John Delach

Author’s note: Between 2011 when I published my last book, “The Big Orange Dog and Other Stories,” and October 13, 2016, when “On the Outside Looking In,” first appeared, I wrote several pieces that never saw the light of day. I would like to share a number of these with you, drear reader in the coming months updated and edited as needed.  This is the first.

Before the internet ruined news in print, The New York Times could rightly proclaim being “The Paper of Record” that carried: All the News That’s Fit to Print.

I was a connoisseur of the Saturday Edition, the slimmest of all their daily newspapers. Not only easy to navigate, but Saturday’s paper tended to be the Gray Lady’s back water; a venue for the odd or offbeat story deemed not significant enough for weekdays or (God forbid) The Sunday New York Times.

Saturday mornings were glorious. Sitting at the kitchen table, hot coffee at the ready, I scanned the paper with an eagle eyes searching for eddies hiding the curious or obscure. One morning in December of 2009, my quest was rewarded when I spotted a story under the category, “Religious Journal” that appeared haphazardly; a gem authored by Eric J. Stern.

I first thought Mr. Stern’s piece concerned the circumstances that led to the only three rabbis residing in Montana to participate in the 2008 annual lighting of the menorah in the state capitol building in Helena.

But the clever Mr. Stern hinted that there was more to the story when he dropped a seemingly minor aside when he noted that a police officer with a bomb sniffing German Shepard was on duty during the service.

Officer John Frosket, the K-9 handler, lingered after the service concluded so he could have a word with one of the rabbis. Stern implied that the officer may have been overly cautious because of the rarity of such an “exotic visitor.” (The rabbi, not the K9.)

Ah, this suggestion was just a dead end in Stern’s shaggy dog story that he stretched for several additional paragraphs before finally revealing the true nature of his piece until he finally explained who Officer Frosket was and that his K-9 was named Miky (pronounced Mikey.)

The Helena police force had a limited budget when they decided to acquire a bomb sniffing guard dog. “Rather than spend the standard $20,000 on a bomb dog, the Helena Police Department shopped around and discovered that they could import a surplus bomb dog from the Israeli forces for the price of the flight from Israel to Helena.”

Miky arrived in good order, but with one little problem, he only understood commands spoken in Hebrew!

Officer Frosket received his new dog and a list of Hebrew commands that he neither understood nor could pronounce. He was confronted by the need to say commands like:” stay” (hi’ sha’ er), “search” (ch’press), or even “good doggy” (kelev tov).

Try as he might, Frosket couldn’t break through to Miky so he had turned to Rabbi, Chaim Bruk in desperation after the lighting was completed.

Picture Rabbi Bruk and Miky listening to Officer Frosket explain his dilemma and frustration and replying in unison: “AH HA!

Rabbi Bruk came through. He worked with Frosket and Miky going so far as to help the officer to make the “haah” or ch sound. Through his efforts, Frosket was able to break the language code so he could communicate with his dog.

As for Miky “(He) has become a new star on the police force.”  

In my youth, I discovered the Zippo lighter. I started smoking in high school experimenting with different brands mostly filtered cigarettes, Kent, Parliament, Tarrytown, L&M and Winston. Winston almost ended this habit when I became violently ill after smoking several of their cancer sticks. Too bad, I just didn’t quit smoking entirely and not just Winston, but old nicotine already had me hooked, I was just 17 and the desire to quit wouldn’t come for almost another 30-years.

In time Marlboro became my brand of record and the Zippo lighter became an intricate part of my smoking paraphernalia. So much so that many years later when I wrote my coming-of-age story, “Through the Heartland,” my Zippo became an important prop:

Ten hours out of Chicago, the sun outraces the train as it sets across the flat, western horizon. Nighttime has come to the Great Plains and Kansas speeds by under the brilliance of countless stars shining across a clear, prairie July sky. Blackened fields, silhouetted by a three-quarter moon, stretch out to meet the stars at the horizon.

He sits alone in the dome car of a westbound Santa Fe Chief, staggered by the scenery unable to sleep. At 17 it is all too much, too grand to miss. Reaching into his shirt pocket for his cigarettes and lighter he launches one out of the box and into his mouth with a practiced skill. Clicking open the Zippo with one hand, he rotates the wheel and lights his Marlboro and closes the cover with a satisfying thud extinguishing the flame. Less than a minute later his eyes adjust to the darkness of the of the dome car lighted only by muted bulbs outlining the aisle and the glow of his cigarette…

How many movies and television shows have duplicated that moment? A Zippo Spokesman, Pat Grandy, proudly told NPR in 2009: “In 1996, there was a Zippo in every film nominated for Best Picture.” If you are curious enough to verify Mr. Grandy’s boast, those movies were Apollo 13, Babe, Brave Heart, Il Postino (The Postman) and Sense and Sensibility.

