ANTHONY'S ARCHIVES November 2007 - December 2007
- December 31, 2007 - Come Blow Your Horn
New Years Eve in the 1950’s was a family affair. No one went out to a fancy restaurant or got loaded at a bar. Being Italian, it was mandatory that we spent it at Nonna’s house at 2350 Beaumont Avenue in the Belmont section of the Bronx. Festivities started around 8pm with everyone gathering in my grandma’s house. When I mean everyone I mean 25 family members. There were no friends over since everyone was considered family even it you were not! So friends were called cugino or cousin. My cousin Viola to this day calls me “Cuz”. The adults sat on the chairs and sofa while the kids sat on floor as we played Tombola. Tombola is the Italian version of Bingo with 90 numbers. My grandmother was the caller and collected all the bets. We played for coins and yet we all played like high rollers. Nonna called out the numbers in Italian and she was strict about the rules! My dad called her Mrs. Mussolini. Each number though had a phrase that went with it and my Nonna shouted these out with glee. The women would sometimes laugh at some of the numerals. There were many in-jokes most of them dirty which as a kid I never got. Years later I figured out one of them was sessanove which is the number 69 and the phrase was Sotto sopra or upside down – Ahem. Meanwhile my Aunt Mary was in the kitchen preparing pizza. She had made and kneaded the dough during the day. As we played Tombola, that sexy, great sour smell of yeast, throughout the tenement. My aunt being Sicilian of course made pizza in that style with a one-inch thick sponge-like delicious crust topped with a judicious helping of tomato sauce, mozzarella and basil leaves (unlike today’s customs of smothering the crust with globs of crap). Of course I burnt my mouth on it since I was greedy to taste and couldn’t wait for it to cool off. “Pizza Mouth” my cousin Viola shouted at me as I downed some 7-UP.. Around 11pm I gave an unwanted performance on the saxophone that my Uncle Nicola gave me for Christmas. Everybody cheered and applauded - that’s what family is for. As midnight neared the excitement built as we gathered around the Philco television to watch the ball drop at Times Square and hear Guy Lombardo play “Auld Lang Syne” - live from the ballroom of the Waldorf=Astoria Hotel. The countdown started in English and in Italian: 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1!
We all hugged and kissed and we opened all the windows to let the fresh breezes of the New Year in. We ran around banging on kitchen pots with wooden spoons to chase out the evil spirits. All of us danced out into the hallways still banging and clamoring on our pots as we climbed the tenement stairs up to the roof. We tossed over some old trinkets and clothes to symbolize out with the old and in with the new. My father tossed over some firecrackers too. It was “heads up” on street level below! By 1 a.m. everybody was home. I was staying over. I snuggled up on my grandmothers “Hollywood” convertible sofa. I bit of basil was stuck in my tooth. Yum it tasted good as it dislodged as my tongue played with the hardness on the roof of my mouth – “Pizza Mouth”! The next day after Mass everyone would be back for a big afternoon dinner. Coats were piled high on Nonna’s bed and the fire escape was filled with white boxes tied with string containing pastries and cannoli. I gave an encore performance on my sax.
HAPPY NEW YEAR! - BUON ANNO!
Click here to see all the rhymes connected with Tombola -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - December 17, 2007 - Even Atheists Sing Christmas Carols
All the Winter Solstice Festivals in December are in essence humankind’s need to ensure that winter will not last forever and the sun will return: The Jewish holiday of Hanukah commemorates the triumph of light in the darkness of winter with the story of the Maccabee’s and the miraculous oil of the Menorah that kept aflame for eight days. Kwanzaa consists of seven days of celebration, featuring activities such as candle-lighting and pouring of libations and culminating in a feast and gift giving. The Hindu have Diwali and the Muslims have Eid al-Adha. Mitt Romney had it all wrong in his “Mormon” speech on the separation of church and state. In essence he said to be American you had to be one of the "faithful". What about the rest of us? As an atheist I am nostalgic for religion, its ethical values and culture. The religious holidays are primal, the celebration of humanity. It is no surprise that Christmas is held on December 25, one of the shortest days and longest nights of the year. After the Christmas Solstice the days get longer. So I celebrate my humanity when I decorate my tree, exchange presents with family, drink some wassail and eat a holiday goose. I sing Christmas Carols as lustily as any of the “O come all ye Faithful” at least the Carols I don’t hate! (see previous blog) LOL So here is my offering for an atheist Christmas Carol that we ALL can sing with no reference to God, the baby Jesus, Pharaoh, Mohammed, African tribal kings or Santa Claus.
