John Delach

The Giants 2008 Improbable Playoff Season

John Delach

Our flight didn’t leave until 8:15 and it wasn’t even 6:30 by the time we finished dinner so we found our buddies in a bar attached to the restaurant. As we sat down one of them said, “Do you know who those people are sitting over there?”

I followed the direction he indicated but, before I could focus on the two men and two women dining at that table, my son exclaimed, “Wow, that’s Archie Manning.”

I studied the slim man who was just about six feet tall and silently admitted to myself that I wouldn’t have guessed that this was the legendary former quarterback of the New Orleans Saints and the father of Peyton Manning, the quarterback of the Super Bowl champion Indianapolis Colts, and Eli Manning our beleaguered quarterback who had played a smart and effective game against the Bucs earlier today.

As I realized that this was indeed Archie Manning our friend advised, “The other fellow is the oldest brother, Cooper, the older woman is their mother and the blond is Eli’s fiancée.”

Obviously, they came to see Eli play and were returning to their New Orleans home. “I’m surprised they fly by commercial airline.”

After a while, Archie left the family so he could have a beer and watch the football game from the bar. When Cooper joined him, they were so close to our table that I could touch them. Michael said, “Dad the resemblance between Cooper and Eli is amazing.”

I replied, “I’ll give you a dollar if you tell them to please move because they are blocking my view of the game.”

Without missing a beat, my six-foot five son stood and said, “Excuse me gentlemen, but you’re blocking my father’s view and he’d like you to move.”

Then he turned back to me before they could react and loudly continued, “Okay pop, give me the buck.”

I handed him a dollar and he turned back to Archie and Cooper, “Would you both mind autographing this bill?”

They laughed out loud, and we chatted as they obliged his request. Archie was also kind enough to autograph one of the Bucs pennants that I had confiscated. I explained that I stood on it during the game. “I decided to take it with me if the Giants won. It’s like seizing the enemy’s battle flag. I’m taking it back to New York where it will grace my garage with your signature.”

And so it does.

We had aisle seats on the flight home. The good news of flying on a Sunday night is that there aren’t many other airplanes in the air, we left the gate on time, took off without delay and arrived early. One interesting note about the flight back to LaGuardia, Mike was sitting next to a young woman in her Twenties and a man about my age. I had seen them at the pool on Saturday. “Dad,” Mike said, “They won their tickets from the WFAN Radio contest.”

“That’s great.” I answered. Then I added, “I saw you two at the pool, yesterday. I guessed that you are father and daughter, or is this some Ozark situation going on?”

Mike blurted, “Geez, Dad.”

We both arrived home fine. Mike drove his car. I had a local car service meet me. I didn’t remember the driver, but he remembered me. He was happy about the outcome in Tampa and provided me with a running commentary as to why the Giants won and the Bucs lost. I was impressed. He had all his ducks in a row. Still, I could only think; what an awful ride this would have been if the Bucs had won.

The Giants 2008 Improbable Playoff Season

Joe, our host from Big Blue had told us to be outside the hotel, checked out and ready to go by 9:45 a.m. When we woke up on Sunday morning, a low ground fog covered the hotel parking lot,  but the TV weather man promised it would burn off producing a bright and sunny day with temperatures in the high 70s. We first saw blue in the sky once we were on the bus which pulled out a few minutes after ten. The driver took us to a grass parking lot where Joe had arranged a tailgate catered by Sonny’s a Georgia/Florida BBQ chain. Mary Ann and I had eaten at their restaurants several times on car trips to Florida and I’ve always been pleased with their fare. I walked over to Joe and congratulated him on his choice, then added, “Joe, just one thing, the owners are Baptist and they don’t serve beer.”

“I know, I know.” Joe replied. “That’s why I used other sources to supply the beer.”

We discovered how close we were to the airport when two small private airplanes buzzed us on their landings. Joe announced that he had four additional field passes available and set up a contest for a second chance. One of the winners was a nine-year-old kid traveling with his dad. When Mike realized that the boy’s father didn’t win, he told me, “Pop, I’m going to give my pass to his dad. I know how I’d feel if one of my boys had to go on the field without me.”

Damn, I was proud of my son, but all I could say was “good for you.”

The word buzzed around the tailgate about what Mike had done. Everyone took joy in it. Then Joe said, “Oh, what the heck, I can get another pass. Mike, you’re coming on the field, too.”

The field pass group left early. I joined a group of guys heading for Raymond James Stadium. I had been there once before for Super Bowl XXXV. Once again, we were in the upper deck. Last time we were in Row BB. This time we were in Row Y, three rows in front of BB. These seats are a long way from the playing field, high and far back, I later joked with friends that we were so high that when the Florida Air National Guard did their flyover in their A-10 Warthogs, Mike got the pilot closest to us to autograph his program.

Mike arrived just before kickoff; he had much to tell me. “Dad, it was great. I got to see and say hello to several players. I saw Tiki Barber and his family. I hugged Tiki and told him that he’s my hero and I don’t boo him when his photo is shown at Giants Stadium. I asked Tiki’s son, ‘Who are you going to root for, today, your father’s old team or Uncle Rondi, (Tiki’s brother playing for the Bucs)?’ He replied, ‘The Giants,’ but I wasn’t too sure that he meant it.”

