John Delach

During the course of a pleasant lunch with my good friend, Mike, at Foley’s NY Saloon, a fine Manhattan sports pub, Mike remarked while enjoying his Guinness, “What those forty-something senators did by writing that letter to Iran was treason, pure and simple.”

Oops, I held my tongue as I didn’t exactly agree with Mike. True, I can’t deny those senators were both rash and inappropriate in usurping the province of the Executive Branch of our government. Furthermore, I believe that they did not act in the best interest of National unity and their actions were completely outside the terms of their franchise.

But, did they commit an act of treason? Well now, I think not.

Immediately, my mind raced back 50 years to St. Francis College and Professor James Flynn. (This is not uncommon for me in like situations that involve politics, government and law. Everything I know about these subjects is based on the teachings of Doc Flynn.)

What I recalled was his definition of treason: Treason is an overt act against the United States Government in time of war that is witnessed by at least two people. I remained silent and didn’t challenge Mike because I couldn’t be sure that the passage of time may have dimmed my memory or distorted the facts as to what constitutes treason. Subsequent investigation reveals the following:

Treason is defined as: The betrayal of one’s own country by waging war against or by consciously or purposely acting to aid its enemies.

Further U.S. Code, Title 18, Part 1, Chapter 115 defines treason as: Whoever, owing allegiance to the United States, levies war against them or adheres to their enemies, giving them aid and comfort within the United States and elsewhere, is guilty of treason and shall suffer death, or shall be imprisoned not less than five years and fined under this title but not less than $10,000; and shall be incapable of holding any office under the United States.

To prove treason: “As in any other criminal trial in the United States, a defendant charged with treason is presumed innocent until proved guilty Beyond a Reasonable Doubt. Treason may be proved by a voluntary confession in open court or by evidence that the defendant committed an overt act of treason. Each overt act must be witnessed by at least two people, or a conviction of treason will not stand. By requiring this type of direct evidence, the Constitution minimizes the danger of convicting an innocent person and forestalls the possibility of partisan witch-hunts waged by a single adversary.

“Unexpressed seditious thoughts do not constitute treason, even if those thoughts contemplate a bloody revolution or coup. Nor does public expression of subversive opinions, including vehement criticism of the government and its policies constitute treason.”

Fifty years later, I can proclaim, my brain is not too shabby. Once again, the teachings of Doc Flynn have weathered the test of time and weathered it well.

Treason is one of those words people like to throw around to express their displeasure with others. I suspect we‘ve all been guilty of branding those with whom we fervently disagree of engaging in treasonous acts when they say or do something truly offensive.

Just how narrow the intent of the Founding Fathers in defining what is treason can best be demonstrated by the conviction and execution of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg for handing over secrets to the atomic bomb to the USSR during World War II.  The Rosenbergs were convicted of espionage but were not tried for treason because the Soviet Union was an ally during the war. By definition, they were not traitors.

For the record, may I suggest, we should be really, really careful who we declare as committing treason or brand as traitors less we too shall so be branded by those who differ with us.

As Kurt Vonnegut once wrote, We are what we pretend to be. That is why we should be careful as to what we pretend to be.

Concrete Charlie Bednarik passed away in March at 89. The son of Slovenian immigrants and a native of Bethlehem, PA, he was as hard-nosed, rugged and durable as any football player who has played in the NFL. For most of his 14 – year career season that began in 1949, he played both ways: center on offense and middle guard / linebacker on defense until the end of the 1960 season. He was the last “sixty-minute man” in the league and the essence of Philadelphia Eagles football.

Bednarik is remembered most for the blind-side hit he delivered to an unsuspecting Frank Gifford that knocked the New York Giants premier running back into the middle of the following week and out of football for the 1961 season. Bethlehem, PA was Concrete Charlie and Charlie was Mister Bethlehem.

The city also had a steel mill owned and operated by the company bearing its name. Now gone, the firm was once enormous, America’s second largest steel producer with national operations that included shipyards in Quincy, Mass, New York City, Philadelphia and Baltimore. These yards had their own fleets of workboats enough to warrant decent size insurance policies. For years, Bethlehem’s insurance manager, a chap named Geoffrey Jones, remained loyal to a Manhattan-based competitor of mine, Johnson & Higgins. But in reality, Geoffrey was a star struck Anglophile who loved his twice-yearly visits to London where he met with J&H’s English partner firm, Willis Faber. The object of his admiration was his Lloyds’ broker, Neil Gaines.