George G. Blaisdell, who invented the Zippo lighter in 1932, chose its name and patented it in 1934. A resident of Bradford, Pennsylvania and a member of the Bradford Country Club, supposedly, “Blaisdell got the idea one day while having a smoke with a friend out on the porch of the country club. His friend’s European lighter seemed to work in the wind. (But it required both hands to operate.) Blaisdell saw the opportunity to adapt that design…”

Blaisdell admired the lighter’s use of a chimney to steady the flame and a cover that, if turned into the wind, protected that flame. George had trained in metalworking as a young man in his father’s Blaisdell Machinery Company in Bradford, so that he understood how to create a strong, well-built lighter that could be operated with only one hand.

Coincidentally, around the same time, the Talon Company, another Pennsylvania manufacturer had developed the fastener we now know as the Zipper. George loved the way the word sounded and called his lighter Zippo. To boost sales, he proclaimed that every lighter came with a life time guarantee.

The Zippo manufactured today is almost identical to the one first produced in 1934. The lighters have carried the logos for many organizations with the two most popular being the Playboy Bunny and Elvis.

For those of you who never owned a Zippo, permit me to explain its significance. Like other mechanical marvels from the past, it requires attention and care. Since it is not disposable, your Zippo must be tendered to. You must have on hand flints and lighter fluid which, I suspect today, you can only buy on line.

The outer case is made of brass covered by a coating of stainless-steel. (If you keep your Zippo long enough, the steel will wear away revealing the brass surface.

The inner case prevents the outer case from overheating and contains the cotton wading that must be filled with lighter fluid to produce the flame. It also houses a separate chamber for the flint which is held taunt by a spring and an exterior screw that keeps the flint in constant contact with the exterior flint wheel. Each light reduces the size of the flint that also must be regularly replaced. Turning the wheel produces sparks that ignite the wick.

My father was stationed at March AFB in Riverside, California in 1961 where I spent a month with his family. He was assigned to the Strategic Air Command, (SAC), our bomber force whose sole mission was to attack and destroy the Soviet Union in time of war. SAC’s logo was a cubit arm in armor rising from the bottom of the shield thrusting into the heavens. The hand is grasping a green olive branch and three red lightning bolts, a visual representation of SAC’s motto: “Power For Peace.”

I was able to purchase a Zippo lighter bearing this emblem from the local PX that I carried everywhere I went. Over time the colors all disappeared, and the brass became visible as the stainless-steel coating wore away.

Despite general disapproval of smoking, Zippo continues to prosper. They have sold over 550 million lighters in the company’s lifetime in 180 countries and employ 520 workers in their Bradford factory where more than 70,000 lighters a day are manufactured.

Once again, privately owned by George Blaisdell, it would appear Zippo will persevere and prosper into this new era long after I’m gone and my ashes spread upon the land in Marlow, NH.

To refer to what happened to Tess, our newly adopted Yellow Lab, as a vacation is a stretch. Trial by fire, being hazed or being introduced to an alternate universe are more appropriate analogies to describe what she endured from December 24 to January 6.

Tess only had nineteen days to adjust to living with Mary Ann, Max and me before she experienced several versions of a three-ring circus – lots of chaos and confusion. Fortunately, we came to understand that Tessy is an amazing adaptable dog who quickly analyzes the new circumstances that confront her and adjusts her behavior accordingly. Tessy’s training as a seeing eye dog enables her to recognize and deal with problems and unusual developments.

We set off for Michael and Jodie’s family home in Fairfield, Connecticut on Christmas Eve afternoon for dinner and the opening of gifts on Christmas morning. I drive a 2014 GMC Arcadia loaded with our luggage and the gifts going to New Hampshire. We wanted Tess to ride with Max in my truck’s way-back but, previously, whenever I drove Ria to various destinations Ria would sit “shotgun,” and Tess would jump into the free space at her feet.

We trained Max to ride in the way-back forcing us to face a dilemma, would Tess join him? I tested her one evening, opened the hatch, held out a treat, patted the floor and asked her to jump in. Without hesitation, this ten-year old girl leapt into the Arcadia with an incredible spring in her rear legs.

The dogs had plenty of room as I had already delivered the gifts including their biggest items size wise; three light-weight rolling Samsonite suitcases for Drew, Matt and Samantha for their upcoming cruise.

Jodie’s parents, Tom and Dale are taking the immediate family on a Caribbean cruise to celebrate their 50^th Wedding Anniversary. You may ask, why is this relevant to this story? Because we will be boarding their two dogs, Max’s sister, Ruby and their two-year-old, miniature Golden-doodle with the incongruous name, Jumbo for ten-days beginning December 27.

We knew chaos would prevail once we arrived. Any plans to restrain or impede Max from tearing loose once we opened the hatch were useless as our grandkids took it upon themselves to release him to join Ruby and Jumbo. Tess didn’t hesitate and joined the stampede.