“I also met Jonathon Tisch, (Co-owner of the Giants) and told him his father would be proud of this team.”

It was hot by kickoff. To pump up their fans, the Buccaneers had put battle flags in holders in front of every seat. Our section was about 75% Giants fans so many went unclaimed. I took a red flag and a white flag put them under my feet and vowed that I would take them home if the Giants won.

The first quarter was all Bucs and hot. The sun took its toll on me and after the game, Mike asked, “Dad, did you doze off during the first quarter?”

“I sure did, Mike, a couple of times. It wasn’t until the Giants got going that I came alive.”

And so they did. After spotting their nemesis, Jeff Garcia, (the Bucs quarterback) a touchdown at the end of a long drive, the Giants came back with two touchdowns scored by the guest of honor at last night’s cocktail party, Brandon Jacobs. One by land and one by air; he gave Big Blue a 14-7 half time lead becoming the first Giant to do this in a playoff game.

 A fumble recovery on the Bucs opening kickoff led to a Giants field goal and a 17-7 lead. The Giants then ran a lengthy drive that continued into the fourth quarter culminating in a touchdown pass from Eli Manning to Amani Toomer: Giants 24-7.

After the score the Bucs public address announcer shouted to the crowd that the Bucs drive of the day was their first touchdown. Fully revived, I shouted back, “:Yeah, and their second-best drive of the day will be the drive home.”

Garcia did lead them to a second touchdown, but took too much time off the clock in the process. Still, he did get one more chance, but the Giants intercepted a sideline pass and the game was over: Giants 24, Bucs 14.

The walk back to the bus and the mini-tailgate at the bus were superb.  A good number of Bucs fans treated us with warmth and humor, congratulating us and wishing us well. Needless to say, the driver received a substantial tip. The trip to the airport was short and sweet. Mike and I used curb-side check-in.          

Exhausted but feeling very good, my son and I toasted each other, the Giants and all the players who contributed to today’s victory. We chose a seafood restaurant in the airport’s food court across the corridor from a Friday’s that was chock-a-block full of boisterous fans decorated in game jerseys, tee shirts and golf shirts bearing the Giant colors and logos.

Quiet was a nice change from the atmosphere where we’d spent the afternoon, high in the noise and sun of the upper deck of Raymond James Stadium. We ordered our drinks and food from menus and enjoyed a quiet dinner sharing our joy that the Giants were still in the playoffs.

A fellow from our travel group stopped to invite us to join a few fans watching the late game on TV at the far end of the restaurant.

 “Sure, we’ll see you when we finish.”

The Giants 2008 Improbable Playoff Season

Who knew? Turn back the clock to that late December game in Buffalo against the Bills. The Giants were trailing, Eli was struggling and the wind, rain and snow, all conspired to break Big Blue compelling the Giants to look forward to the following weekend and force a victory from the omnipotent Patriots on Saturday night in Giants Stadium. Doubt, yes there was doubt. Once again, it seemed that the situation was in doubt and our season was over.

But amazingly, Big Blue rallied in spite of the weather to defeat Buffalo, guaranteeing a spot in the playoffs. I called my son and said, “Michael, if the opening round is against Tampa, let’s go. But if we’re playing Seattle, that’s too far to go for me.”

He agreed. When the Redskins stumbled making them the last seed, our trip to Tampa was secured regardless of the outcome of our game against the Pats.

The debate in New York on the sports talk shows preceding the Giants-Patriots game centered on the issue of whether or not Coach Tom Coughlin should play his starters in an effort to prevent the Patriots from achieving a perfect regular season record of 16-0. The smart money seemed to say that the Giants should rest as many starters as possible on the theory that the game meant nothing to the Giants and that preparing for the playoff game against Tampa the following week was more important. Coach Coughlin would only say, “I will do what I consider to be in the best interest for the team.”

Coughlin’s plan was to bring all of his weapons to bear and take it to the Patriots. The result was a hell of a game that the Patriots won despite a strong effort by Eli Manning who threw four touchdown passes and the New York defense put up a good fight. But the Patriots controlled the game and won. Curiously, the losing team and their coaching staff walked away with a swagger, a swagger that they could compete with the elite teams in the NFL

Only the two older veterans from Super Bowl XXXV, Amani Toomer and Michael Strahan, had rotten things to say about the game. Other than them, it seemed that the rest of the organization, team, coaches, office staff, and the media itself were energized by this defeat.

The overwhelming attitude in New York was that indeed, we can compete with any team in this league.

Still, the press lingered on Coach Coughlin’s decision to play the game as he believed it should be played. Three starters were hurt against the Patriots, center Shawn O’Hara, cornerback Sam Madison and linebacker Kawika Mitchell. Another controversy for scribes and talking heads with too much time on their hands, but the simple truth was that all three of these players would have played in that game regardless of whom Coughlin sat.

Michael and I signed up with Big Blue Travel and flew to Tampa from LaGuardia on a crowded American Airlines MD-80 after an hour plus delay caused by the need to replace two faulty pressurization switches. The travel group’s representative, Joe met us in Tampa where we boarded a bus that took us to our hotel, the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino.