(sung my Nina Simone) Here comes the sun, here comes the sun,
Merry Christmas to all of my dear readers See you in 2008! ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ - December 10, 2007 - "Bah Humbug" Christmas Carols I Hate! Scrooge McTony
Christmas carols are based on Christian lyrics and relate, in the main, to the Nativity. St Francis of Assisi introduced Christmas carols in to church services in the 12th century. As for the word carols, "carol" is a derivative of the French word caroller, the interpretation of which means dancing around in a circle. Carol and carols, eventually came to mean not only to dance but included music and lyrics
"The Twelve Days of Christmas" – by the time we get to “ten lords a-leaping” I am about ready to jump out of my skin. "Little Drummer Boy" – “Pa rum pum pum pum - Pa rum pum pum pum ” is worse than Chinese Water Torture. "O Little Town of Bethlehem" – the tune sounds like a funeral dirge. "Do You Hear What I hear?" - Yeah I hear nonsense. "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" – sexist song and what if Daddy wanted to kiss Santa too? "The Most Wonderful Day of the Year" – sounds like a song that “Up with People” would have on their play list. (Up Up with people, you meet them wherever you go!) UGH "Carol of the Bells"– Great tune with horrible lyrics added after the fact: Ding dong ding dong "I Wonder as I Wander" - My mind wanders and I wonder who wrote this tripe. "Let There be Peace on Earth "– and let it begin with me. Blah, blah, blah. "It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" – Andy Williams records should all be melted down and turned into I-Pod cases. Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum, Pa rum pum pum pum... -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - December 3, 2007 - "Layaway in a Manger"
At this time of year, my mother had all of her Christmas shopping done. This triumph of planning was complete actually by Labor Day. Back in the 1950’s my mothers strategy was based on the Layaway Plan and Christmas Club Payments. Before credit cards there was layaway, a way to purchase an item without without paying the entire cost at once. However, rather than taking the item home and then repaying the debt on a regular schedule, my mother did not receive the item until it was completely paid for. There was typically a fee associated with a layaway purchase, since the store must "lay" the item "away" in storage until the payments are completed. In the event my mom did not pay the amount due, the item would be returned to stock and any payments would be forfeited. My mom typically bought our clothes on this plan. She would drag me to the store in August to try on winter snow suits and sweaters. They were “layed away” until December till they magically appeared under our Christmas Tree. Gee, how did Santa know which store to go to to retrieve my coat? The other plan was payments to a Christmas Club. Right after the holiday, my mother went to the bank and opened up a few accounts in different denominations. You got a payment book filled with dated coupons that you gave to the bank teller with your money. I was forced to open one for $20 and pay into it out of my allowance so I could buy gifts for the family. I made my weekly payments of 50 cents till I would receive a check in November. There was no interest on the account but the bank did give you some free cheap gift like a calendar or plastic Santa or snow globe. So in December of 1957 being 9 years old I went by myself with $10 to Kresge’s on Fifth Avenue in the Park Slope section of Brooklyn. Kresge’s was a typical 5&10 cent store with displays of items piled in heaps on long counters. I bought a floral lace handkerchief set for my grandmother and a brown handkerchief/tie combo for my Dad. Mom got a set of note cards with nature scenes. But Uncle Joey got a LP of “Rhapsody in Blue” that I bought for 99 cents in Merkels across the street from Kresge’s. Merkels was a Brooklyn chain of meat markets. You would order your meats from the butcher who would prepare to your order. Then he handed you a piece of paper with the amount on it that you brought to a cashier who sat in a little white booth. You paid in cash as she stamped it “paid.” You then went back to the butcher dressed in white apron and retrieved your brown paper wrapped parcel that was clammily cold to the touch and had that sour freshly cut meat smell.. Merkels went out of business a few later for supposedly selling horse meat. On Christmas Day I proudly gave out my presents. I would wait breathlessly as they opened their clumsily wrapped parcels. I watched as they may or may not have feigned wonder and joy at my simple gifts. I opened up my presents and smiled knowingly as I pulled out a red plaid woolen snow suit .