All went well until insurance broking mergers upset Mr. Jones’ world. When Willis merged with a New York firm, Caroon & Black, J&H cut ties with them and established their own London office. Geoffrey was livid and, in his fury, put his program out to bid. Requests for proposals were sent to major brokers including my firm’s Philadelphia office. Realizing their lack of marine expertise, I was asked to participate in drafting our bid and making the oral presentation.

When the dates were being set for the presentations in Bethlehem, I asked my counterpart in Philadelphia, Tom Chasser, “Who are we taking to the presentation and who will our competitors be?”

Tom replied, “Just you and me. Willis is sending Neil Gaines and some woman from their New York office; I think she goes by Ms. M.G. Wilson. J&H is sending two Brits from London, Roger Tyndall and Nigel Rahn.”

“You gotta be kidding me, Tom, I asked incredulously?”

“Why, what’s wrong John?”

“Tom,” I replied, “Here’s what’s going to happen when we go out to Bethlehem. Jones is going to look us over and this is what he’s going to say to you, ‘Mr. Chasser, what I can’t understand is that J&H has brought me two chaps from London, Mr. Tyndall and Mr. Rahn and Willis brought over Mr. Gaines. But all you bring to me is this fellow, Delach from New York. Am I missing something?’

“And Tom, I plan to answer this question and do you know what I am going to say to him?”

Tom shook his head, no.

“I am going to look Jones right in the eye and say to him loud and clear, “How about them Eagles!”

It so happened, our own Brit, William Hayes was visiting our office. Hayes was a liability insurance man who knew nothing about marine; I drafted him to be our spokesman. Driving out on I-78 across New Jersey in my GMC truck, I briefed Hayes, “William, you will front the presentation and Tom and I will handle the details.

Geoffrey fell in love with William so much so that when we had a post-presentation lunch in an old inn, I thought I’d have to arrange a hotel room for the two of them.

We won the bid, got the business and through the absurdity of it all, I have had a fondness for Bethlehem, PA and Concrete Charlie.

RIP Mr. Bednarik, RIP Bethlehem Steel.

Relative Perpetuity Revisited

In December, I reported that Lincoln Center would pay Avery Fisher’s descendants $15 million to remove his name from the home of the New York Philharmonic allowing a new donor to contribute a substantial amount toward the estimated $500 million needed to improve acoustics for the 21^st Century.

Enter David Geffen former movie producer and current philanthropist who has pledged $100 million toward this project. In return, the Philharmonic will re-christen its home David Geffen Hall. According to The New York Times, “Mr. Geffen insisted that the Philharmonic’s hall bear his name in perpetuity.”

Really, that’s what they told Mr. Fisher. Though the 72-year-old Geffen will long be dead and buried when a name change again becomes an issue, Mr. Geffen better not bet his yacht or his extensive art collection that his name will not join Mr. Fisher’s as a footnote on a plaque in the lobby.

The same piece noted that David Koch (as in “Coke”) donated $100 million to the New York State Theater in 2008. In return the theater was renamed after him for 50 years. It may then be renamed again, but the Koch family will retain the right of first refusal. Now that’s how you make a deal!

Trustee Goes South

As the town of Mastic Beach joined other Long Island’s towns and villages in battling the February snow storms, Town Trustee Gary Stiriz, went A.W.O.L. Mr. Stiriz was responsible for the village’s streets being plowed but had been vacationing in the Florida sun since the middle of January missing all seven storms. He spent a total of four months in the sunshine state this past winter. Needless to say the 63 year-old trustee didn’t stand for re-election on March, 18^th.  Adios, Gary.

Mount Holyoke College Redefines Who Is a Woman

Mount Holyoke’s admission policy remains committed to its historical mission as a women’s college but they note in their admission guidelines: “Yet, concepts of what it means to be a woman are not static. Traditional binaries around who counts as a man or woman are being challenged by those whose gender identity does not conform to their biology.”