Located several miles east of Tampa alongside Interstate 4, the hotel was built in an area zoned for light industry, outdoor supply depots for utilities, trucking firms, a large Budweiser distribution facility and several other rag-tag light industry operations. A few strip malls offered day care services, laundries, soul food eateries and bail bondsmen. Sub-standard housing shared the remaining space, mostly small single story dilapidated bungalows surrounded by chain link fences guarded by Pit Bulls and other watch dogs. Mike and I walked this domain on Saturday morning. “Mike, it seems kind of obvious why they built the casino here. It’s close to the interstate and away from anyone with clout who’d object to it.”

We did find a Shell station close to the hotel where we could buy beer and wine for our room. But when Michael brought back a twelve pack, one of the guards who checked his room card before allowing guests onto the elevators told him, “You can only take two beers at a time.”

 “Okay Mike what did she tell you to do with the other ten?”

“Check them with the bell hop. So that’s what I did, but the bellhop was the same guy you tipped for bringing up our bags. He said to me, ‘This is bullshit. They change the rule every day. Go up to your room, get a small carryon bag and put the beer inside it. She can’t check the contents of your bag.”

“That’s what I did. I grabbed a bag, went out into the parking lot, filled it and brought the ten bottles back to our room.”

We had a large room with two queen size beds and a nice big bathroom. Our room was non-smoking, but the lobby was full of smoke most of it coming from the adjoining slot machine casino. A casino of wheel chairs, ‘Mister Mobility’, walkers, canes and other devices. Florida 2008; if you build it, they will come.

I worried that the hotel restaurants would suffer the same fate as we were captive in the hotel since Tampa was a $40 cab ride away. Fortunately, these restaurants were non-smoking.

On Saturday afternoon, we joined the other fans in our group around the pool and the pool bar. The weather was only fair, but brilliant when compared with January in New York. We met Tony from Hoboken and his entourage. Honestly, they looked like they had stepped off of the set of the Sopranos. We were informed that sanitation trucks, produce trucks and construction equipment didn’t move in Hoboken unless Tony said that it was okay.

The Big Blue cocktail party on Saturday night was fair and Mike and I weren’t sorry we ate at the buffet first. Roy White, the former Yankee star, was on hand as was Brandon Jacobs, the Giants primary running back.

Our host, Joe, announced that he had two pre-game field passes to give out. “My son is putting posted-notes up on the wall with the numbers 1 to 60. That’s how many there are of us so each one of you should take one. I’ll announce the two winning numbers.”

Mike and I went over. He took 11 for Phil Simms and I took 14 for Y.A. Tittle. Then we heard Joe say, “No, put the numbers back, my son isn’t finished.”

Dutifully, we put the numbers back, but Mike used his height to paste them high up the wall. When Joe said it was alright to retrieve the numbers, I watched a chap jump as high as he could and grab one of the numbers Mike had parked. Mike grabbed the remaining one, Number 11. “Don’t worry Dad, take this one.”

I looked down and saw a 6. Mike said, “It’s Roy White’s number.”

When Joe called the group to order he said, “The numbers I’ve selected are our two guests’ Number, 6 for Roy White and 27 for Brandon Jacobs.”

“Damn!” I said. “But Mike, you take it, you selected it.” Before he could object, I continued, “It’s far more important that you get on that field tomorrow than me.”

Before we returned to our room, we stopped at the gift shop to buy a disposable camera for Mike to take with him on Sunday morning

I have changed the names of the doctors in my piece.

On Friday, August 22, Mary Ann and I met with Doctor Neal King. to discuss a possible revision of my right hip. I had been put into contact with this orthopedic surgeon by my regular orthopedist, Dr. Frank Pella had explained: “He’s a bit quirky, but he’s one of the best at performing a hip revision surgery.

For those readers who are not familiar with the expression “Hip revision,” it refers to an operation that removes a defective artificial hip replacement and replace it with a new one. In 2012, I had my original right hip replaced. All went well until ten years later when I began to develop pain in that area. Long story short, turns out that my replacement hip had been recalled because it was shedding cobalt and chromium.

The more investigating that I did, the more I became aware that a revision is considerably more complicated than the original hip surgery and the recovery is longer and harder. Still, I remarked to Mary Ann on the very day we drove to Doctor King’s office, “Mary Ann, I am starting to accept that this operation is inevitable.” 

We arrived for our appointment on Marcus Avenue in Lake Success a bit early and were taken to the X-Ray room before we did anything else. I was fourth in line and, when the technician was finished,  I was told to return to the main waiting room  where we waited and waited. Finally, sometime after noon, we were taken to a waiting room where we waited for Doctor King.

Now, after Doc Pella had said Doc King was a bit quirky, I looked him up. Dr. King’s bio included a photo of a large man in a dark suit with a neatly trimmed beard sporting a large, bright, nicely tied bow tie.

Finally, when the door to the examination room opened, it took me a few moments to adjust to the sight of this slovenly man with whispering hair moving in many different directions. Instead of a suit, he wore old, worn, ripped and ill-fitting hospital scrubs. His beard, like his hair, was grey and straggly. At first, I couldn’t believe that this was the same chap I saw in the photo. It was only when I could see his name stitched onto his shirt that I accepted that this was Dr. King.

