John Delach

One of New York’s worst kept secrets is that the governor of the Empire State and the mayor of the Big Apple despise each other. They do whatever they believe necessary to go one up on the other or undercut each other whenever opportunities present themselves. In theory, these two liberal Democrats, Andrew Cuomo and Bill DeBlasio, should be simpatico; cooperating for the greater good, but ambition, past slights, condescension, arrogance and just plain nastiness are the rules of their game. They have been reduced to two egos jousting in an endless gotcha contest.

They clash over policies, projects, funding and just about anything they can think of. Cuomo fancies himself as a Twenty-First Century, Robert Moses, proposing grand projects like a new LaGuardia Airport that includes a monorail to nowhere and a rebuilt Penn Station that would be nothing more than shining s***. Regardless, Andy Boy just loves to step on Comrade Mayor DeBlasio’s toes with these grand illusions that he proposes inside the city limits.

Comrade Mayor DeBlasio has had a few victories in these skirmishes including blindsiding the gov into making pre-school funding available across the state. As they joust, they may fantasize that they reflect Moses, the master builder, but they are actually more akin to Bernie Sanders. Moses knew how to fund projects in advance whereas the Gov and Hizzoner advocate free stuff since neither provides concrete funding for their dream works.

Hizzoner’s latest scheme is to add a sleek cross-Queens/Brooklyn trolley line to whisk passengers 17 miles from Astoria to Sunset Park at a thrilling speed of 12 miles-per-hour. So far, Andy hasn’t chimed in on this proposal, perhaps because our comrade mayor may have made an end run circumventing the Gov’s authority?

Did you know, Bob and Ray, that all rail and bus transit and transportation in and around New York City operates under the mantle of the state controlled Metropolitan Transportation Authority (MTA)! Despite this mandate, Dan Janison recently reported in Newsday: “The city would build this so-called BQX streetcar line independent of Gov. Andrew M. Cuomo’s MTA. That might sidestep the current alienation between the mayor and governor.”

Okay, Hizzoner predicts the proposed trolley line will cost $2.5 billion. That estimate may be illusionary if reports are correct that the right-of-way will require two new draw-bridges to span Newtown Creek and the Gowanas Canal. The final figure must also include the sixty trolley cars needed for the line, the car barns* (where the trolleys will be stored, maintained and repaired) and money to fund operational costs. It is safe to say that the MTA will treat the BQX worse than a rented mule or more like the way The Donald predicts he will treat undocumented workers. Even simple items will be complicated. BQX employees will be separate from all other transit employees and the city will end up fighting its own MTA for federal dollars to repair and replace equipment and infrastructure. (Suggestion: Check out the popular definition of insanity.)

So how does Comrade Mayor DeBlasio plan to pay for this grand plan? The New York Times reported the following, “Administration officials believe the system’s cost can be offset by tax revenue siphoned from expected rise in property values along the route.”

The key words in that statement are siphoned and expected. If revenue is expected, that means that you’ve already anticipated that it will be there and that siphoning it infers that you are diverting it from an already intended use.

Neat, indeed! Something like: “If you build it, it will be okay because all will be good.” I wonder just who the administration officials plan to screw by siphoning away their intended funds?  Welcome to Fun City as Dick Shaap once put it.

The good news Andy is already in his second term as governor and even if comrade mayor is re-elected, he will be out of office by 2021. Both will be long gone before 2024 when the BQX is scheduled to be up and running which, if consistent with other NYC transit projects, should be more like 2030.

• I’m sure there is modern alternative to “car barn” but I just like the way it sounds.

On The Outside Looking In, will be off next week and will resume on March 9^th.

The New York Times recently published a piece about an 800-page US Air Force document once labeled “Top Secret” that assigned identification numbers to various targets in Communist controlled countries. Titled, “SAC (Strategic Air Command) American Weapons Requirement Study, 1959,” it listed specific targets for SAC’s B-47 medium bombers and B-52 heavy bombers. The study was conceived in 1956 before effective intermediate and intercontinental missiles were available, when both nations nuclear strike forces were totally composed of long-range manned bombers.

Even though the SAC list is semi-public, it remains shrouded in double-speak. We do know our top priority for destruction was Soviet airpower to minimize retaliatory abilities. The next priority included government and military control centers. After that, we’d hit essential industries, transportation and communications. Major cities were prime targets as many of these facilities and operations were located in places like Berlin, Warsaw, Moscow and Leningrad. A very serious subject indeed!