Take your time, read that again if necessary. Let me know when you are ready. Okay, shall we continue? Again from their admission policy:

The following academically students can apply for admission consideration:

• Biologically born female; identifies as a woman
• Biologically born female; identifies as a man
• Biologically born female; identifies as other/they/ze*
• Biologically born female; does not identify as either woman or man
• Biologically born male; identifies as a woman
• Biologically born male; identifies as other/they/ze* and when “other/they identity includes s a woman
• Biologically born with both male and female anatomy (Intersex)**; identifies as a woman

*Ze a gender neutral pronoun. See also sie, hir, cd and ei.

**Condition of being intermediate between male and female: e.g. hermaphrodite.

Sooner or later cads will apply on the grounds that although in appearance, in dress and manner they seem to be male; in their hearts and souls they are women. Baloney, in their hearts they want to get laid and if that means entering into a lesbian relationship, then so much the better.

Mandatory Composting

“San Francisco may have been the first city to make its citizens compost food, but Seattle is the first to punish people with a fine if they don’t.”

The land of fruits and nuts strikes again only this time it includes the fruits and nuts. But as well-intentioned as these simple souls may be, there are unintended consequences that arise from composting. Cedar Grove Composting in Everett notes that problems arise from those little plastic stickers that are affixed to every piece of fruit. They identify if the product is organic, where it originates and has the code the cashier uses to price it. Steven Banchero III of Cedar Grove explains, “They are so little we just can’t sift them out. They end up popping out in people’s gardens. That’s really annoying.”

No, Mr. Banchero III, what’s really annoying is that the two-legged fruits and nuts have amassed the amount of power that they have. Hopefully the big quake will hit sooner rather than later.

Day after day, more people come to L.A.

Shush, don’t you tell anybody the whole place slipping away.

Where can you go when there aint no San Francisco

Better get ready to tie up the boat in Idaho

Day After Day by Shango

The following is a guest blog written by the Honorable Peter King, representative from the 2 NY congressional district. Peter King and I graduated together from St. Francis College in 1965. The NIT is providing the Terriers with a second life. They open in Richmond, VA against the Richmond Spiders on March 18.     

As a graduate of St Francis College I saw my old school play their hearts out last night and just miss a miracle ending to what was already a dream season for the Terriers basketball season. Down by 10 points (57-47) with barely 4 minutes to go, St Francis waged a furious rally to close to within 2 point (62-60) with seconds to go, then be down 63-60 with 1.6 seconds left and have a 3/4 court shot hit off the rim as the buzzer went off.

This was a heartbreaking defeat. If St Francis had won, it would have been invited to the NCAA Tournament for the first time in the history of the 67 year old classic. St Francis has had near misses before but as more than 1100 screaming fans crammed themselves into the 4th smallest Division 1 basketball arena on Tuesday evening, anticipation was high that this would be St Francis’ year and the 67 year drought would be ended.*

This season had been one for the ages. A tough, gritty high quality college located in Downtown Brooklyn, St Francis Basketball always had to punch above its weight. But never more than this season. Starting off 0-5, St Francis was written off before finishing off the regular season 21-10 and running away with the Northeastern. Conference Championship (15-3).

After winning its first two NEC Tournament games, St Francis just needed to defeat Robert Morris University to fulfill the long sought dream of its students, alumni and fans and play in the NCAA Tournament. The game was a classic hardnosed struggle with the lead going back and forth throughout the 1st half until the Terriers ran off 4 points in the final 20 seconds for a 35-29 halftime lead.

The 2nd half saw St Francis suffer through an 8 minute dry spell where it scored only 1 basket, fall 10 points down and make its gutsy and dramatic closing surge, only to fall short at the buzzer. The crowd which had been cheering at roaring decibel levels fell silent-the long sought prize denied once again. But as the crowd filed slowly from the undersized gym onto Remsen Street, disappointed as we were with the result, there was nothing but pride in the team which had played its heart out literally to the final second of its almost magical season.

Driving home through the rain, my classmate John Delach and I agreed that Coach Glenn Braica and his St Francis team had given us a season to remember.

*The dought ended less than a week later when SFC’s Women’s Team beat Robert Morris to become the NEC Champions. The good news; this gave The Terriers a berth in the Women’s NCAA Tournament. The bad news – they open against UCONN.

From the March 5^th edition of The New York Times:

For more than a decade, the New Jersey attorney general’s office conducted a hard-fought legal battle to hold Exxon Mobil Corporation responsible for decades of environmental contamination in northern New Jersey.