He was almost all business. He insisted on finding the degree of cobalt and copper that my hip was shedding. Mary Ann said the cobalt was a seven out of a possible 300 and copper was merely a one. After reading this, Doctor King took the chair on the opposite side of the room across from the two of us and addressed me in no uncertain terms.

“I wouldn’t recommend this surgery even if your score for shedding was as high as 40 or maybe even 80. That would be true even if you were a much younger man, but since you are over eighty, I wouldn’t agree to it unless the score was in triple digits! This operation is f**king difficult and it could leave you crippled and unable to walk. Don’t proceed with this surgery.”

This was a startling statement. No other doctor had ever mentioned that an operation may not  be a workable alternative for me and for a surgeon to proclaim this was something I never thought I would hear.

What a relief, what whole new chance to continue living without subjecting my body to life as a cripple. Thanks be to God and thanks be to Doctor King and honest surgeon. I thanked him for being this honest and candid with me. “Doctor King, I have been terribly concerned about submitting myself to this operation and what it could do to my body. Now I have absolutely no reason to challenge you and as far as I’m concerned, the possibility of going forward is gone now and forever.”

We talked about a follow-up in 2026, but I have no intention of going back to him ever again.

One of the first thing I did was to contact a travel agent and reinstate our reservation for a cruise on Norwegian Cruise Lines to New England and Canada beginning on August 31^st.

The cruise went well and Mary Ann and I had a blast and returned home last Sunday.

I’ll deal with future pain should that become an issue and continue to live my life with absolute thanks for this change of fortune.              

For generations upon generations, the Hudson River stood as an absolute barrier between New York City and the rest of the continental United States with the exception of areas to the north and from the north, the route west from Albany to Chicago. Over time railroads that headed north and those that headed east to cities like Boston had tracks that extended into Manhattan. But it wasn’t until 1871 that the first rendition of Grand Central was constructed at the corner of Forty-Second Street and newly built, Vanderbilt Avenue. Originally named Grand Central Depot, it accommodated all of those railroads in one station.

Still, all the other trains from the south and the west stopped at the Hudson River including the multitude of commuter trains that carried daily passengers bound for Manhattan. The steam ferries that crossed over to Manhattan didn’t just carry passengers, they also carried wagons and, later, trucks carrying food, goods and merchandise destined for Manhattan destinations.

The southern most terminal was close to Ellis Island in Communipaw operated by the Central Railroad of New Jersey. It opened in 1864 and also serviced trains operated by the Baltimore and Ohio, Lehigh Valley Railroad and the Reading Railroad with its ferries crossing the Hudson to the Liberty Street Ferry Terminal until 1967.

The ferry terminal was demolished, but the railroad terminal has been renovated into a museum as part of Liberty State Park.

The Pavonia Terminal in Jersey City was operated by the Erie Railroad. It also serviced six other railroads including the New York, Susquehanna and Western Railroad. The Erie ferries ran to Manhattan terminals at Chambers Street and 23^rd Street. Service began in 1861 and ended in 1958 when the Erie merged with the Lackawanna and shifted to the Hoboken Terminal.

The Jersey City terminal lay dormant and abandoned until the 1980s when developers re-discovered the waterfront. In the process, the name Pavonia disappeared and is now called, Exchange Place.

Just to the north of the Pavonia Terminal, the Pennsylvania Railroad (PRR) built an imposing terminal in Jersey City that they also called Exchange Place. The ferry terminal supported five slips and the train stations were covered by a large dome that towered over the tracks. The original terminal opened in 1834 and the PRR acquired the terminal in 1871. The terminal was rebuilt twice, first in 1876 and, again, in 1888 to 1892.

The PRR ferries crossed the Hudson from the terminal to the railroad’s ferry terminal at Courtland Street.

Even though New York’s Pennsylvania’s station opened in 1910, the railroad continued to operate trains into and out of the Exchange Place, Jersey City terminal until 1961. The terminal and the surrounding tracks were demolished in 1963.

Heading north, the next complex was the Weehawken Terminal that opened in 1884. The complex included five ferry slips, sixteen train tracks, car float facilities and extensive yards. The principal users were the New York Central’s (NYC) West Shore Railroad and the New York, Ontario and Western Railway.

Ferry service that operated from the terminal to Cortland Street ended on March 25, 1959 when the Weehawken ended 259 years of continuous ferry service. Train service ceased the same day.

The Hoboken Terminal is the most northern of the ferry terminals, it is also the newest, built in 1911, the only survivor of the five facilities and… “is considered a milestone in American transportation combining rail, ferry subway, streetcar and pedestrian services.”

Granted the light rail and the ferry service are light years away from the original trolleys and steam ferries that served the terminal in olden days. Those trolleys stopped running in 1949 and the ferry service that operated between Hoboken and Cortland Street stopped running in 1959 and between Hoboken and Barclay Street in 1967.