Still, when I read this piece, I immediately thought of two things, the classic black humor movie, Dr. Strangelove or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb, and a parody of the New York Post featuring a front page headline that commanded:

NUCLEAR WAR

 ISSUE

Michael Jackson

And

90 Million Others

DEAD

This parody of the Post was one of several done by a group of creative chaps during a lengthy New York newspaper strike in the 1980s. My personal favorite part of this parody was a side-line story on the second page that went something like this:

City Nuked 2^nd Time

During yesterday’s nuclear

War, the air force admitted

they bombed Nagasaki for

the second time.

When reached for comment,

red faced Pentagon officials

admitted, “It was a mistake,

we forgot to take it off our

target list.”

Doctor Strangelove starred Peter Sellers in three roles, President Merkin Muffley, Dr. Strangelove and RAF Group Capt. Lionel Mandrake. Mandrake was special assistant to Brig. General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling Hayden) who unleashed a wing of B-52s against the Soviet Union. George C. Scott played Ripper’s boss, General Buck Turdgison, Air Force Chief of Staff, loosely based on the real General Curtis Lemay. Slim Pickens had a significant role as Major T.J. (King) Kong, the Texan aircraft commander who met his demise as he rode a descending hydrogen bomb while swinging his ten gallon hat rodeo style. Keenan Wynn, played an army major named Bat Guano.  Unseen was the drunken Russian Premier with the delightful name of, Dimitri Kissov, who Preident Muffley was forced to calm and charm as the US bombers entered Soviet airspace.

The movie opened with an aerial re-fueling scene between a B-52 and a KC-135 tanker while the song, Try A Little Tenderness, plays in the back ground and ended with a parade of nuclear bombs detonating to the refrain of the old English music hall tune of, We’ll Meet Again Don’t Know Where Don’t Know When.

Stanley Kubrick produced this 1964 dark comedy with many great lines. The best is the last words spoken in the movie. They belong to the crippled, quasi ex- Nazi genius, and President Muffley’s chief advisor, Dr. Stangelove (think of a mad Henry Kissinger.) As the movie nears its end the doctor stops referring to Muffley as, “my president” in favor of, “mine fuehrer” and in a fit of excitement rises up out of his wheelchair, takes a step and shouts, “Mine fuehrer, I can walk!”

My father was a navigator / bombardier in B-47s. This aircraft was the air force’s first all-jet bomber and as he and the B-47 aged, SAC didn’t want to train him for new aircraft. He became somewhat of a vagabond moving from Homestead Air Force Base (AFB) just south of Miami in 1960 to March AFB in Riverside, CA until 1963 and finally to Pease AFB, Portsmouth, NH before he retired in 1966.

He noted to me over drinks one night that if the real thing happened, it would be a one way trip. It didn’t bother him though. If orders came, that is what he was trained to do. However, he did take a particular delight in the way his job was portrayed by a young James Earl Jones who played the navigator in Dr. Strangelove.

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 a park’s promenade overlooking Gravesend Bay. Driving on the Belt Parkway, on the opposite side of this park, 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 for 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, 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, and 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.

Back in the mid- 1980s, when my firm’s profits were excellent and electronic communications were rudimentary, the extravagant business trips to London remained the order of the day. Since my wife had her own career, she didn’t travel with me often, but other men, both colleagues and customers often brought their wives. We’d be invited to elaborate dinners where the wives of our senior London hosts would also attend.

An hour long cocktail reception prior to dinner elevated the mood of gaiety by means of generous offerings of champagne, wine and spirits. A multi-course dinner followed accompanied by different wines for the appropriate course. After dessert coffee was served together with liqueurs or brandy, or selected cheeses and vintage port if not both. Conversation flowed freely including many socially acceptable attempts at humor.

One such occasion found me at a slightly smaller gathering than those usual “dog and pony shows.” In place of a private room, we gathered in the main dining room of the Savoy Hotel. It was a grand evening and when it was my turn to add to the entertainment, I selected a story from my repertoire that I knew would amuse the ladies and gentlemen, be acceptable in mixed company, and didn’t telegraph its slap-shoe ending until I reached the punch line. I began:

The Pope died and as is their duty, the College of Cardinals met in Vatican City to select the new pope. Days passed but each time smoke rose from the chimney atop the Sistine Chapel, the color was always black: no new Pope today!