Rock and Roll, we’re all dog people and little Jumbo, the only youngster, initiated play fights and got the party started. Ruby, Max and Tess all joined in and, at times, Tess led the crazy play.  Our girl fit right in. At one point that night, Matt, the consummate dog lover coxed Tess onto his lap and declared that she was his. I woke just after Jodie on Christmas morning allowing me to witness each arrival, dog and person; the perfect Christmas greeting!

Back in the Arcadia, we four headed north on wide open roads through Connecticut, Massachusetts and Vermont on the Merritt Parkway and I-91 – then into New Hampshire, destination, Little House in the town of Marlow.

The Brooklyn Briggs greeted us – our daughter, Beth, son-in-law, Tom and grandchildren, Marlowe and Cace. Tom’s brother, Michael and his two sisters Linda and Debbie also preceded us having driven up from just outside of Springfield, Mass.

Dog wise, Max and Tess had to meet and greet Sampson their young, lively but unpredictable boy.  They had rescued him from the streets, so nobody is certain of his breed, but he is most likely a Shih Tzu in whole or in part.

Once again, all went well demonstrating how adaptable Tess is. The dogs enjoyed the freedom of being in open the country without roaming or becoming lost. The retrievers get it and stay close to home. Once again, Tess understood the order of march and jumped right in. She took long walks and romped around our cleared property with the others as if she did this all her life. (Everything but swimming that will have to wait for next summer.)  

The last chapter of our NH stay involved Beth’s best friend, Rachelle and her husband to be, Paul. They arrived with two seven-month old sibling Portuguese Water Dogs, Allie and Denali, more like teenagers than pups, Denali’s male sex drive became apparent when he decided to take an interest in Tess. Our girl cut this behavior at the quick deciding enough was enough!

Silent all her life, she turned on this interloper with a sound that began as a rumble, progressed into her first bark ever! Case closed, he got her message.  

After NH, we had one last chapter remaining in this saga, return to Connecticut and bring Ruby and Jumbo back to Port Washington the next ten days, the duration of their trip and cruise. The ride down was “interesting.” Four dogs, lots of traffic but we managed to make it still in relatively good humor.  

Ten days – four dogs. OMG. Again, we all adjusted and survived although feeding, exercising and cleaning up forced us to admit we were operating a de facto kennel.

Finally, Sunday, January 6 arrived, and we returned Ruby and Jumbo to Fairfield while Tess and Max rested at home.

Dear reader, please don’t express the obvious. We did what we agreed to do, and we survived. Just don’t ask us to do it again any time soon.

Mary Ann returned home last August after an outing with our friend, Ria Mead. “John, Ria confessed that she fell last night while out with Tess. Thankfully, it was a gentle fall onto the grass and she wasn’t hurt. The problem was, Tess didn’t lead her as directed and that’s why Ria  lost her balance. She’s quite upset and knows it’s time to call the school to decide what’s next.”

“Okay, what’s next?”

“I asked her, ‘where will Tess go?’ but added, “What if we adopt her?”

“You did! ‘Works for me. What did Ria say?”

“That would be great.”

“So be it.”  

Tessy, aka, Tess was born on November 29, 2008 at Seeing Eyes for the Blind’s Kennel in Morristown, New Jersey. A medium-size Yellow Labrador Retriever, she became Ria’s sixth guide dog succeeding in reverse order, Spenser, Olympia, Amir, Henry and Rusty.

Ria lost her sight at twenty-seven years old due to juvenile diabetes and was accepted into the Seeing Eye program three years later.

Ria and Tess bonded during a one-month training program of long hours of basic and advanced courses at the Seeing Eyes Training Campus to pair the person into effective partners through mutual love, respect, understanding, intelligence and hard work.

Ria explained, “Compare us to dance partners. We have to learn each other’s moves and tendencies to complement each other.” Ria also noted, “Seeing Eyes is a wonderful place to be. The staff is totally attentive, the trainers are superb as are the facilities. Best yet, I don’t have to think about anything else except training and lively discussions with my fellow students. It was like an upscale working vacation with like participants seeking the same goal.” 

After graduation, Ria and Tess returned to Long Island to begin their life together. For eight years they maintained their partnership through good times and bad.

This past summer Ria noticed subtle differences in Tess’s performance, not so much Tess behaving differently so much as how she performed her tasks. Ria noted to me, “Something is off. It is hard to explain but I can sense it.”

After her fall, Ria knew to contact Seeing Eyes for an evaluation. A trainer confirmed Ria’s troubling belief, Tess was nearing the end of her working life. He estimated that it would be best if Ria joined a class early in 2019 to be assigned a new dog.

Saddened, no heartbroken, Ria made her wishes known to Mary Ann that we adopt Tess once the training class began. “Most of my previous dogs lived with me in retirement but then I had a house with lots of room. I don’t think it could work in my small apartment.” Ria also confessed, “As much as it will pain me to let her go, I want her to enjoy a retirement life of play that she will find in your home.”