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - November 24, 2007 - "And the Music Goes Round and Round" My sister, Karen discovered a box of 78’s in our family attic. These shellac discs included songs like " Wheel of Fortune” sung by Jo Stafford and “Red Sails in the Sunset” performed by Guy Lombardo and his Ochestra. This got me thinking of how today’s I-Pods and MP3 downloads will probably shove CD’s into the nostalgic dustbin joining my LP’s and 45’s. Here is a list of items that I grew up with that are no longer around.
Skate Key for my roller skates. We used to skate around in the basement
Adapter to play my 45's on my record player
Ladies wearing snoods at Ebinger's Bakery in Brooklyn wore this on a finger to cut the string on the boxes they wrapped contaiing my favorite black-out layer cake.
Mimeograph Paper that I loved to smell.
My Baby Kodak Brownie
My brother's glass baby bottles that I had to steilize in boiling water! HOT!
A Pee Pot (mine was blue plastic) that I had under my bed - "just in case."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - November 19, 2007 - Stalling
NFA Some evenings from November to November I think back to my sophomore year, social studies class in high school at Newburgh Free Academy - NFA. Mr. Cushman was a wonderful teacher. He was a suede patches on the elbows, pipe-smoking kind of guy. Once a week he made us all read a paragraph from our textbooks. He would start down one row and go down and up the other till the entire class read a selection. As a stutterer this was death by slow torture. When it got to me, I would sweat and stammer and stall and hardly get the words out. I wanted to disappear when it got to me. And I figured out a way to do just that. As the dominoes were falling and the reading crept inexorably closer for my turn, I raised my hand to be excused to go to the bathroom. “Yes, Mr. Napoli? “ “May I please be excused, Mr. Cushman?” He would hand me a wooden pass that allowed me to go out into the hallways. This gnarled block of wood was sticky and had so many names carved on it. It looked like scrimshaw. Off I went to the Boys Room and I timed by return so the reading would have passed over me and on to the next row. WHEW. Well there’s a legal limit as to how many times Mr. Cushman would permit me to “go”. I suspected he amusingly and sympathetically knew my ploy and he began to change up the patterns to trick me up and perhaps to ease up the tension of the inexorable countdown. In short, I was simply not in a congenial spot for getting away with this too much longer. I figured out if I spent more time in the bathroom the odds of being called upon to speak would be less. So on one Friday afternoon I made my judgment call and left with my pass to freedom. As I sat in the stall (stalling so to speak), I looked at all of the writings on the partition. “See Sally for a good time – Joey’s mother wears army boots – I love Amy - The Nap is queer.” The last entry made my heart stand still. I tried to erase the magic marker entry with spit and toilet paper. It was indelible. When I was done, my fingers tips were blackened. I washed my hands but there were no paper towels. It still looked like I had been fingerprinted for a heinous crime. After a long, long anxious time I went back out into the hallway and to class. The room and halls were empty.
All the classrooms where empty. It felt like that movie where the guy wakes up after taking too many sleeping pills and discovers the city is abandoned due to a nuclear bomb threat or by an invasion of aliens. I forget which. I wandered down a corridor and turned a corner past the auditorium and the glass shelf full of trophies won by our football team, the NFA Goldbacks. There was one jock way down at the other end of the empty hall taking his cleats out of his locker. I approached the Senior cautiously. “Wh-wh-where is everybody? What ha-happened?” I sputtered. “Didn’t you hear, dummy? The President was shot.” The jock banged his metal locker door shut. The wooden pass dropped to the terrazzo floor. I walked all the way home that afternoon, November 22, 1963.