Unbeknownst to the waiting faithful, the cardinals could not choose among three Polish prelates, Cardinal Smykowski, Cardinal Katkavage and Cardinal Komorowski. Ballot after ballot, the results were the same, one third, one third and one third.

At this point I knew that I had the table hanging on my every word. The joke was working perfectly and they were all intrigued.

In desperation the cardinals agreed to take an unorthodox approach to end this papal dilemma. A committee of the 12 most senior cardinals would question each of the candidates to determine who was the holiest and then recommend that man to the college to be elected Pope.

First up was Cardinal Smykoski: Question: “Cardinal, what is the holiest day in the Christian Calendar?”

“Oh that’s easy; it’s the Fourth of July, you know that great day when we bar-b-que, clam bakes, drink beer and watch the fireworks at night.”

It was at this point after I used that reference to our Independence Day that I realized to my horror that my audience was overwhelmingly British and while they got the Fourth of July, most of them knew nothing about Ground Hog Day. Still I pressed on:

Smykowski was quickly dismissed. Cardinal Katkavage entered next – asked the same question, he replied: “Thanksgiving, of course, when families gather from far and wide to give thanks, eat turkey and watch football on television.

I could see they understood the Thanksgiving reference too. Damn, no choice but to keep going.

Finally, Cardinal Komorowski is summoned: “What is the holiest day in the Christian Calendar?”

Komorowski pondered his answer as tension filled the room. Finally he spoke, “Why Easter, of course. That is the day that Christ rises from the dead, leaves his tomb and…” Komorowski was suddenly interrupted as the room erupted in relief and joy at the realization that finally the cardinals had a holy man their presence.

At last the excitement abated and the room quieted. Komorowski cleared his throat and continued “…It is the day when he leaves his tomb and if he sees his shadow, we have two more weeks of lent.”

I inherited a polite noise that mimicked laughter and a sea of blank faces. No time for explanations, that will only be digging my hole deeper. Instead, I smiled back, took a large sip of my drink and pretended what just happened did not happen. I quietly waited for the next idiot to tell his story.

Often, politicians voluntarily dig themselves into deep holes when they try to force through their own pre-deposed positions regardless of how unpopular they are to the general public. This happens when this position is the kind that the politico has carried around in his heart and head long before gaining power or is forced upon him as a quid pro quo for favors rended during the campaign. In other words, some of these positions come from the demons within while others are the end product of dealing with the devil.

This is where we find Comrade Mayor Bill DeBlasio in a hole, up to his shoulders with shovel in hand preparing to dig himself deeper. The problem for the comrade mayor is his arrogance and height deprives him from seeing how deep the hole is already.

The issue is the fate of Central Park’s horse-drawn carriages that we used to wrongly call, Hansom Cabs. (Those cabs were two wheel carriages with the driver mounted on a sprung seat behind the vehicle designed by a Joseph Hansom in Leicestershire, England in 1834. These cabs gave way to more traditional four-wheel carriages years ago.)

Our comrade mayor vowed to rid New York City of these wonderful anachronisms immediately upon taking office. I cannot say with any certainty whether or not the good comrade is an animal lover or has had some long standing grudge against these teamsters,  but it is public knowledge that his primary campaign greatly benefitted from a million dollar PAC that helped to de-rail the Democratic frontrunner, City Council Speaker, Christine Quinn. The organization that produced the bulk of these funds was New Yorkers for Clean, Livable and Safe Streets and the driving force behind this organization are two wealthy animal activists, Steve Nislick and Wendi Neu. “You can look it up.”

Our comrade mayor expected to make short shrift of the carriage owners, teamsters and nags replacing the whole lot with electric replicas of vintage automobiles. The skids in the city council chambers were waxed by strategic donations (by you know who) to key members who introduced the desired the bill…Oops, not so fast…The fondness that most New Yorkers hold for this Gotham tradition exploded in a backlash that hit DeBlasio like stampeding horses. Already reeling from a horrible start with the NYPD, his numbers in the gutter, temporary discretion in the face of humiliation became his revised battle cry.