Tess coming to live with us wouldn’t completely isolate her from Ria as we live close to each other and Ria could see Tess whenever she wished.

Ria knew about Max, our eight-year-old Golden Retriever who we described as being mellow. We agreed to have them meet when the time grew shorter and arranged to take them to a park where they could interact without it being territorial. As we expected, these two mature and laid-back dogs, engaged in some sniffing, a little play followed by their natural pastime, sniffing the grass, trees and shrubs.

A couple of successful sleep-overs followed. Tess discovered Max’s toy box and her favorite turned out to be an antler that must feel wonderful on her teeth. She also loved going out in our fenced-in back yard and the joy of being free to sniff and meander on her own. Max readily accepted her getting along handsomely.

In mid-November Ria learned that she had been accepted into a class beginning on January 7, 2019. We began to plan for an exchange just before that date, but these plans were cut short when Ria developed pain in her left shoulder, an inflamed rotor cuff. Ria guided Tess’s harness with her left arm and those changes in Tessy’s gait were causing Ria’s pain.

We agreed that it would be best for us to take Tess sooner to enable Ria to have enough time to rehabilitate her arm before the training began. However, it was important to Ria to keep Tess and celebrate her tenth birthday on November 29^th.. Ria’s wish was easy to fulfill as circumstances postponed our adoption until the following week. Mary Ann and Ria made the switch on Wednesday December 5^th, a traumatic and difficult experience for Ria and Tess.

As for Max, his food regime suddenly improved as we changed his diet to Tess’s. He now enjoys yogurt, string beans and apple slices, although he rejects another of her favorites, carrots.

Tess is coming along but she is obviously confused by this rather late-in-life disruption. Her eight-year career suddenly ended and where did her partner go? Fortunately, she likes Max, Mary Ann and me in that order. The other day, she and Max found themselves in a tug of war over a toy that led to a play wrestling match. Some mornings the two jump into our bed and tussle with each other. (Memo to file: Not a bad way to awaken.)

Ria is happy to receive our reports about her partner’s new doggie experiences. Tess never climbed onto her furniture; check that one off –  never slept with Ria; ditto that and never barked. I will save that for Part Two: “Tessy’s Christmas Vacation.”

I will also report further on Ria’s experiences at Seeing Eye and a reunion planned in February for Tess, Ria and Ria’s new partner.

Erminia, our cleaning woman, looked perplexed when she arrived on Thursday, December 6th. She held out a large white envelope. Immediately, I recognized the handwriting to be that of Rosemary King. “Ah, the annual White House Christmas Ornament,” I thought to myself.  

For the last several years, Rosemary King has generously posted the latest edition of this special ornament to us during the first week in December. Unfortunately, something was very wrong with this one. The envelope was empty. The sealed flap had come undone somewhere in route.

I decided not to tell Rosemary as I knew she sent these treasures to over a hundred people. Instead, I chose to look up the ornament on line and discovered the White House Historical Association had them for sale. I ordered two and accepted a FedEx surcharge, so they would arrive in under three days.     

Like me, I have discovered that most folks are unaware of the existence of these ornaments. Truly, this is truly amazing once you realize their significance, their beauty and how economical they are.

Rosemary included us on her list about seven-years ago. Mary Ann and I were taken aback by its beauty and craftmanship, but at that point in our lives, we no longer erected a Christmas Tree. We decided to give it to our son and his family. They were thrilled to add it to their tree. The following year, the ornament went to our daughter and her family. They too loved it; we established a new tradition.

The history of these ornaments is relatively recent. The White House Historical Association has been selling them to the public since 1981 when First Lady Nancy Reagan suggested this. That first year, the association released 1,500 “Angel in Flight” ornaments that depicted a copper weather vane found on historic buildings like Mount Vernon and Independence Hall.

From the beginning, ChemArt Inc., a privately-owned firm in Lincoln, RI, has produced these ornaments. Their founder, Richard Beaupre, now 81, has worried over the annual production ever since. Today, ChemArt produces almost two-million ornaments each year all in their Rhode Island plant.

Beginning with Angel in Flight, each keepsake has been hung on the White House Christmas Tree located in the Blue Room. The historical association designs each ornament that focuses on every president in chronological order. The exceptions to this chain have been White House historical events like anniversaries.

The ornaments commemorate certain aspects of a president’s time in office, curious at times, but not controversial. The 2007 ornament, honoring Grover Cleveland, depicts his wedding ceremony to Frances Folsom in the Blue Room in 1886. (He was 49, she was 21.)

The 2011 ornament depicts Santa Claus standing on the snow-covered front lawn of the White House. The caption reads: “I hear there are kids living in this house.” The back of the ornament shows Teddy, Mrs. Roosevelt, a maid and the six Roosevelt children looking out a window excitedly observing Santa outside on the lawn.