New Jersey Transit operates today’s light rail service and New York Waterways, the passenger ferries. The Erie-Lackawanna Railroad went bankrupt in June of 1972 and a court ordered their commuter operations to be assumed by newly formed ConRail. ConRail disputed the court’s ruling and did nothing to improve service. Finally, the state of New Jersey had enough and on January 1, 1983, NJ Transit took over all commuter lines within the state.

Today, Hoboken terminal serves eight NJ Transit commuter lines and one Metro North railroad line. The terminal has been completely renovated and retains its classic features including the large Lackawanna R.R. sign facing the entrance on the land side, the seven ferry slips (although unused) and the railroad waiting room.

This little used waiting room leads to a large space nearly 500 feet long and 30 feet wide that originally connected the ferry slips to the terminal. The room offers views of New York City extending from the harbor to the George Washington Bridge. Planning is still developing to decide what to do with this unique space. What ever is decided should only enhance this treasure of by-gone American railroading when trains were the life-blood of our nation.

“On the Outside Looking In” will not publish next week but will return on September 9.                 

I have before me two remarkably clear photographs taken during the first year that I had a season ticket to the New York Football Giants. They were both shot from the closed end of Yankee Stadium looking out toward the outfield bleachers on October 21, 1962 when the Giants hosted the Detroit Lions. 

Since the New York Yankees, as expected, made it to the World Series where they beat the San Francisco Giants, this was only the second home game of the 1962 season. The Giants opened on the road losing to the Cleveland Browns and beating the Eagles, Steelers and Cardinals before their first game in Yankee Stadium. That Sunday they lost their home opener to the Pittsburgh Steelers, 20-17. The following Sunday, the Lions came into this game with a record of 4 and 1 having beaten the Steelers, 49ers, Colts and Rams but having lost to their rival Green Bay Packers, 9-7.

It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, a perfect day for football. The game’s starting time of 2:05 pm was in deference to the New York’s blue laws prohibiting the sale of alcohol including beer before 1 pm on Sundays. This allowed Harry M Stevens, the stadium’s concessionaire, an hour and change lead time prior to kickoff for selling his frothy beverages to the sell-out crowd.

(This was near the end of individual teams deciding on their own starting time for games. The League pressured the Giants to convert to 1:00 starting times. Both the team and the league convinced the New York State to change the time allowing the sale of alcohol to noon.)

Both photos feature wonderful shots of the bleachers’ crowds basking in the mild October weather. It is mostly male and white as it would be today but it reflects the dress standards of the time. While a good number are in shirtsleeves, the men wear what we would call today, business shirts. Others have on jackets, some wear ties and some, hats too. Not baseball caps, coverings that we used to call fedoras.

The two photographs are remarkably clear as they were shot using Kodachrome film. One shows people sitting on the field. The band in maroon uniforms sits behind the end zone in left field. In the one showing the Coca-Cola sign, fans sit on folding chairs in front of the monuments in center field. This was where the Giants arranged for people in wheelchairs to watch the game and most of the people in folding chairs were their companions. Other people watch from the Jerome Avenue elevated station above that same Coca-Cola sign. This prized perch was by invitation exclusively on a “who you knew” basis from some unknown Transit supervisor. Eventually other fans would find their way to the rooftops of the buildings rising above and behind the train station.

The first photograph shows an ordinary pass play. Y.A. Tittle (14), the Giants quarterback is setting up to throw what could be a screen pass to Joe Morrison (40) who is moving to his left. Ahead of Morrison, tackle, Rosey Brown (79) zones in on the Lions outside linebacker, Wayne Walker (55). Behind them, middle linebacker, Joe Schmidt (56) is tracking Morrison but tackle, Roger Brown (76) seems to be holding back. Defensive end, Sam Williams (88) is charging Tittle unimpeded up the middle having beaten the block by Giants guard, Darrell Dess (62) while halfback, Phil King (24) and tackle, Jack Stroud (66) double-team an unidentified player, probably Alex Karras (71). Giants tight end, Joe Walton (80) is peeling off to the right on his pass route under the watchful eye of corner back, Dick Lebeau (44) while outside linebacker, Carl Brettschneider (57) makes his rush from the Tittle’s blind side having beaten Giants center, Greg Larson (53).

In the second photograph, Y.A. Tittle has taken the snap from center, turned and is just pitching the ball back toward Phil King who has begun moving forward. Ahead, full back, Alex Webster (29), Greg Larson and Darrell Dess, (both partially obscured) also move forward to block for King. So does Rosey Brown cutting toward the center from his left tackle position. Off to the left, Giants end, Aaron Thomas (88) sprints away from the play in an effort to freeze Lions safety, Yale Larry (28). The defensive end, Sam Williams (88) reacts to the play by charging in from the left while Joe Schmidt and Darris McCord (78) have yet to react.

Two marvelous photographs showing two ordinary plays taken on a sunny afternoon at the big ballpark in The Bronx that the Giants won 17-14 giving the Lions their second defeat of the season.

Despite gaining revenge on the Packers later in the season on Thanksgiving by smothering them 26-14, that was the only loss Green Bay would endure in 1962 finishing 13-1. The Lions finished second in the West with an 11-3 record losing the last game of the season in Chicago, 3-0.