But when news came that the state had reached a deal to settle its $8.9 billion claim for about $250 million, the driving force behind the settlement was not the attorney general’ office – it was Gov. Chris Christie’s chief counsel Christopher S. Porrino…

With The Times setting the agenda and leading the charge, Jersey Democratic politicians, environmentalists and activists were empowered. Assemblyman John F. McKeon (D), “The reported settlement is appalling and disturbing…”

Bradley M. Campbell, former Jersey environmental commissioner wrote in an NYT Op-Ed piece that same day: “The decision…to settle an environmental lawsuit…for roughly three cents on the dollar is an embarrassment to law enforcement and good government.”

For the record, this lawsuit involves the sprawling Bayway Refinery originally built by Standard Oil of New Jersey, (Esso) that Esso and Exxon operated for many years. Located in Bayonne and Linden adjacent to the New Jersey Turnpike, this foul smelling location has been the bbrunt of jokes for years.

The late Jean Shepherd once called out to his radio audience one Saturday night, “Listen, right now as I speak, there is a boy and a girl out on a first date traveling down the turnpike just south of Exit 13: she thinks it’s him and he thinks it’s her.”

The state contended that Exxon contaminated 1,500 acres of wetlands, marshes and meadows around the refinery. Judge Michael S. Hogan was believed ready to rule on the amount of damages that Exxon owed when the settlement was reached.

In a rebuttal to these critics, Gov. Christie’s administration stated the actual amount of the settlement is $225 million while noting this amount was, “the single largest environmental settlement with a corporate defendant in New Jersey’s history.” They further debunked Campbell as a “known partisan” who, when a commissioner, stated that this action could reasonably be settled in the hundred millions of dollars.

Eventually, justice will prevail, but what the paper of record and these critics are ignoring is if Judge Hogan rejects this settlement and awards a substantially higher amount to the state, that would only be the beginning of years of further litigation.

Exxon does not take judicial rulings lightly. They are the biggest, baddest battlers on earth and unlike any other entity except Uncle, they have all the time, all the money and all the lawyers they need to fight a judgment for as long as it takes.

Witness the litigation surrounding the grounding of the tanker, Exxon Valdez in March of 1989 that released 11 million gallons of oil into Prince William Sound. Judge H. Russell Holland presided over the suit brought by 32,000 fisherman, Alaska natives, landowners and commercial businesses. In 1994, the jury returned awards for a bit over $500 million in compensatory damages and $5 billion in punitive damages.

Exxon appealed. The Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals ruled the amount of the punitive damages was excessive. But Judge Holland, a Reagan appointee, didn’t think it was that excessive so reinstated the award to the tune of $4 billion.

(That’s when I discovered that the Judge Holland looked like a bearded mountain man, that the H. stood for Hezekiah. This prompted me to coin the slogan, “Never trust your fate to a judge named Hezekiah.”)

The case returned to the Ninth Circuit who admonished Holland to re-consider the award using the Supreme Court’s guidelines. This offended Holland who punted the case back to the Ninth with a battle cry that the Supremes’ views didn’t cut it with his original analysis.

This took the process from 2002 until 2004. In December 2006, the Ninth issued its own ruling setting punitive damages at $2.5 billion. On to Washington, DC and on June 25, 2008, 19 years after the grounding and 14 years after the original judgment, the Supremes voted 5-3 (Justice Samuel Alito recused himself) setting the award at $507.5 million an amount equal to the original compensatory damages. (With interest: $1.515 billion.)

I cannot speak on the merits of the Bayway case. But based on history, may I suggest that before continuing this assault to tar and feather Christie and Porrino, it may be well to consider what would be achieved should New Jersey’s litigation goes forward and at what cost.

All the leaves are brown and the sky is gray,

I’ve been for a walk on a winter’s day.

I’d be safe and warm if I was in L.A.;

California dreamin’ on such a winter’s day.

                                       California Dreamin’

February is a good month to hate. Personally I’ve hated February since I was old enough to see the writing on the wall and the only reason that it took me so long to utterly detest the second month of the year is my birthday comes in February. Growing up celebrating a birthday on February 22 was grand. I had the luxury of being off from school every year. Several times my mother took me to Manhattan for lunch at the Automat and a first-run movie at the Paramount, the Palace, Radio City or the Roxy.  Fortunately I graduated from primary school before the Feds ruined my birthday together with George and Abe by stripping both of their holidays replacing them with that satanic substitute, President’s Day. President’s Day indeed, what baloney! Who celebrates the birth of lesser presidents like Pierce or Buchanan, Harrisons (both of them) Hayes, Arthur or Coolidge? Balderdash, we might as well celebrate Tom Dewey’s or Adali Stevenson’s birthdays as national holidays.

