The days just seemed to blend together like a gauzy old daguerreotype back in late 1974. I was working at a high end audio salon and my aborted attempt at trade/technical school had ended in failure. It's such a drag to make plans, execute them, and then find out it was all a really bad idea. What had sounded so good one and a half years ago now looked like a pipe dream. Ill conceived and poorly planned I turned my back on architectural drafting school and instead took a job selling audio which had become my true calling, at least in the 1970's. But the truth was, I wasn't making very much money at it and I was barely scraping by. It seemed that every time I cut back it was in the grocery department. My meals became more spartan and lean as my six foot frame fell to 125 lbs. While my roommate's family was visiting they felt the need to donate some of their pizza to my cause as I looked like I could use some. When my mother finally saw me she said that I looked like "a broom with pants". What a conquering hero I turned out to be. My roommate had inherited a portable black and white TV which he stuck in the living room. It was a welcome luxury in this very bare-bones life that I was leading. I knew I couldn't go on living this way but I couldn't just leave. It would be an admittance of failure which my youthful pride and stubborn nature would never live down. I needed to change the dynamic, shake things up, get out if need be. But I didn't see it yet. All I could see was going to work and coming home. I did the same things, ate the same food and did it all over again the next day. At least lunch was wonderful. I would have a burger at Bob's Big Boy at the mall because it always cost a buck. I had to conserve because my '66 MGB would no doubt need some kind of repair so every day it didn't was another day I could keep the wolves away from the door. One night in December I made my way back to our apartment and plunked myself down in the bean bag chair in the living room. I strained to reach out and turn the TV on and adjust the volume. I was alone in the apartment and soon I began to wonder what I would get for dinner. It would probably be the same thing I had last night and the night before...spaghetti or bean burritos. What to do with such delicious choices. I felt the weight of being away from home and wondering about my future all at once when finally I gave up thinking of food. I just sat and stared at the TV, not worrying or caring about what I was watching. Then in a split second my world changed. From the TV I heard the familiar piano riffs of Vince Guaraldi heralding the opening bars of "Christmastime is here..." A Charlie Brown Christmas had just come on and I smiled broadly while looking around and hoping that my roommate would walk in so I could watch it with someone. Anyone. But I watched alone and felt warm again as I recalled Christmases past with my family.
The TV show finished and I sat there in my bean bag chair without moving. I was happier than I'd been in more than a year. As soon as I got up to make my yucky dinner I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go home to my family and regroup, find a new direction. Surely I could be a race car driver or a professional tennis player or an actor. I'd better get started. I would go home to California's Central Coast and stay there for the next thirty years. It was a good move. Those are the thoughts that race through my mind every time A Charlie Brown Christmas come on. Thoughts of going home to my family and of childhood memories of Decembers long past. It's coming on again in a few minutes and I'm going to watch it. You should too.
No, this isn't an episode of Stargate SG-1 although it's just as exciting and just as bizarre. This is CERN's new super duper pooper scooper...The Hadron Super Collider. The New York Times had an excellent article about it here but it's basic premise is that this huge particle accelerator may yield some of the biggest scientific discoveries about the universe we've ever seen. It may also portend doom for not only our planet but for the universe as well. So exciting!
Due to the possibility of producing the mysterious Higgs boson which is a particle that imbues other particles with mass, the fate of the universe may hinge on our NOT producing it. Let's be clear, the particle could be dangerous. It may be anathema to existence in our macro world. For that reason the coincidence of every possible snafu and accident slowing down the accelerator's much awaited research may not be coincidence. As bizarre as it sounds it may be due to the probability of making the Higgs boson and the fact that the universe may be fighting it's creation. Could that possibility of a future where the Higgs boson exists be sending probability waves back in time to sabotage the very existence of the Hadron Collider? Could this (of sorts) be the worlds first time machine? Will the earth be saved from being devoured by a mini-quasar by a future event thereby setting up a hysteresis loop (thank you Doctor Who) of sorts? Holy shit, this could be the end of the world as we know it! Pass the popcorn. Jaffa! Cree!
I'd originally planned to grab a couple of tools in the garage. On my way I noticed how dark and forbidding the sky was getting as a sizable thunderstorm rolled in. I looked up and there was one of my sunflowers, looking past it's prime and a little shopworn. It's the end of summer and nearly the end of it's life. It's like it knows. It is waiting for the end. The end of the day, of the summer. The end of life. Happy Labor Day.
Those who know me already know that I'm many things. I'm a SAG actor, tennis player and part time writer. Tonight I had the pleasure of indulging in a guilty pleasure... reruns of the 1960's TV show I Spy with Robert Culp and Bill Cosby. In 1965 these two guys were the epitome of cool. They oozed it from every pore. And when I think back about all the things that interest me they all begin and end with Robert Culp.