The Giants didn’t lose again winning the NFL Eastern Division with a record of 12-2, but lost to the Packers in the NFL Championship Game with the score of 16-10 in a frigid and wind-swept Yankee Stadium on December 30^th. 

(On The Outside Looking In will not publish next week, but will return on August 27.) 

This piece was Ria Meade’s favorite of all the stories I read in class. I re-issue it in her honor.

“Call me Buster.”

 I am a seven-year-old mixed breed part Chow / part Border Collie with brown and black hair. I have pointy ears that I can turn 180 degrees that would make me a lousy poker player as how I set my ears gives away my mood. Let me tell you about my first trip to Florida.

Before we left, I had my hair cut. This was not my idea as January was cold and wet. When they did this to me. I thought that Mary Ann and John, the people I live with, were trying to kill me, but the next day we set out in their truck on a road trip that would take us to a special place, called Florida, where the weather is nice and warm in January.

I didn’t always live with them. A girl named Jodie, who I adored, adopted me from the North Shore Animal’s League’s shelter. She took me home to Connecticut. Later, she married their son, Michael. It was not a bad life until they had this kid. Didn’t like him, but food became more plentiful once he arrived. Then he became mobile and interested in me. A couple of bites later, it was goodbye Fairfield, and hello Port Washington, Long Island.

My life in this new home would have been much better if they didn’t already have Maggie living with them too. She arrived a year before I did, in 1999, another reject.

 She was thrown out of her home because she was a crazy ten-month-old Golden Retriever. Now five, she’s still nuts, and she’s a pain in my ass. Stupid Golden Retrievers think they are so special and this one thinks she is “The Supreme Being.” The fools I live with, especially, John, treat her that way.

You don’t believe me? She uses toys as props, rubber footballs, a rubber ring, a rope and especially tennis balls. She obsesses over her toys and God forbid, I borrow one, the bitch takes it away. Now toys are not a big deal for me, but fair is fair.

She also hogs the window in the back seat. She stands there waiting for them to open it, so she can put her stupid head out. And when they do, God forbid, I go over to it. She growls and snarls at me. It can get so bad on this trip that I said the hell with it and found a spot in the back of the truck. Mary Ann was nice enough to find a mat for me to lie on while “her majesty” had the entire soft seat to herself.

Spending eight hours in a truck every day for three days is not as bad as you think. It isn’t as though I had other things to do and we stopped often enough to stretch and relieve ourselves. Sleeping in those little boxy rooms was another matter altogether. There are too many strangers, each one a potential assassin. I was ready to stay up all night and let them know I was on alert, but John stupidly closed the curtains.

When we arrived at the house in Florida, I had to learn a few things the hard way. Glass sliding doors are not always open and what happens when I walk across the plastic cover on top of the swimming pool. My only pleasure was watching her majesty do the same thing.

Each morning we hopped in the truck for a short ride to the beach. As soon as we began to move, Maggie began to act up. Her ears flailed back making her look like a bolting horse. Her eyes blinked rapidly as her tongue moved in and out of her mouth at the same speed. She whimpered and cried. When she saw the water, the Loony Tune’s barking and crying became so high-pitched that it went right through me. It was all I could do not to bite her so she’d shut up. This cacophony ended only after John let her out of the truck. And this happened every morning!

The beach was great. Not many people, a few new dogs to meet and greet. Most of the time we ran free and I had a grand time cataloging new and different smells, rolling on dead creatures and playing in the surf. On the other hand, “nutsy Fagin” had to have something to chase and carry in her big mouth. Each morning, John found a different coconut that he would throw into the water. Maggie mindlessly chased them.

Her nuttiness gave me the idea that if I chased them too, that might drive her off the deep end. After I grabbed the coconut first a couple of times, she freaked out and started ripping it out of my mouth. After that I decided to back off and let her have it.

 John threw the coconut like a football, but its weight and the wind made some throws fall short. It was my fondest hope that sooner or later one would hit her on the head and kill her. (Imagine John having to call his kids to tell them what happened.)

Don’t get in an uproar, it didn’t happen. Actually, it was an excellent vacation with no mishaps after the first day. Neither of us went swimming in the bayou behind the house because the bottom was too muddy, and our instincts sensed danger. Good thing too because we found out alligators liked to swim there.

 We also avoided fleas and I had to smile because last year Maggie acquired fleas on the trip I missed.

So, you can put me down to recommending Florida as a good place to go to leave winter behind, but it would be much better to go there as an Only Dog.

February 2016, Reissued July 2025

Late last year, I found myself driving home from Sunset Park, Brooklyn on a mild Sunday afternoon. The unseasonable weather stirred local residents of Bay Ridge to abandon TV images of NFL football games in favor of enjoying an afternoon of walking, jogging, bicycling or just relaxing on their water front park’s promenade overlooking Gravesend Bay, the Narrows and the Verrazzano Bridge. Driving on the Belt Parkway, I took in the scene then caught sight of the old Parachute Jump in the distance towering over Coney Island. I began to think about this now decommissioned landmark as the Belt Parkway steered me closer to this distinctive tower.