Ah, but I digress, the issue before us is the horror of February. Our discontent is not limited to snow zones although they have been clobbered. Lake effect snow has delivered its share of misery from the Dakotas through Chicago and Cleveland to Buffalo, east across New York State, through Albany, into Massachusetts hitting Springfield and Worchester hard and often. Nor’easters have been especially cruel to the New England coast dropping tons of snow on Boston where the head of the MBTA, Beverly Scott, was reduced to speaking in tongues during a news conference on the day before she resigned. That’s what eight feet of snow can do to a human being!

Not content, to paralyze the Mid-West and the Northeast, the Jet Stream dipped further and further south bringing chaos and mayhem to the Sun Belt. Ice storms hit Texas, freezing temperatures in Georgia and Florida, the Carolinas and Virginia. Snow, ice, wind and cold began soon as Super Bowl XLIX ended continuing on and on and on throughout the month. (You decide if this was God’s payback for under inflated footballs?)

February is, has been and always will be a horrible month. Each year, February produces another Valley Forge, a Stalingrad or a Chosin Reservoir. Sieges to be endured huddled up, house bound, held hostage hoping power doesn’t fail or pipes burst. What do we get in return, Punxsutawney Pete, Ash Wednesday and Lent!

Good riddance February, good riddance and goodbye.

Then I’m laying out my winter clothes

And wishing I was gone

Going home.

Where the New York City winters

Aren’t bleeding me

Leading me’

Going home.

                 The Boxer

When the system works against us we usually have little or no choice but to succumb to the inevitable and accept that life is less than we want it to be. But, I ask you, dear reader, “What if you were granted special circumstances that provided you with the opportunity to right a nagging wrong? Would you take it even if it meant ratting out some other person?”

Damn right you would.

For a little over ten years from 1989 to 2000, I regularly exercised almost every morning before going to work. My company offered free membership to Cardio Fitness Center, an upscale gym located in Rockefeller Center. The clientele included executives from Exxon, Rockefeller Center itself, Time-Life and The New York Times. Cardio Fitness made it simple and easy. They opened at 6:30 and supplied unisex tee shirts and shorts for every member making it the antithesis of a muscle gym.

We each had a locker and it didn’t take long after I joined that fall to realize just who some of my locker mates were. One December morning, I listened over my shoulder to the following conversation: “David, that was a lovely lighting ceremony last night.”

“Why thank you Punch, I do believe we were able to procure a nice tree this year.”

As I tied my sneaker, I stole a glance in the direction of the conversants, my eyes confirming that they were indeed Arthur (Punch) Sulzberger, publisher of the NY Times and David Rockefeller. Armed with this information, I chose to share my six degrees of separation story with others finishing with, “David Rockefeller and I are on a first-name basis: I call him, ‘Your Wealthiness’ and he calls me, ‘Hey you.”

A self-imposed, daily early morning trip to Cardio wasn’t easy since I lived in Port Washington, a slave to the LIRR and transportation within Manhattan to get from Penn Station at Thirty-Third and Eighth to the McGraw-Hill Building at Forty-Eighth and Sixth. This meant taking the 5:36 train out of Port Washington and finding fellow-travelers with whom to share a cab.

To make the 5:36 bedtime was never past 9 pm. I awoke at 4:47*, shaved, took a courtesy shower, dressed in clothes laid out the night before and left the house at 5:20 for the short ride to the station. At that time in the morning the only two dangers I faced were garbage trucks and newspaper delivery people both who owned the street and didn’t look for other traffic.

My car radio was set to 660 AM, WFAN, a sports talk show station then hosted by Steve Summers. Steve went off the air at 5:30 so I heard his last caller of the night who more times than not was a diminutive chap who Steve deemed, short Al. Steve would begin their conversation with, “Time is short and so is Al.”

Arriving at the station, my first priority was to secure the morning NY Times, the second, a cup of Joe before picking out one of the plentiful parking spaces.