William Howard Taft’s, 2012 Ornament pictured our most corpulent president embracing new technology by being the first president to ride in a motor car.

Herbert Hoover’s ornament is a fire engine, truly a curious choice to honor his presidency ruined by the great depression that descended upon the nation. His fire engine commemorated a toy fire engine given to children at a 1930 Christmas party to remind them of the White House fire in 1929 that forcing the evacuation of the people’s house during that Christmas party.      

This year’s ornament is drop -dead gorgeous. It honors Harry S. Truman with two themes, the complete re-construction of the White House from 1950 to 1952 and President Truman’s 1948 proclamation to permanently change the Great Seal so that the eagle’s beak would always be faced toward the talon holding the olive branches and not the one holding the arrows.

A small gold-plated seal stands above the ornament with the eagle proudly duplicated on both the front and rear. Two red ribbons extend above the seal to facilitate fastening it to a tree. The ornament is attached to the seal by a short chain. Its front depicts the South Portico, after the reconstruction that includes the “so called,” Truman Balcony that the 33^rd President added to the White House facade. This three-dimensional, bowed image includes two outside staircases leading up to the balcony, a wreath and a red ribbon bearing, “The White House – Christmas 2018.

The concaved back of the ornament depicts the re-built Blue Room decorated for Christmas with a tree in the center. A scroll at the bottom reads: “1945-1953: Harry S. Truman.”

The cost is reasonable, less than $21 all in including standard shipping. I kid you not, these decorations are special and several of the more recent ornaments remain available. They are packaged in a handsome box with a booklet explaining the significance of the ornament for that presidency and a short biography and milestones achieved during his administration.

When I next saw Rosemary, I thanked her for the latest edition and said, “This one is the most beautiful of them all.”

She replied, “I think it is spectacular.”

True to my word, I didn’t say anything else.

Next up is Dwight David Eisenhower and I have this funny feeling that one way or another, it may include his famous putting green. Stay tuned.

Weather impacted every home game this season.

Game outcome, not withstanding, rain prevailed.

Shorter days, colder days, rain became miserable.

We endured, but no day at the beach for sure.

And it rained.

December 2 versus Da Bears. All day drizzle.

Mild enough, not cold, no wind, rain gear held up.

Stayed the course, all four quarters plus unwanted OT.

Joy prevails, Giants win, hot chocolate surely helped.

And it rained

December 16, 2018. Prediction: All day-steady rain-non-stop.

Prepared: Socks wrapped in plastic, freshly polished work boots.

Waterproof down coat over sweatshirt, rain pants over jeans.

Rain hats, gloves and ponchos over everything.

And it rained.

Ready or not here we go. Joe swings by at 8 AM.

We joke: “Off to see a losing team in bitter rain.”

We few, the worthy. Summer soldiers long gone.

Yet other faithful re-appear, gather, tailgate, endure.

And it rained.

Game time, head in. The contest yet to begin.

Already losing, our rain defenses are failing.

 Water-proof turns out to be a relative term

 Leaving us exposed in harm’s way.

And it rained.

Soldiers fighting a battle of endurance. Titans versus Giants.

Rain versus protection. Cold and wet versus dry.

Tyrannical forces prolong contest created to break us.

Game officials, TV and even the singer stretches Oh say can you see.

And it rained.

Misery. By the Second Quarter my arms shiver.

“This is insane’” I stand: “Mike, I won’t return

until the second half.” None of us returned to our seats.

Drew and Jeff join Mike and me sheltered at halftime.

And it rained.

My alarm blasts alert: LEAVE NOW!

Drew, Jeff, and Mike SIGN ON next.

Joe and Justin need one more score.

Titans accommodate with a TD on a turnover.

And it rained

One last potty stop and a ten-minute trek to the cars.

A last, but hurried goodbye for the season, then shelter.

Shed as many sodden clothes as I can

Waze works with a tolerable post-game ride home.

And it rained

Once home, realize everything damp or soaked.

No doubt, every woman in our lives intones:

“I told you so.” Of course, they are right.

We long-time fans rolled the weather dice that came up craps

And it rained, and it rained, and it rained.     

These confessions involve snow, always a possible factor in late season games. First up, 1964, the beginning of our discontent. How did our proud team that went to the NFL Championship Games in 1961, 1962 and 1963 shatter and collapse and fall to last place? By early December, all hope was lost so when the Minnesota Vikings came to town. They dealt my team their ninth loss of the season by the score of 30-21 but I decided to take my revenge as they took the field for the second half.

 

As their star, quarterback, Fran Tarkington jumped out from the third base dugout, I let fly a snowball aimed for his back. My throw was lame, but the snowball landed close enough to get the attention of one of their linemen. Caught in the act, I froze as this big man looked back at me with an expression that said: “Boy, are you nuts!”