The Parachute Jump was designed to be the centerpiece of the amusement area at the 1939-1940 New York’s World Fair. Conceived by a retired navy commander, James H. Strong, he received a concession from the Fair Committee to build, assemble and operate the tower. The 1939 Fair guidebook described the ride:

Eleven gaily-colored parachutes operated from the top of a 250-foot tower enable visitors to experience all the thrills of “bailing out” without the hazard or discomfort.

Each parachute has a double seat suspended from it. When two passengers have taken their place beneath the chute, a cable pulls it to the summit of the tower. An automatic release starts the drop, and the passengers float gently to the ground. Vertical guide wires prevent swaying, a metal ring keeps the ‘chute open at all times, and shock-absorbers eliminate the impact of the landing. One of the most spectacular features of the

Amusement Area, this is also a type of parachute jump similar to that which armies of the world use in the early stages of actual parachute jumping.

Admission was 40 cents for adults and a quarter for children and the drop down took between 10 and 20 seconds. It was the delight of the fair and my mother and father. Then an engaged couple, they took delight in riding this phenomenon multiple times. Growing up, mom would regale me with stories about the fair and especially tales of this ride that both frightened and excited me. After the fair ended, the Tilyou family, who owned Steeplechase Amusement Park purchased the structure and re-assembled it at the  boardwalk entrance to their Coney Island grounds christening it: Brooklyn’s Eiffel Tower.

By the mid-1950s I began to travel to Coney Island with other local neighborhood kids. We’d venture by subway to swim at the beach or to explore the amusement areas behind the boardwalk. We rode the three roller coasters, the famous and still operational, Cyclone, the Thunderbolt and Tornado. We rode the Bob-Sled, a short-thrill ride that performed just as its name implied, the Wonder Wheel, a gigantic Ferris wheel and a peculiar ride called the Virginia Reel. The Reel featured round cars where about six people sat in a circle facing each other. The car rode a chain to the top of a slope, then spun down a zigzag incline bruising as many parts of bodies as possible.

We visited Steeplechase Park but never got up enough nerve or the price of 75 cents to ride the Parachute Jump. Back then 75 cents was an exorbitant price especially when the Cyclone only cost a quarter. But in my head, I thought, “Someday, I’m going to do it.”

Then one windy day, I looked up to see a couple trapped aloft beneath a parachute entangled in the wires. All they could do was sit there and wait until a hook and ladder arrived and the firemen could raise the main extension ladder high enough to rescue them. I was mesmerized by this spectacle and I don’t know what scared me more; watching them being trapped or their 200 feet climb down the ladder!  

After experiencing the horror of that evacuation, it was beyond my nerve to consider a ride on the jump ever again.

Ironically, Steeplechase and its Parachute Jump closed in 1964, the same year that the successor to the 1939 World’s Fair opened in Flushing Meadows Park. A popular swell of enthusiasm wanted to bring the jump back to the new fair, but Robert Moses, the Tsar of the 1964-1965 Fair, wanted no part of it or an amusement zone.

To this day it remains derelict yet a stately, well-maintained and freshly painted landmark; Brooklyn’s Eiffel Tower.

September 2013, Revised July 2025

Somewhere into the 90-minute guided tour through the decommissioned Congressional bunker hidden under the Greenbrier Hotel, it struck me: “This facility is awful. What a crude place this is. I would have thought the geniuses who designed it would have been more thoughtful!”

It may have been the cramped mini-dormitories where senators, congressmen and congresswomen were expected to sleep on steel springs supporting thin mattresses set into wooden frame bunk beds; 12 to 24 people per room. The inadequate, rudimentary toilets and bathrooms, or the total lack of privacy.

It may have been the minuscule cafeteria appointed in cheap chrome framed Formica tables and stiff plastic chairs circa 1957. It may have been the cafeteria floor with its starkly painted checker board pattern that caused headaches, nausea and a general feeling of anxiety and discomfort. The furniture and the floor were deliberately designed to keep the “inmates” moving and discourage them from lingering there too long. Why? Because the cafeteria was too small to feed most of Congress at any one time.

Or perhaps the two private bedrooms set aside for the Speaker of the House and the President Pro Tempore of the Senate; rooms so small they would be considered cruel if designed for an American prison.

It may have been when the guide explained the members of Congress were to be forced into the bunker when Armageddon was declared whether or not they wished to go there. Or it may also have been when the guide explained that family members would be forcefully separated from their congressional spouses, fathers or mothers. The bunker was for Congress only and very few of their staff. Families could stay in the hotel itself which bodes the image of the inmates locked away in the bunker behind blast proof doors making decisions of the greatest importance while thinking about their families directly above them dying from radiation poisoning.

The bunker was designed during the 1950s when many of the cabins on passenger vessels didn’t have private bathrooms and may have been considered within the standard of acceptable accommodations even for VIPs. I wonder just how long it took to start the avalanche of complaints once select members of Congress began to visit the bunker once  it opened in 1962. The bunker’s existence was officially revealed in 1992 when it was decommissioned and opened to the public. However, we can safely speculate that a far more opulent successor opened some time prior to 1992.