On the train, same car, same seat every day; in the beginning I was one of the few “suits”  universally despised by construction workers and other non-suits. I didn’t blame them as most suits were financial types who spread themselves across several seats while shutting out the world behind the Wall Street Journal and the Financial Times.

The Paper of Record was what I craved, but many days it was dicey whether the Times would make it before I arrived. Sometimes the papers made it but the news vendor didn’t show before departure. That problem was easily solved, a pocket knife or a car key would cut the strap and a cardboard cup would hold the money owed. If the Times wasn’t there, Newsday would have to suffice as a poor substitute. Unfortunately, as time went by the Times failed to arrive with greater regularity. When I complained to the newsstand guy, he shook his head and said that the delivery man didn’t care.

It just so happened that the locker next to mine belonged to John Reilly, then the Times’ Metropolitan editor. One day, frustrated, I complained to Mr. Reilly about the tardiness of his newspaper reaching Port Washington. As if by magic, shortly thereafter, the paper never missed the train again. And this honeymoon continued, all was well and life was good. One day I mentioned to the newsstand proprietor how pleased I was with the delivery of the Times. His eyes lit up as he said, “Wow, I know. But that delivery guy is really ticked off. His boss came down on him like a ton of bricks. He said some big shot had dropped a dime on him and he was almost fired.”

The rat said nothing and just walked away with a smile on his face. As I think about it now, I may have been whistling Strike up the Band too.

*Why 4:47? My clock alarm was tuned to a news station, WCBS, that reported traffic and weather on the eights.

A white elephant: a possession entailing great expense out of proportion to its usefulness or value to the owner.

Officially, New Jersey is known as the Garden State but realistically, Jimmy Hoffa’s resting place can rightfully claim the title as the White Elephant State. Most of these monuments to misplaced ambition and stupidity are bunched together in the swamps of East Rutherford fondly referred to as The Meadowlands.

Witness the Izod Center; aka, Brendan Byrne Arena; aka, Continental Arena. Opened in 1981, this 20,000 plus facility es kaput. Deserted by the Devils, Nets and profits, Izod Center in North Jersey is to close. So reported The New York Times noting that the arena is expected to lose $8.5 million in 2015. The hockey team left in 2007 for the Prudential Center in Newark and the Nets departed to the Barkley Center in Downtown Brooklyn for their 2011-2012 season.

Rather than demolish this facility, it will be mothballed until 2017 when the American Dream Meadowlands complex is currently expected to open, but I wouldn’t bet the ranch on that happening.

The American Dream Meadowlands complex is the newest name for a facility that here-to-fore owns the title of the most elaborate White Elephant in the state.

Originally named Xanadu Meadowlands, construction on this monstrosity began in 2004 with an expected building time of two years and a price tag in the billions. Various issues, problems and law suits slowed completion although; by 2009 it was 80% complete. Of course, by then the economy had gone to hell and so had its tenants, funding and debt load.

Its exterior has been deemed one of the ugliest facades of any structure ever envisioned. I cannot possibly do justice to just how revolting the exterior is. “A combination of aluminum composite and siding, of various colors including turquoise, red, yellow and green…” are mixed in with blue and white checks almost at random. The indoor ski slope at one end only enhances its cartoon effect prompting Governor Chris Christie to declare the complex, “…the ugliest building in New Jersey and possibly America…”

With the death of Lehman Brothers in 2009, funding and committed retailers vamoosed. By August of 2010, control had been surrendered to five lenders. As if the financial crash wasn’t enough, Mother Nature struck during the winter of 2011. “On February 1, after a record-breaking month of snow for the area, a 50 to 60-foot long section of the eastern wall buckled and a horizontal crease was apparent on the complex’s ski slope. Two days later, on February 3, after workers were attempting to melt snow from the ski slope’s roof, ice build-up caused the eastern wall to fail and suffer a partial collapse.”

Still, a new management group, Triple Five took control in the spring of 2011. Triple Five, who own Mall of America and West Edmonton Mall, re-christened the complex, American Dream Meadowlands (ADM) and expanded the complex to include a water park and a theme park. Lawsuits with the Giants and Jets delayed things further but once settled, the project resumed with a new completion date in late 2016.