 

One cold December afternoon after an overnight snow fall found Geoff, Bill and me at a meaningless game at the end of another losing season. We came prepared fortifying ourselves with two pints of whiskey to defend against the elements. Recollections are vague, but I do recall fans throwing snowballs toward the field and some serious troublemakers trying to light the wooden bleachers on fire.

 

After the game ended, we infiltrated the Stadium Club, Yankee Stadium’s private member’s only watering hole to extend our celebration. Still thirsty, we stopped at a bar on 161^st Street for a last libation for the road before trekking up to the Grand Concourse for home bound taxis. Geoff caught one for Kingsbridge and Bill and I piled into a second for his place in Parkchester.

 

I was on the edge, but Bill was a goner. We made it back to his family’s place where my family was also waiting. Bill was out for the count, puked and went to bed. Somehow, I persevered but a double plus unhappy Mary Ann was forced to drive home.

 

Bill called me at work Monday morning. “What do I owe you for the cab ride home from the stadium?”

 

“Nothing, Bill, we are squared away.”

 

“No really, John, what do I owe you?”

 

“Nothing; Before you passed out in the cab, I told you to give me your wallet. I used your money to pay for the cab, so you owe me nothing. By the way, you tip well.”

 

(Authors note: I did repay Bill, but that exchange was worth it.)

 

Both experiences can’t compare to the great Meadowlands snow ball game. The stadium managers had failed to remove the snow that fell before the Giants last home game on December 23, 1995, a game the Giants would lose to San Diego Chargers 27-17.

 

Dave Anderson recalled what occurred in The New York Times in January of 2014 as a reminder of what could happen during Super Bowl XLVIII scheduled for the new stadium (not yet called Met Life Stadium.)

 

On Wednesday of that week, about 12 inches of snow fell. By game time Saturday, the bulk of it had been removed from the aisles and the 75,000 seats, but much remained under the seats. Some of that snow had frozen. And with the Giants about to complete a 5-11 season, several of the 50,243 spectators began to throw snowballs, if not iceballs, onto the field. Soon, hundreds were throwing them.

 

One of the iceballs struck the Chargers’ equipment manager, 60-year old Sid Brooks, near his left eye. Knocked unconscious, he regained consciousness in the locker room.

 

When the snowball throwing continued, the referee Ron Blum threatened to declare a forfeit. He did not, but Wellington Mara, a Giant owner, said later that Blum “would have been justified” to rule a forfeit. The Giants later took a full-page ad in a San Diego newspaper apologizing for the “snowball game.”

 

Some 175 spectators were ejected and their season tickets confiscated. 15 were arrested. Jeffrey Lange, 26, of Bridgewater, NJ, identified by a widely published photograph showing him throwing him throwing a snowball, was later arrested and charged with disorderly conduct. He was convicted of improper behavior and fined $650.

 

Michael and I attended that game. Through the years whenever questions about that game come my way, my standard reply has been: “On the advice of counsel, neither of us can confirm or deny participation in such shenanigans.”

 

It is time to expunge the record and come clean.

 

Our caper occurred towards the end of the first half. NBC, who broadcasted the game, used an obtrusive camera to rove the sideline in front of where we sat blocking our view when the action was in front of us. This gave us, in effect, obstructed seats when it mattered most.

 

By the end of the first half, I’d become fed up with this obstruction. So, when the cameraman riding on his ten-foot high boom once again obstructed our view, I turned to my son and requested: “Do you think you can put a snowball inches from his wheelhouse and yet not hit him? I don’t want to see him get hurt, just give him religion.”

 

Michael, who had been an effective little league pitcher, put a snowball so close to the cameraman’s right ear that he ordered his crew to lower his rig shutting it down for the rest of the game.

 

 

(FOR SOME REASON, THIS BLOG DIDN’T PUBLISH THIS MORNING SO I AM RE-LAUNCHING IT.)

 

 

“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 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 it was January during a cold, wet winter. 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 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 adore adopted me from the North Shore Animal’s Leagues 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 they do! God forbid, I go over to it. She growls and snarls. It got 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, 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 it.

 

Her nuttiness gave me the idea that if I chased it too, it 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.

 

 

When posters celebrating sports heroes became popular in the late sixty’s, the Football Giants were excluded. Y.A. Tittle, Frank Gifford and Sam Huff had retired. The Giants were a bad team and even their best player, quarterback Fran Tarkenton, had limited appeal. If you wanted a poster of a star player from New York, your choice was Joe Namath.

 

That changed in 1970 when the Giants traded their mercurial receiver, Homer Jones, to the Cleveland Browns for Ron Johnson. Johnson, an All-American half-back at Michigan, was their Number One pick in that 1969 draft. For reasons unknown, The Browns made the deal and the Giants prospered. With Ron Johnson running and catching the football, the Giants achieved their first winning record in seven seasons and came within one victory of making the playoffs.