I first became aware of Bob (we're on a first name basis you know) in 1963 with his appearance on my favorite show, The Outer Limits. He starred as the character of Allen Leighton in the episode "The Architects of Fear". It concerned a group of men in a think tank who "invent" a new enemy, a new foe for mankind to fear so that they won't go to war themselves, rather, they would unite to fight a more terrifying enemy. The enemy in question would be a genetically altered Allen Leighton, made to resemble a terrifying alien life form. Of course the experiment fails only to show the folly of trying to fool all the people all of the time.
Culp would go on to star in two other episodes of The Outer Limits, one called Demon With A Glass Hand and Corpus Earthling. Both of them were brilliant and well written.
But it was I Spy where Robert Culp influenced my life in a major way. The repartee between Culp and Cosby's characters was fascinating and hilarious. It was a departure from the formal and stilted language of Dragnet. Instead these characters spoke like real people and how groundbreaking it was to see a white American male have equal standing with an African-American which had been unheard of before I Spy. The two of them are delightful and engaging to watch. Culp's character in I Spy is Kelly Robinson, a professional tennis player on the tour. But he's really a government agent, a spy, who does the James Bond thing in exotic locales like Hong Kong and Tokyo. This is what attracted me to the game of tennis. No, it wasn't the on-court heroics of Rod Laver, it was Robert Culp! Oh sure, years later I came to appreciate Rod Laver's genius but it was coolness that got me into the game. Tennis players were cool. Secret agents were cool. Actors were cool. OK, I never became a secret agent but the thought did cross my mind. Of course I became an actor too and Robert Culp can take some credit for that as well. Later I attended the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art in London where my strong suit was Shakepeare. But it wasn't Shakespeare that was the hook for me at ten years of age, it was Robert Culp. Coolness incarnate. Long may he live.
It's hard to believe that you've been gone for two years old buddy. Your water dish is still here in the dining room. You know, just in case you get thirsty. Part of the lilac tree that gave you shade broke off during last year's windstorm but it's growing back quickly. That shady spot where you used to watch the world go by is still there if you want to visit. And I rebuilt the back porch so you'd look good when you lie there. The neighbors still ask for you and I still miss you. Take care old friend, wherever you are.
This may come as a shock to those who know me as an ardent aficionado of Jaguar motorcars but long ago I was just as taken by Alfa Romeos. I once owned a 1968 Alfa Coupe which accompanied me through some of the happiest years of my life. You just can't understand the euphoria that an Alfa, a Pioneer car stereo and The Electric Light Orchestra can bring to a young man's life. I wrote about that Alfa here long ago or at least a fragment of a dream. I wondered back then when Alfa Romeos would ever see U.S. shores again and today I found out. I read here today in The New York Times that Alfa Romeo will now be selling new cars here in the U.S. very soon. This is great news but I have to say that I like the old models better. These new ones don't make my blood race like the Alfas of yore... but what does these days?
The peonies are mine, the verse is by Shakespeare...
O, and I, forsooth, in love! I, that have been love's whip, A critic, nay, a night-watch constable, Than whom no mortal so magnificent! This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy, This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Don Cupid, Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms, Th' anointed sovereign of sighs and groans, Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces, And I to be a corporal of his field, And wear his colors like a tumbler's hoop! What! I love, I sue, I seek a wife— Nay, to be perjur'd, which is worst of all; And among three to love the worst of all, A whitely wanton with a velvet brow, With two pitch-balls stuck in her face for eyes; Ay, and, by heaven, one that will do the deed Though Argus were her eunuch and her guard. And I to sigh for her, to watch for her, To pray for her, go to! It is a plague That Cupid will impose for my neglect Of his almighty dreadful little might. Well, I will love, write, sigh, pray, sue, groan: Some men must love my lady, and some Joan.
Berowne from Loves Labours Lost, Act IV, Scene III
In New York City there is a very special ship, an aircraft carrier, that is tied up to the docks on the Hudson. My very life was made possible because a fellow who served on this ship made decisions which delivered him safely out of harm's way. That fellow was my father and he served on the Intrepid through the fierce blitz of kamikaze attacks during World War II. They called it The War In The Pacific and Pop found himself in Fire Control, responsible for sighting, aiming and firing the big guns on board the carrier. If you were in Fire Control you were a good student, strong in math skills and a valued asset to the Navy.
I'd originally planned my New York trip in spring of 2008 but found out that the Intrepid was still being reconditioned and refitted in her role as an air and space museum so I aborted the trip. I'd always wanted to explore New York but for one reason or another never quite made it there. I finally did in March of 2009.