Still beholding to his rabid benefactors, one can only imagine the shit storm he faced via phone, fax, tweets and texts! Subsequently, Plans B, C, D, etc. were floated and to subsequently sink until early this year when the latest version was unveiled. Our good comrade mayor boldly announced that he had, “an agreement in concept” with the owners and the teamsters to reduce the number of horses to 95 from 170 by 2018 and move them all to a new stable to be built with taxpayer money inside the protected grounds of Central Park.  No mention has been made of how much the stables will cost or how much the carriage owners will pay to use it.

Jim Dwyer noted in his recent column in The New York Times, Solving a Problem That Doesn’t Exist: “The notion that a new stable – which as yet has no design and has not undergone any review by the five community boards with jurisdiction over Central Park, the Landmarks Preservation Commission or the Public Design Commission – will be built within two years belongs to an alternate universe.”

The agreement in concept has already begun to unravel. The carriage association and teamsters have hired the activist lawyer, Ron Kube, a disciple of the firebrand, William Kunstler, who seems prepared to lead his minions to the man the barricades to stop this plan. Actually, this is my hyperbole for as Dwyer also pointed out: “A thick stack of judicial opinions shows that mayors ignore precedents in this area at their peril. The Bloomberg administration tried to give parkland in Queens to the Wilpon family for a shopping mall; the Giulani administration tried to turn over land in the Bronx for a water filtration plant. Both proposals were shot down in court.”

Kube will make his case in the court house. As for the nags, they’re unanimous: NAYYY!

Part 4: Conclusion of the Great Hoverboard Saga

To recap: the sources for hoverboards No. 2, 3, 4 and 5 had been solved. No. 2, 3 and 4 originated through Amazon Prime. We returned No. 2 and 3 and Amazon Prime credited the cost of No. 4 to our account leaving us to do with the unit as we pleased. We were satisfied that No. 5 was UL approved and that went to Matt Delach as his Christmas gift. We still possessed No. 1 one not knowing its origin and, of course, No. 4.

Working with the credit card company, we tracked down a telephone number for the company where board No. 1 had originated. Shockingly, a person answered the phone on my first try. She identified her company as, Hoverboards 360. I explained that I wanted to return the unit and she gave me their service department’s email address and instructions to send them photographs of the box and the unit which I sent from my IPhone.

Several days later they emailed a form to me. It advised me to return this form together with the unit but it didn’t give a mailing address. I filled out the form and put in the comments section: “Please send me a return label,” and emailed the form back to the service department. Several days later, I followed up with a second email. Then I began to call the original number I used but, now, when I called, a recording periodically advised me “how important my call was” and “that it would be answered shortly” for about the first ten minutes of the call. Then it somehow flipped and I heard this message: “The mailbox you called is full. Try your call again later.”  At the end of the message my call was disconnected.

Not a good sign especially as we are without an advocate like Amazon and the same sequence occurred every time I called that number.

Christmas was now closing in. Mary Ann and I talked over the status of the Board No. 4, the grateful AM unit with Beth and Tom and we agreed to bring it up to our place in New Hampshire on Christmas morning where their family was celebrating.

They had explained to Marlowe and Cace that we couldn’t receive hoverboards as they were illegal in Brooklyn where they lived. Our idea was No. 4 would live in NH and we’d store in a separate shed located a decent distance from the house.

When we arrived Christmas morning, Tom brought it into the living room. He casually mentioned that the box in a plastic bag was a gift for me. When the opening was about finished I asked the kids to open that big box as I didn’t want to get up. Once Marlowe removed the wrapping paper, she looked up at me with a puzzled look and asked, “You got a hoverboard?”

“A hoverboard; what in God’s name would I do with a hoverboard? If I got on it I’d break my good hip for sure. No thank you. Hey, would you kids want it?”

You know that millisecond of complete silence as the realization creped into their heads. And then all hell broke loose as reality hit home. Fortunately, the weather was warm and we have a flat paved area used for basketball, badminton and other games making it ideal for mastering elementary maneuvers on the board. Ultimately the time came for the Briggs family to go home and not unsurprisingly, the board accompanied them back to Brooklyn.

As for the Hoverboard 360 unit, it now lives in a rain and snow proof plastic container on our back patio, a spare for when one of the other two breaks (unless 16-year-old drew liberates it.) I will continue trying to get satisfaction from the distributor but I’m not holding my breath waiting. My last attempt on Monday, January 18, 2016 duplicated my other experiences.

