “Wow, that is a good-looking dog. Why he’s the Robert Redford of Golden Retrievers.

Max retained a terrible flaw as a young dog, he considered children to be play toys, especially those dressed in hoodie sweat shirts. As all of my five grandchildren, each one suffered the same dubious experience of Max grabbing the hood on their sweat shirt, knocking them down and being dragged on their backs along the ground. This finally stopped, but stealing never did. Max stole anything he could get his mouth on, clothes, shoes, towels, throw rugs mats and pillows. He would even unmake beds so he could get to the pillows. He considered  stealing to be retrieving and he would proudly parade his trophy with his plume tail high in the air.

We lost Max when he was twelve, but he was not our last dog. We were done with raising puppies and our last two were adults that we rescued.   

In my time as a frequent business flier, roughly between 1975 and 1998 I flew in more 727s than any other airplane and until 1991 more times on Eastern Airlines than any other carrier. Most of these flights were domestic to other locations from Boston to Alabama. The major exceptions to this rule were flights to Houston and Dallas to visit Reynolds Metals and Exxon. But why Eastern and not Delta?

That decision came early thanks to a Northeast Petroleum, a small oil company based in Boston. The Suez Canal was blocked by ships sunk there as a result of the 1973 war between Egypt and Israel. Without the canal, tanker charter rates exploded leading Northeast to purchase a group of old tankers. I do remember there being at least three named the Caribbean Voyager, Mediterranean Voyager and Coral Voyager. Marsh & McLennan was appointed broker and I was assigned to their account. What was the easiest way to fly to Boston from New York?

The Boston Shuttle. And who operated the shuttle? Eastern Airlines. That was that, my Eastern days began and so did flying their 727s assigned to this run. I soon solidified this relationship by joining their airport club that they called The Ionosphere Club.

Unfortunately, Northeast’s exercise in owning these tankers ended badly and not one of these ships completed a voyage. But as this client disappeared into the night, I was assigned to Reynolds based in Richmond VA and Corpus Christi, TX and Puerto Rican Shipping Authority (PRMSA) based in San Juan, PR. Waterman Shipping Co. based in Mobile, AL joined my assignments. All of these places were served by Eastern Airlines.

My status grew materially when Eastern established the first frequent traveler program. They called it the Executive Travel Club and membership was by invitation only. In fact, I only discovered the club when a colleague showed me a copy of the form he had received to apply for membership. With his permission, I made a Xerox copy of it and, as if by magic, I was approved. A credit card sized plastic card arrived with my name and account number. Together with a list of privileges.

Chief among them were upgrades to first class when available. This was near the end of airline regulation when the FAA still kept control of airlines’ operations and few flights were full. When armed with my membership in the Ionosphere Club, it almost guaranteed upgrades.

One of my most bizarre experiences happened on my flight from JFK to West Palm Beach to attend our annual Managing Directors Meeting then being held in the Breaker’s Hotel. Armed with The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, I made my way to the empty Lockheed 1011 widebody jet for my trip south. Another chap boarded a bit late and in a hurry. I could see from the paperwork he had with him that he too was headed for the same meeting, he was French and he probably had flown to JFK 0n that morning’s Air France Concorde.

I introduced myself and asked him if  he had seen that morning’s  NYT  or WSJ?

“No, no, I have not seen them yet.” 

I handed both newspapers to him. Both contained headlines and stories that Marsh & McLennan had been the victim of a bond scandal and had lost a considerable amount of money. It was obvious that the value of our stock would take a large hit. He looked me in the eye, but all he could say was “Sacre’ bleu, Sacre’ bleu, Sacre bleu, etc.

Turned out he was Raymond Jutheau, one of the principles of our French affiliate. Unfortunately, I certainly ruined his day.

Deregulation ruined a number of traditional airlines like Eastern, Pan American and TWA while others were merged out of existence. New start-ups replaced them and they two are now attempting to merge.

Eastern’s was particularly ugly. By the late 1980’s most business flyers deserted this carrier and  broke and busted, Eastern was liquidated in 1991.

Despite its demise, I still carry their luggage tag on my computer bag that produces the occasional odd look or a smile.       

In my time as a frequent business flier, roughly between 1975 and 1998 I flew in more 727s than any other airplane and until 1991 more times on Eastern Airlines than any other carrier. Most of these flights were domestic to other locations from Boston to Alabama. The major exceptions to this rule were flights to Houston and Dallas to visit Reynolds Metals and Exxon. But why Eastern and not Delta?

That decision came early thanks to a Northeast Petroleum, a small oil company based in Boston. The Suez Canal was blocked by ships sunk there as a result of the 1973 war between Egypt and Israel. Without the canal, tanker charter rates exploded leading Northeast to purchase a group of old tankers. I do remember there being at least three named the Caribbean Voyager, Mediterranean Voyager and Coral Voyager. Marsh & McLennan was appointed broker and I was assigned to their account. What was the easiest way to fly to Boston from New York?

The Boston Shuttle. And who operated the shuttle? Eastern Airlines. That was that, my Eastern days began and so did flying their 727s assigned to this run. I soon solidified this relationship by joining their airport club that they called The Ionosphere Club.

Unfortunately, Northeast’s exercise in owning these tankers ended badly and not one of these ships completed a voyage. But as this client disappeared into the night, I was assigned to Reynolds based in Richmond VA and Corpus Christi, TX and Puerto Rican Shipping Authority (PRMSA) based in San Juan, PR. Waterman Shipping Co. based in Mobile, AL joined my assignments. All of these places were served by Eastern Airlines.

My status grew materially when Eastern established the first frequent traveler program. They called it the Executive Travel Club and membership was by invitation only. In fact, I only discovered the club when a colleague showed me a copy of the form he had received to apply for membership. With his permission, I made a Xerox copy of it and, as if by magic, I was approved. A credit card sized plastic card arrived with my name and account number. Together with a list of privileges.

Chief among them were upgrades to first class when available. This was near the end of airline regulation when the FAA still kept control of airlines’ operations and few flights were full. When armed with my membership in the Ionosphere Club, it almost guaranteed upgrades.

One of my most bizarre experiences happened on my flight from JFK to West Palm Beach to attend our annual Managing Directors Meeting then being held in the Breaker’s Hotel. Armed with The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal, I made my way to the empty Lockheed 1011 widebody jet for my trip south. Another chap boarded a bit late and in a hurry. I could see from the paperwork he had with him that he too was headed for the same meeting, he was French and he probably had flown to JFK 0n that morning’s Air France Concorde.

I introduced myself and asked him if  he had seen that morning’s  NYT  or WSJ?

“No, no, I have not seen them yet.” 

I handed both newspapers to him. Both contained headlines and stories that Marsh & McLennan had been the victim of a bond scandal and had lost a considerable amount of money. It was obvious that the value of our stock would take a large hit. He looked me in the eye, but all he could say was “Sacre’ bleu, Sacre’ bleu, Sacre bleu, etc.

Turned out he was Raymond Jutheau, one of the principles of our French affiliate. Unfortunately, I certainly ruined his day.

Deregulation ruined a number of traditional airlines like Eastern, Pan American and TWA while others were merged out of existence. New start-ups replaced them and they two are now attempting to merge.

Eastern’s was particularly ugly. By the late 1980’s most business flyers deserted this carrier and  broke and busted, Eastern was liquidated in 1991.

Despite its demise, I still carry their luggage tag on my computer bag that produces the occasional odd look or a smile.