Rest assured that our distinguished legislators, be they Democrats or Republicans, never abandoned the priority of saving themselves from a nuclear winter; they just wished to do it in style. One day circumstances will change again and this new and improved Congressional shelter will also be revealed. Until then, we can only take stock of what might have been had the Big Red Bear unleashed its arsenal as we all feared while this was their place of refuge.

How would our esteemed Congress survive this ordeal for as long as the six-months they could have remained in the Greenbrier bunker and what would they be like when they emerged? We can only wonder.

This all came roaring back on Friday, July 11, 2025 by way of The New York Times obituary of Paul Bugas, the former director of the bunker from 1971 until its decommissioning in 1992. Unspoken in the obituary, but nevertheless obvious between the lines, Mr. Bugas treated his position with the care and respect it deserved for the degree of responsibility his position expected of from him.

“For more than 20 years, Mr. Bugas had shown up to work at the Greenbrier, along with 12 to 15 other government employees, wearing clothing that helped them blend in with other resort employees. There was communication equipment that had to be maintained; a six-month supply of food that had to be replenished; and filters designed to remove nuclear, biological and chemical contaminants that had to be kept updated. Secrecy was paramount.

”Mr. Bugas served in military intelligence which gave him the necessary security clearance to become director of the Greenbrier bunker, as well as the training to keep a secret. When the bunker was de-classified, Mr. Bugas helped give guided tours. Having the opportunity to explain the work he had long had to conceal may have been cathartic, his son Paul said in an interview.

“Being the consummate Army man, his orders were to preserve an element of democracy if the big one fell,’ Paul said. “ An that’s exactly what he did.”

So, dear reader, who are you going to believe, my fanciful ramblings or that the way Bugas saw it was the way it really was?

“On the Outside Looking In will not publish next week. I hope to resume on July 30, if possible. Stay tuned.”   

My friend, Geoff Jones, recently sent me a piece from The Wall Street Journal about an entrepreneur by the name of Blake Scholl and his plan to restore commercial Supersonic flight with a new jet that his company, Boom, is developing. His plan is to fly 75 passengers on his new Supersonic Transport (SST) at the same cost as a regular Business Class seat or $1,700 one way.

This would price would be favorable to the listed $5,000 cost to fly the Concorde that was retired in 2003. 

Actually, that listed price for the Concorde was mostly a myth and the part I liked best in the WSJ piece was this paragraph:

“Delta CEO Ed Bastian is among Boom’s doubters, calling the jet ‘a very, very expensive asset’ for the roughly 75 travelers it is expected to carry – a fraction of a typical wide-body jet. He said he remembers the Concorde as a cool experience, but one he partook only through free upgrades, never with his own money. He has no plans to buy Overture Jets. ‘I wish them well’, he said.”

I flew BA with enough frequency during the 1980s and 90s to learn how to fly the Concorde for free. I flew on the Fast Plane 12 times, nine going to London and three returning back home.

I only had Marsh pay one time and that cost less than $2,000.

I had gone to London to meet with the leading Lloyd’s Underwriter to settle outstanding wording issues in Exxon’s GCE (Global Corporate Excess), their master insurance policy.

I had our London office set me up in one of their apartments in the Carlton Tower Hotel where we would meet the following morning. (Funny, all these years later, I choose not to remember that man’s name so I’ll call him, Mister X.)

Andrew Dowlen, a London colleague and a good friend, turned up first carrying that day’s Times. The lead business story read: “MR. X Rejects the Exxon Valdez Claim.”  

Seriously upset by this horrible news, I made a quick decision which I related to Mr. X as soon as he arrived: “Our only choice, Mr. X, is to completely ignore this grave decision. That is something we will have to deal with for the foreseeable future. But, we are here today to settle a long list of policy issues in dispute that must be resolved.

He agreed and we accomplished our stated goal. We even created a channel to settle about nine items that we couldn’t come to terms with that day.

We even took a time-out to enjoy a nice lunch I had ordered from the hotel’s room service.

That night, I had dinner with Leo Whalen, my colleague and friend, then living in London.

I drank a lot before going back to the Carlton Tower. 

The next morning, I woke up early and angrier than I have ever been in my entire life. All I could feel was hatred for Mr. X and everything involving insurance. Nothing could calm me. I was pissed.

My only recourse was to shave, shit and shower, check out and head for Heathrow Airport. 

On the way, I instructed the taxi driver to take me to British Airways’ Terminal 3. Carry-on bag in hand, I went directly to BA’s ticketing desk for Concorde, pushed my existing ticket and my company’s AMEX card on the counter, and commanded the clerk, “Put me on Concorde!’

She took a look at the expression on my face and all she said was, “Yes, sir.”

As she handed me my stuff, credit receipt, ticket, boarding pass and whatever else, she took a chance to wish me well.

I don’t recall what she said, but I replied, “I bought a ticket on Concorde because I cannot get out of this country fast enough!

Other than that, I don’t remember much about the flight home. I hope I slept; as any more alcohol would only worsen my already shitty mood.

Apparently, I did sleep and abstain from further imbibing as Mary Ann and I are still together so I must have returned to our home in a civilized condition.

(On the Outside Looking In will not print on July 2 or 9 and will return on July 16.)