Soon after Christmas ended Mary Ann sent everyone the following text: “To all, I just heard on the radio that 12 children were admitted to Valley Hospital in New Jersey on Christmas Day having suffered wrist injuries form hoverboard falls. Please make sure your kids wear wrist pads in addition to wearing helmets. I also heard Police Commissioner Bratten say, ‘It doesn’t matter whether or not hoverboards are legal in NYC, any parent or grandparent who buys one is a moron.”

I penned this addendum: “Don’t charge them at night and make sure an adult is close by and so is a chemical extinguisher.”

I think next year we may consider drones…NOT!

Part 3: The Great Hoverboard Saga (Continued.)

We gathered all five cartons in the kitchen and proceeded to cut each open to reveal their contents. The first thing to strike us was that each board came from a different source and while identical in outward appearance except for color, each inner box identified the unit by a different product name. We were in possession of a Smart Drifting Scooter, a Smart Balance Wheel, an Airboard Scooter, a Drifting Board and a Smart Self Balancing Scooter. I kid you not!

(An attorney friend later explained that they were probably manufactured by one firm but under “small batch” LLC offshoot companies in an attempt to limit liability and, perhaps, pattern infringement.)

We were searching for “UL” labels on the boxes that would confirm that each unit had been approved by Underwriters Laboratories. As an insurance man, I explained to Mary Ann, “We can’t believe that any unit is safe unless it’s approved by UL who test electrical products. They either have the UL symbol or they must go back. I wouldn’t even buy a string of Christmas tree lights unless it was UL approved.”

The first unit we inspected came from Modell’s and it bore the UL symbol. Since Matt was the prime mover to have this contraption, we both agreed this was his.

The other four did not deserve a home. None of them had the UL symbol we sort. So began the difficult task of determining which units corresponded to which orders and arranging for them to be returned. Nothing matched any paperwork or labeling and we re-boxed them using whatever seemed to make some sense.

We also wrote email messages of explanation to the parents. They agreed and Mary Ann referenced UL in her messages asking what it meant. Michael replied, “U lose.”

We first tackled the three boards ordered through Amazon, (two three and four). Mary Ann quickly located three items on her account and following the prompts on Amazon’s web site she instructed Amazon that we wanted to return three units. Amazon advised that they would contact the manufactures and we should receive return labels by email within two days.

Two suppliers sent shipping labels and Mary Ann returned these units (boards numbered two and three) via FedEx at a cost to us of $40 each. The remaining supplier (board number four) remained silent until Mary Ann followed up with Amazon. Amazon must have poked them but instead of a label this company, “Grateful AM,” sent a series of messages that escalated their position as the days went on:

We would like to tell you. Our products has quality assurance. You won’t worry the safety problem. Please continue to use it. We already spent expensive shipping fee from Hong Kong to your address.

This was followed by: If you return it to us, we only can give you the refund of value of product not including the shipping cost.

And finally: You have received our product for a long time. You must have used it already. Our company doesn’t accept the products are used already by customer, unless it is still in new type.

Enough already! After a lengthy but satisfying conversation with an Amazon representative, she agreed to credit Mary Ann’s account with $60 toward the shipping cost for the two returned units and the full purchase price for the one from Grateful AM. Great job, Mary Ann, great job Amazon Prime!

Mary Ann asked this woman, “What should we do with that board?”

“Anything you like.”

Several days later Mary Ann received a half-baked apology from Grateful AM. offering us a $100 credit if we did not return the unit.. Apparently, Amazon gave them religion. We chose to ignore their offer.

In summary, we returned two boards. We received a credit for about 80% of the price from one from the supplier and Amazon advised that the second supplier would credit our account with the full purchase price of that board. Board number four was ours do deal with as we saw fit and, number five, the one from Modell’s, was going to Matthew. That left the first board, ordered directly over the internet, ours to contend with if we could locate the supplier…(to be continued.)

The Great Hoverboard Saga

Hoverboard: A levitating board used for personal transportation in the films “Back to the Future Part 11 and Part 111.”

2015 version: An electronic skateboard powered by lithium batteries.

Sunday, September 20, 2015, 1 PM: The New York Football Giants home opener versus the Atlanta Falcons. A huge event for the male members of our family, joining me for the start of my 53^rd season – my son Mike; (this being his 31^st season,) my son-in-law, Tom, and their boys, Drew, (15), Matt, (13), and Cace, (9).