 

Ron Johnson ran for 1,027 yards as Big Blue finished 9-5 and he was All-Pro first team. More important, he ignited a fire that made lesser players shine. This was my take on two home games I wrote about in my book: “17 Lost Seasons.”

 

(The Giants had won four games in a row when they met the Cowboys on November 8, 1970.) The Giants were becoming fun to watch and our joy continued Sunday as they beat the Cowboys 23-20. Bob Hayes did manage to catch two touchdown passes of 38-and 80-yards helping Dallas reach a 17-6 lead in the second quarter. But Ron Johnson ran 23 times for 136 yards and caught four passes for 59 yards.

 

Bill Christman and I both sat in Section 12, but I sat in Box 242C and he was in 242F. Each box had four seats. Two NYPD cops sat behind Bill, but whoever had the fourth seat sold it to different people for each game. Bill told me after the game, “An older, well-dressed man sat next to me. He was a Cowboys fan, but after we cut their lead to 20-16 in the third quarter, he looked at me and said, ‘You got this game won.’ Then he got up and left.”

 

Next Sunday’s game was against the Redskins. Bill and I car-pooled from Middle Village across the 59^th Street Bridge, parked on Lexington Avenue outside of Bloomingdales. Parking was free, and Bloomindales was closed on Sundays back then. We caught the IRT Jerome Avenue express at Fifty-Ninth Street station for the five-stop ride to 161^st Street and Yankee Stadium.

 

This game has remained fresh in my mind, especially the winning touchdown that Ron Johnson scored with one-minute left to play that made the final Giants 35, Redskins 33.

 

Sonny Jurgensen’s passing and Charlie Harraway’s rushing had boosted the Redskins to a 33-14 lead as the last period began. The Giants started the fourth quarter with the ball on their own 29-yard line and drove it the length of the field in 13 plays in five minutes. The drive culminated in a 5-yard Johnson TD run. Fran Tarkentton’s passes accounted for 60 of the 71 yards.

 

Leonard Koppett reported:

 It took two passes to (Tucker) Fredrickson to make it a 33-28 less than 2-minutes later, with Tucker running and dodging the last 30 yards of a 43-yard play for the touchdown. And there was 4:06 to play when the Giants put the ball in play after Bobby Duhon had run back a punt from the Giants 6 to the 27. On third down, a pass to Bob Tucker for 20 yards reached the Washington 45. One to Fredrickson reached the 32 with 2 minutes left. With fourth and 6, Tarkenton hit Johnson for a first down on the 18. He hit McNeil on the 9 and Johnson went unopposed round the left side for the rest.”

 

Our view of Johnson’s run was superb. The Giants were driving toward the closed end of Yankee Stadium. He took the handoff and headed away from us. As he turned the corner toward the goal line, it was obvious that he wasn’t going to be touched. He only had to go 9 yards, but he could have gone 99.

 

“It makes you feel proud.” Coach Alex Webster said, “It is the way they wouldn’t give up. This is what you try to get from them, to make them believe in themselves.”

 

Johnson ran for 106 yards and had 49 through the air. Fredrickson had 33 and 165 respectively. A happy Fredrickson welcomed the press to his locker, “It’s a pleasure to talk to you gentlemen even though I haven’t spoken with you for quite a while. Just don’t build it up too much, though. Next week, I may be a ghost again.”  

 

Ron Johnson spent six seasons with the Giants including 1972 when he set a new team rushing record of 1,182 yards. To my delight, his stardom produced a poster of Number 30 wearing a white away uniform with red and blue trim with the lower case “NY” on his helmet. This heroic photograph captured Ron carrying the football in his right arm at a full gallop, looking powerful, bound and determined.

 

The New York Times carried Ron Johnson’s obituary on November 10^th. Johnson succumbed to complications from Alzheimer’s, no doubt due, at least in part, to his football career. He was 71.

 

That poster is framed and hangs proudly in my personal Giants gallery. Thank you, Mr. Johnson for the light you shined on us during that dismal era

 

R.I.P. Ron Johnson

(I could explain that this blog was delayed by a trip to NH through snow squalls, or that I was hacked last Wednesday, but the truth is I forgot to publish it…and so dear reader😊

 

Congressman Peter King wrote this piece following his recent re-election. I believe it offers an insider’s view of our voting process. I am re-printing it for this week’s blog with Peter’s permission.

 

I wish all my readers a Happy Thanksgiving

 

John Delach

Election morning was wet and overcast. Not ideal weather but not as bad as predicted. First stop that morning for Rosemary and me was voting at Seaford Manor School at about 7:20. Print and TV cameras were there for the ritualistic “candidate votes” photo.