"Don’t let it be forgot That once there was a spot For one brief shining moment That was known as Camelot"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - November 12, 2007 - No Parking
New Yorkers who own cars practice the almost daily ritual of moving their cars back and forth as dictated by the “alternate side of the street” parking rules. This means you move your car for a few hours from one side of a street to the other so the supposed street cleaners can sweep up. This has turned into an art form of knowing when to move the car and what side on what day etc. Timing is all. You may find all the spots gone if you have not judged correctly. For instance you know there is no parking from 11 am to 12:30 pm on Tuesday. So at noon you sit in your car on the side with no parking and wait to 12:30 pm when you are know it is safe from being ticketed. For this you are rewared by not having to move your car again till Friday! Of course being clever you can move the car on Thursday to avoid this. And this goes on and on. There is even a calendar with all the dates of “alternate side of the street suspensions” on it! Which is why NYC car owners rejoice at religious holidays when rules are suspended. All faiths join together in joyous celebration. This may be the answer to world peace. However the NYC City Council has gone a bit over board with 35 such official holidays, They just added this past week’s Diwali, Hindu Festival of lights! The City Council loves few things more than to add to the list to please their constituency.
So here are my suggestions: January Super Bowl Monday to recover from all those chicken wings and misplaced boobs. February Leap Year Day on Feb. 29. Hell it only comes once every 4 years. March St. Joseph’s Day on March 19. Why should the Irish Catholics get a day off from Lent when the Italians don’t? April April Fools Day for the entire NYC constituency. May May Pole Day on the 1st. The Polish need a day off too. June June 10th is the day Judy Garland died that set off the Stonewall Riots - for the gay voters. July “Gone swimming Day” - One free day in July at your discretion. Just put an applied for “get out of jail” card on you dashboard. August No additional holiday is needed since people who can afford cars in the city probably are away at their summer cabins. There should be plenty of spaces around for the rest of us. September Since this month is filled with religious holidays why not give a day off for the atheists. Most of the Upper West Side would appreciate that. October Halloween - Shouldn’t the devil get his due? November Tryptophan Day on the day after Thanksgiving for the stuffed sleepy heads. December Boxing Day cause “somebody up there likes me.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- - November 5, 2007 - A Family Tree Grows in Brooklyn
My sister was rummaging through our family home attic and she discovered an “autograph album” from my mother’s graduation from the 8th grade. My mother, Josephine Krokti, graduated in June of 1943 from the Catholic Parochial School of the parish of St. John the Evangelist in a Polish Section of Brooklyn on 21st St. between 5th and 6th Avenues.
My Polish side of the family grew up on the “wrong side of the highway,” Robert Moses decimated and sliced the neighborhood in two with his Brooklyn-Queens Expressway (BQE). So the Krotki’s lived on the side closest to acrid, backwater bay of Red Hook Brooklyn in New York City among industrial buildings, warehouses, factories and stables. My grandfather, Roman Krotki owned a horse and cart and would plod the local neighborhood streets selling fruits and vegetables. Unfortunately I never knew my grandfather since he died of diabetes from excessive drinking. Therefore our family was a matriarchy led by a stern, Slavic grandmother born in Krakow, Poland named Josephine. There were two sisters: Josephine (my mom) and Laura and four brothers: Philly, Larry, Eddy and Joey. I never called my uncles by their full names always Uncle Joey or Uncle Larry. There was a younger sister but she tragically died when her clothes caught on fire. The Polish side of my family was cold and bitter as a cheap, Polish potato vodka, warm when first going down but hot and bitter when it hit the stomach. The BQE cut off them off from the nourishment and sunlight of the community. They were isolated, living on the cold, hard, stony cobble-stoned streets in the gray shadows of the elevated highway. They were embittered by their poverty and the sourness of their existence flavored my upbringing. Meanwhile, this “autograph album” is a wonderful window opening up some sunlight and insight to the mores of the day, June 1943. It took staring at that date several times to dawn on me that my mom was in grammar school during the height of World War II. I imagine my mother passing the book around for her classmates to sign. I love the innocent naiveté of the entries undimmed by the cold reality of the war being waged. You can sense the anticipation and the youthful dream growing for a happy family life of a home of ones own filled with loving husband and beautiful babies. The same Brooklyn soil for these seedlings would bear sweetness for some and unexpected fruit for others. I have scanned some pages from the album-
Josephine Krotki 2 Good 2 Be 4gotten
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