A warm, sunny opening day swelled our already happy, busy, crowded tailgate beyond two dozen or so fellow tailgaters. Food offerings exceeded calculation guarantying famine would be absent. Among those attending, Ehab, a regular, and his son Chase. Chase introduced the lot of us to this new phenomenon, the hoverboard, that he rode around the parking lot with ease simply shifting his weight and stance to turn, go forward, stand-still and go backwards. My three grandsons were mesmerized and all successfully took turns on this contraption.

Shortly after that Sunday, Matt texted his grandmother begging for a hoverboard Christmas. He promised to renounce Satan, never get a tattoo or piercing or ask for any other gifts from Santa or his January birthday in return. Faced with such a plea, Mary Ann quickly caved and the order went out for Hoverboard No. 1.

Cace soon climbed on the bandwagon followed by our two granddaughters, Marlowe and Sami as the news of Matty’s score leaked. And so it came to pass that three additional orders were placed by Dame Mary Ann, this time using her membership in Amazon Prime. The only one still missing was: Grandson No.1, Drew, who about to turn 16-years old, was more interested in obtaining his learning permit and the vague possibility of a Jeep Wrangler in his future. That being almost out of the question Mary Ann chose to order a fifth and final unit for him, also through Amazon.

Unit No. 1 arrived first. Then three of the four through Amazon arrived. I stacked these heavy boxes in our garage as we awaited the arrivals to be completed. In mid-November when Mary Ann received discouraging news from Amazon that their remaining supplier could not guarantee a timely delivery for the Drew unit, Amazon canceled that order. Mary Ann found a replacement from Modells, a Metropolitan sporting goods store, that quickly shipped Unit No. 5.

Five in hand! We congratulated each other as to how we had seamlessly and efficiently completed our grand children’s Christmas shopping. Little did we know how wrong we were, we had no idea that all s*** was about to hit the fan!

Stories of hoverboard problems began to appear in print, on the radio and TV. The lithium batteries in some units had a propensity to overheat and catch fire while the units were in use or, worse, while being charged. These stories grew in number and we began to receive rumblings of concern from the parents. In addition, we discovered that the units were illegal in New York City where Marlowe and Cace lived. They were considered unregistered motor vehicles. It was a crime to use them on streets, sidewalks or in parks and the word was fines could be as high as $ 200 to $500.

We decided to open the units to see what God had wrought and that’s when it really hit the fan… (To be continued.)

Sometimes you get the bear and sometimes the bear gets you.

(Commentator unknown)

Part 1: The Television

Back in October Mary Ann and I finally had it with the HDTV located in our eating /relaxing room, a.k.a. “the new room” circa 1988. The sound quality had been problematic and over time grew more annoying. Inertia delayed taking action until enough was enough and the fact that we needed to replace the dishwasher sent us scurrying to P.C. Richards and Sons, a fairly well-known metropolitan area appliance retailer. Salesman Frank sold us a dishwasher, a 43 inch Samsung Smart HDTV, a stand, HTMI cables and a special device that permitted the television to be smart by connecting it into our wireless router.

Miracle of miracles, we successfully put the stand together, mounted DVD player, cable box and the TV, connected all cables and successfully turned it on (once we realized that the smart device had an on / off switch.) The TV rode on top of the stand on a swivel allowing us to turn it for viewing in different sections of the room.

A potential problem caught my eye as I was assembling the TV legs. Instead of a one piece pedestal base, this model had two wing-like sleds on either side. While they fit onto the swivel, they overhung this platform. This concern was justified a few days later when I went to turn the TV and it started to slide off the swivel. Fortunately, I had both hands free and caught it before it moved too far. “Yikes,” I said to myself, “It is just a question of time before this thing falls.”

I vowed to handle it with two hands going forward but I failed to tell Mary Ann. Sure enough, a couple / three weeks later with both hands busy, she turned it with her hip. Down it went converting the HD screen into a kaleidoscope of colors.

And so the television sat unplugged in the living room until we could return to P.C. Richards. Frank became very defensive when we arrived explaining their warranty didn’t include breakage. “I know that Frank. That’s not why we’re here,” I explained. “First off, we want to replace it, something smaller like a 40 inch and with a pedestal.”