Then it was on to GOP breakfasts to thank all the Committeemen, Committeewomen and Leaders whose job was to man the polls and get out our vote. The breakfast spots I hit were Massapequa South GOP at the Nautilus Diner on Merrick Road in Massapequa; Seaford GOP at the Waffle House on Merrick Road in Seaford; and Massapequa GOP at Paddy’s Loft on Hicksville Road in Massapequa. The mood was positive and upbeat. At each stop I thanked them for their efforts, said all looked good but we had to make sure we got out every possible vote.

I take no Election for granted but I was confident of victory — barring the unexpected. My polling (done by John McLaughlin, a great friend with first rate skills and instincts) had me in the mid-50s. Based on what John was seeing in his polling across the country, he told me my maximum would be 55% and that could be a reach. He said there was the real possibility of a Democratic surge in the suburbs and among minority voters. I had the daily double: a 34% GOP registration and a suburban district with 35% minority voters.

The first turnout report I received at noon was cause for some concern — Democrats were turning out much greater than in 2014 (the last off year Election) while the Republican vote – though up – was increasing at a lower rate.

In late afternoon I joined with State Senate candidate Jeff Pravato for campaign stops at Stop and Shops in Massapequa and Seaford (covered by Channel 12) and then the Seaford LIRR Station (covered by FIOS) where my daughter, Councilwoman Erin King Sweeney, gathered about a dozen volunteers to hand out palm cards as I was asking the returning commuters to make it to the polls on their way home. The response seemed friendly and supportive. Also, I received the 5:00 turnout report that Republicans were coming out at a much-improved rate.

I made a few radio interviews, then went home to take a shower, put on a suit and get ready for the biennial trauma of the Election Night vote count — knowing that once the polls closed at 9:00 PM, there was nothing to do but wait and count.

Rosemary and I arrived at my Campaign Headquarters on Broadway in Massapequa about 8:30. It was already packed tight with supporters — and with media on a death watch to see if a 26-year Republican incumbent would be swept out in a Democratic Blue Wave. Ghoulish, but part of the business. Nothing personal they always say. (Or at least most of them say that!)

To add to the inherent Election Night confusion, the vote tally would be bifurcated. The Board of Elections in Suffolk County — which is 75% of the district — reports votes on-line as they come in and they would be displayed on a large screen on the side wall of the Campaign Headquarters. Since Nassau’s Board of Elections doesn’t report on-line, I must rely on local GOP leaders either hand delivering or calling in their vote totals to me. Roughly I knew that if I stayed within 4000-5000 votes in Suffolk and gathered my normal 60+% in Nassau, I would be fine. Suffolk hadn’t begun to report yet when I received the first votes in from Nassau at about 10:00 PM.– Seaford (69.5%) and Massapequa (71%). Suffolk started to report soon thereafter putting me about 51% for a while before finishing at about 47.6%, about 4,500 behind.

Each Nassau community — Massapequa Park, North Massapequa, Farmingdale, and Levittown — reported a solid majority. Our quick tabulation showed me at about a 64% total in Nassau with a winning margin of approximately 20,000 votes. (The official district wide vote would have me winning by a 15,000+ vote margin: 122,103 (53.3%) – 106,996 (46.7%). John McLaughlin had come within 1.7% of hitting it on the head!)

To play it safe, I waited until almost 95% of the Suffolk vote was in before deciding to declare victory at about 10:45. My outstanding Campaign Manager Anne Rosenfeld went to the podium at the rear of the Headquarters, faced the anxious media and announced that I had won. She then introduced my daughter Erin, who introduced me. With Erin, Rosemary and my son Sean standing with me, I thanked all my volunteers and said this was a victory for the heart and soul of the people of the 2nd District — pro-Police, pro-Military and pro-the hardworking middle-income families who have made and keep Long Island and America great.

(What I didn’t realize was that the media still didn’t have the Nassau County numbers and until almost midnight was reporting the race as too close to call.)

Rosemary, Erin, Anne and I then went to Nassau GOP Headquarters in Westbury where the enormity of the results hit me. Every Republican State Senator in Nassau County had lost and three of the four GOP Senate candidates in the 2nd Congressional District had lost.

Getting home to Seaford shortly after 1:00 AM, I watched the television reports, caught up on my emails and text messages and saw the full extent of the electoral carnage. Not only did Republicans lose the House, they got decimated in the suburbs nationwide — New Jersey, Philadelphia, Chicago, California, Minnesota, Dallas and Houston. Even my good friend Dan Donovan lost his Staten Island-Brooklyn District. Fortunately, Lee Zeldin and I kept the national wave from overtaking Long Island. It was time to get to sleep.

Democracy is a contact sport and was never intended to be easy. Principles and ideals and good people are worth fighting for. I’m proud to have once again fought the fight and am deeply grateful to the people of the 2nd Congressional District for having stood by me. I won’t let you down. The fight continues. God Bless America!!