I predict that this will come to pass as planned including the indoor ski slope, the amusement park and a water park plus an indoor ice rink, a 26 screen movie theater, and a 3,000 seat concert hall. The piece de resistance will be, the New Jersey Eye, an outdoor observation wheel providing panoramic views of New York City from 26 climate controlled gondolas. Yes, I predict this will come to pass so long as God stops paying attention to every other activity on the planet and dedicates His infinite will to the ADM for the next two years.

Good grief, I’m running out of space without getting to costly Met Life Stadium, home to the football Giants and Jets. Note; Met Life, constructed without a dome to the tune of $1.8 Billion cost more money to build than the NFL’s ultimate cathedral, AT&T Stadium, home of the Dallas Cowboys. More popularly called, Jerry’s Palace dedicated to the power and greed of the Cowboys’ owner, this magnificent edifice has a retractable roof and every possible bell and whistle imaginable making non-domed Met Life look like a band box! In truth, Met Life is fatally flawed and, except for some modern electronic updates, it doesn’t hold a candle to its predecessor, Giants Stadium that was destroyed when less than 40 years old.

The Red Bulls have a new soccer stadium in Harrison and Newark’s Prudential Center, home to the NHL Devils. Both arenas were constructed on the theory that, “If you build it they will come.”

But will they come to Harrison or Newark; fuhgeddsboudit!

Sunday, November 20, 1978: If you were a Philadelphia Eagles fan listening to the game on the radio late in that afternoon, you were close to giving up. Your team playing in Giants Stadium at the other end of New Jersey was losing 13 to 17. The hated Giants controlled the football with only 32 seconds left to play. The Eagles were out of time outs, the situation was in doubt. Yet, here is how the team’s second year play-by-play announcer, 36-year-old Merrill Reese, described what happened next:

Under thirty seconds left in the game. From here on Pisarcik can fall on the ball and there’s nothing the Eagles can do.

And Pisarcik fumbles the football.

It’s picked up by Herman Edwards.

15-10-5-TOUCHDOWN, Eagles.

I don’t believe it, I don’t believe it!

The Eagles beat the Giants, 19 to 17 before a shocked crowd.

This unbelievable finish that Eagles fans call to this day, “The Miracle at the Meadowlands” (and Giants fans, “The Fumble”) were resurrected by the last play the Seattle Seahawks ran in Super Bowl XLIX. Having reached the Patriots one-yard-line with 26 seconds remaining in the game and down four points, the Seahawks needed a touchdown to win the game. They elected to try a pass play instead of simply handing the ball to their formidable running back, Marshawn Lynch.  Unfortunately for Seattle, Malcolm Butler, a Patriot defensive back read the play and jumped the receiver’s route intercepting the football at the goal line. Game, set and match; the New England Patriots were the Super Bowl Champions for the fourth time in the Brady-Belichick era and the Seattle offensive coaching staff was the goats.

Darrell Bevell, Seattle’s offensive coordinator, told the press, “It didn’t turn out the way I hoped it would.”

Indeed, Mike Francesa, the foremost sports radio host in New York, opined: “The single worst big-moment call in the history of sports. If I live to be 200, I’ll never see anything as dumb in my life.”

The Giants bone-headed play selection at the end of that Eagle game back in 1978 was the choice of their offensive coordinator, Bob Gibson. On the previous play, Joe Pisarcik, the Giants quarterback took a knee. Then, for reasons unknown, Gibson called for a running play instead of telling Pisarcik to take one last knee to end the game. In situations like this, it is considered professional courtesy for the offense to tell their opponents that they would take a knee. The big defensive linemen would stay in their place to avoid unnecessary injuries to either team. When none of the Giants linemen said anything, an Eagles defender asked, “Are you guys running a play?”

“We are,” came the response. Gibson called a running play by Giants fullback, Larry Csonka. Pisarcik turned to hand the ball to Csonka, missed and only managed to hit Csonka’s leg. The ball went bouncing away where Herman Edwards scooped it up on the run and scored the winning touchdown.

The sports writers were horrified. Dave Klein wrote a piece that appeared under the headline, “Eagles Take Advantage of Boner Call.” Klein wrote:

It should not have happened. It could not have happened. There was no way the Giants could have lost yesterday. But they found a way. Blame it on a gross and grievous error on the part of the coaching staff.”