We showed him the store’s circular that included just such a replacement unit. Frank had it in stock and I paid for it the same way as I did the broken one with my Amex Card. (What we realized with the help of Mary Ann’s friend, Dotty, that we most likely had breakage coverage with American Express.) It took me several times to try to explain this to Frank but finally he gave me the name and address of their service and repair facility located in Farmingdale.

Amex confirmed I had the coverage so I dutifully brought the TV to their facility. A nice young man helped me carry it in but felt it was a constructive total loss (CTL) as the cost of parts and labor would exceed the sales price. I replied, “From your lips to God’s ear.”

That afternoon, they asked me to call the service center in an email. I was told the cost of repairs would be $631 for parts and $99.50 labor plus tax. “Can you put that in writing?”

They did. I sent Amex the original sales receipt, the replacement TV sales receipt, the repair estimate all under a covering letter of explanation. Twelve days later Amex confirmed they would credit my account with $456.21 the sales price plus Nassau County’s 8.625% sales tax.

For the record, we won. However, this was but a skirmish for a new struggle just then developing. Stay tuned for Part 2.

Bribing V. the Underwriter

John Delach

Once upon a time a chap I shall call, V. became the leading underwriter on the really Big Oil and Gas Company’s (BO&G) insurance package. V. who worked for a Scandinavian insurance company was a fairly unsophisticated insurance man who didn’t understand how the complex insurance clauses worked or how they came into existence. V. decided to challenge them and it was my responsibility as BO&G’s broker and account executive to solve this dilemma.

Repeated attempts of negotiating by telephone, telex, fax and mail failed to bring us satisfaction so I arranged a face to face meeting to resolve these issues. We agreed to meet in Oslo, Norway. I did not want to meet in the formal setting of V’s office so I convinced him to meet at the Grand Hotel.

I traveled from New York with four other brokers each who was an expert on one of the types of coverage that the policy provided, onshore property, offshore property, casualty and marine.

I instructed each broker to purchase two .750 liter bottles of Johnny Walker Black Scotch whiskey at the Duty Free shop in JFK International Airport before boarding the flight to Oslo. This was the legal limit for each traveler to bring into Norway and I did likewise so that we accumulated ten bottles of J.W. Black.

I was not planning a drunken orgy. Liquor is heavily taxed in Norway making it almost worth its weight in gold.

I also arranged for a large comfortable suite for myself with an oversized table where I would host the meeting. When V. arrived I lined the ten bottles of J.W.B. on top of the fire place mantle and explained, “V. each time we reach agreement on the wording of a disputed clause, one of those bottles of Johnny Walker Black is yours.”

As God is my witness, ole V. began to salivate.

As soon as we finished explaining the entire rationale for the first disputed clause and fended off V’s objections, it was amazing to witness the furtive quickness that V. demonstrated as the first bottle disappeared into his travel bag.

Long story short: If you were counting bottles of Johnny Walker Black, V. won. Otherwise, it was our game set and match.

Coin Toss

John Shapiro

Some years ago we possessed two ponies for the kids. The insurance costs were quite high and it struck me that a better home for the insurance would be with marine underwriters – there are sea horses after all – rather than the avaricious livestock market.

Having selected a friendly Lloyds’ underwriter, M.L. for this exercise on the grounds he was a free thinker, I found he was happy to accept the formal livestock policy wording and he set a premium, I think, of about £750. While this was fairly competitive I tried to get this reduced and he came up with the suggestion we should toss a coin which if he won he got the 750 and if I won he would get 550 creating a spread of £200.

After accepting this deal I found the audience surrounding his box had grown and I asked Roger Tyndall if he would act as “Tosser”. Before Roger swung into action it suddenly occurred to me I ought to protect the spread if possible in a less formal way and, as another broker, John Lloyd, was passing, I asked him if he would care to a take a share of the spread on a new policy form we called “Toss Total Loss”.

It seemed fair to me to offer a rate of 50% on line which he readily accepted. His 10% line was quickly followed by others and my £200 exposure was thus reduced to 100 at worst.

A breathless hush as the coin rose into the air. It fell and I lost. My collection of these informal Toss Total Loss reinsurers, being gentlemen, paid out and all were reasonably happy.

Alas this arrangement lasted for only three renewals as my luck remained poor and I failed to win the toss each year. My supporters grew cross with my inability to win the coin toss and my Toss Total Loss market finally dried up.