Gibson was fired the next day and never spent another minute with a football team at any level ever again. Gibson retreated to Sanibel Island where he opened a bait shop, a bar and a restaurant called Gibby’s. Today at 87, he resides in nearby Fort Myers still unreachable and uncommunicative about that horrible play on that Sunday afternoon.

So far, the Seahawks have rallied around Bevell and his boss, head coach, Pete Carroll admits he too signed off on the play. Unfortunately, plays that are directly responsible for losing a championship never go away and the goat carries this with him forever. Bevell is that goat.

Gibson was smart getting out to start a new life in paradise. Bevell may want to consider a similar move. If you don’t believe me, ask Bill Buckner.

Avery Robert Fisher (1906-1994), grew up an aficionado of classical music. He went on to experiment with audio designs and acoustics with the goal of developing a radio receiver capable of creating sound the equivalent to the experience of listening to a live orchestra. He developed high fidelity just before World War II when paired with newly invented FM radio, fulfilled his goal. His Fisher Radio Company became a leader in developing quality sound receivers culminating with the remarkable 22-tube stereophonic TA600 radio introduced in 1959, a radio of such quality that it retailed for $350 (equal to $2,800 today.) Mr. Fisher sold his company to Emerson Electric in 1969 for $31 million.

Mr. Fisher is best remembered for his philanthropy.  He donated $10.5 million to the New York Philharmonic in 1973 and in return the trustees agreed to name their new quarters at Lincoln Center, Avery Fisher Hall, in perpetuity or so it seemed.

By 2014, $10.5 million dollars wasn’t what it used to be in the last 40 years while technology has raised people’s expectations to experience performances that a 1973 facility cannot possibly produce. And so the current trustees determined that Avery Fisher Hall needs a $500 million restoration.

The trustees at Lincoln Center recently reached agreement with the Fisher family to pay his descendants $15 million together “with other inducements in hopes of luring a much larger donor willing to subsidize…” this project.

So much for perpetuity!

Curiously, shortly following this press release, the American Museum of Natural History announced their plans to build: “A $325 million, six-story addition designed to foster the institution’s expanding role as a center for scientific research and education.”

The addition will be called, the Richard Gilder Center for Science, Education and Innovation. Robin Pogrebin reported in The New York Times: “Mr. Gilder has been involved in every major initiative of the museum’s during the last 20 years…His gift will put his total contributions to the museum at more than $125 million during that period, making him the single largest donor in the institution’s history.”

Richard Gilder, Jr. (born May 31, 1932) is another New York philanthropist, well-respected for his contributions to his alma matter, Yale, the Central Park Conservancy,  other institutions and, of course the Museum of Natural History. His success in life came as the founder and lead partner of Gilder, Gagnon, Howe & Co, a firm specializing in trading stocks and short selling.

In recognition of his generosity, the museum had already named its Richard Gilder Graduate School after him. This school has bestowed a Ph.D. in comparative biology, something rare for a museum.

Good luck Mister Gilder in your effort to be known in perpetuity. Most Americans would never think about this fate. We’re born, live and die. With luck our families and friends remember us for a time. This is good.

Famous and infamous make it into history but relatively unknown people who, through a flaw in our capitalist system, acquire considerably more wealth than they are entitled to, feel a driving need to achieve immortality by buying their way into it as they contemplate their own end.

Once we called them robber barons. The Rockefellers, Mellons, Harrimans and Vanderbilts of years gone by who flooded charities with money. So too do the current super rich; the Kochs, Tishes, Langones, Buffets and Gates who give back so much because they own so much. Their names may remain for eons, more or less.

But the shelf-life for Mr. Gilder’s perpetuity is limited. I hope he negotiated an acceptable time frame that his name will stand in place at the museum and its grad school or that the museum will have to payoff his descendants when it is removed.

Sam Roberts who wrote the piece about Avery Fisher’s demise noted that not that long ago, the Metropolitan Museum of Art proposed to name their Roman Sculpture Court in perpetuity after Leon Levy, a collector and philanthropist. Leon’s wife, Shelby White, had the wherewithal to ask, “How long is perpetuity?”

The Met’s director replied, “For you, 50 years.”

Ms White was not pleased as their daughter was in her 20s at the time so she insisted that this director extend his definition of perpetuity to 75 years.

The director agreed and the deal was done. Leon got 75 years of immortality and the Met got $20 million.

“New York is the fastest track in the world”

John Lindsay