I saved my pilgrimage to the Intrepid for a sunny Saturday morning and planned on spending a couple of hours poking through the ship, hoping for that magical connection when I would feel Pop's presence. As rational as we think we are there is still that itch for the unbelievable, that somehow we will sense the spirit of those long gone, just like in the movies. So no, I didn't hear voices or have an out-of-body experience or collapse in a heap on the flight deck. But I was profoundly moved, impressed and almost euphoric that I was actually walking the same decks and hatches that my father had trod sixty-five years earlier. At the same time I had a sense of longing and loss, wishing that Pop could see this place and tell me every detail of what he experienced so long ago. Sauntering about this huge vessel with him would have been a revelation as he would excitedly tell me intricate details of his daily life as we turned every corner. My imagination runs wild thinking of how excited he'd be as he awakened memories that even he thought had been lost forever. But it will never happen except maybe in my dreams because Pop died suddenly back in the summer of 2002. His loss sent me into a tailspin that I wouldn't recover from for two years. But that was then, and this is now. It was time to explore this place where my father went to do his patriotic duty. A place where he found himself fighting for his very life.
"At 1248, a Zero force was detected and five minutes later, one of their number crashed into Intrepid, starting a serious fire, while another one hit the carrier Cabot. Fires were under control again, however, when at 1300 a third strike (the first strike didn't hit anything, Intrepid was hit by the second) was encountered. It dove from low height into the twisting Intrepid's deck, blowing a hole into her flight-deck and setting afire the hangar from stern to stem. Though these fires were under control quickly, their heat helped other fires throughout the ship, and the badly damaged flight deck, including her arrestor gear, made flight operations impossible. Her strike planes and CAP were taken aboard by other carriers, and Intrepid made it back to Ulithi and hence, to Pearl Harbor. The attack cost her 69 men dead and 35 seriously wounded."
Pop would be the first to tell you that he was no hero. He was just a guy trying get out of there alive, trying to do his job and just wishing he could go home. To me he's a hero but he would say otherwise. I went below deck where I found an assortment of displays and multimedia kiosks showing ship operations. I passed a museum case where a very familiar uniform was on display...
I quickly grabbed my Ipod Touch from my back pocket to access the all too familiar picture in My Family Folder. There it was, or rather, there he was...my father in the identical uniform.
This uniform was special. It was the uniform of a Fire Controlman complete with the telescope on a tripod prominently displayed on his right arm. I looked around for one of the docents, the knowledgeable old-timers who wander around the hangar deck answering the questions of the meandering visitors and tourists. I believe his name was John Gibbs and he was dressed in the familiar bright yellow T-shirt and Navy baseball cap which told everyone that he was a former crewman of this very ship. I showed John the photo of my father in his Fire Controlman's uniform and what he saw told him volumes. As soon as he knew Pop was in Fire Control he told me that only the sharpest guys with the best math skills were shunted into Fire Control. The entire fate of the ship rested on these guys to get the weaponry aimed and firing quickly so only the best were admitted to this little club. John noticed that Pop's insignia was on his right arm and therein told a tale: There was a time when the Navy put Fire Control insignias on the right arm if you were adept and on the left arm if you were average. They abandoned this practice after noticing that it created a class system with resulting jealousies and resentments. Finally the Navy decided that all patches would go on the left sleeve. If you earned that insignia, you deserved it with no caveats. But Pop's insignia was on his right arm which told John Gibbs that Pop was top drawer. He was noticeably impressed.
John hustled me over to one of the tour guides, a fellow named Sam who took great interest in my photos of Pop. He turned to the crowd of fifteen or so tourists and announced "This gentleman's father served on the Intrepid during the very kamikaze attack on November 25th of 1944 depicted on our hangar deck!" The crowd pulled closer and I showed them all the photos on the Ipod Touch, magnifying objects of interest while they drank up Pop's story. They were especially interested in the pictures of Pop taken fifteen years later while he was a Chief Petty Officer. Even the veterans marveled at his array of clusters and medals on his Chief Petty Officers's uniform. You could only get many of those honors in wartime and Pop had plenty to go around. For the better part of that hour, my father was a celebrity, a rock star whose story and pictures made all that history jump off the page for the lucky people who got a glimpse into his life. Sam told me that the Information Desk would want to know as much as possible about Pop, would I be willing to share it? Silly question. I want the whole world to know who he was and what he went through. Sam handed me off to the Information Desk and I told them as much as I could. The fellow there then called John Gibbs over and asked whether the "old timers" were still here. The old timers in question were men of my father's age who were still alive and came down on the weekends to visit and hang out with their old buddies. "We can look, let's go" he replied. So after chatting a bit more Mr. Gibbs took me below deck to a hatch that was marked "Staff Only" and asked me to climb a flight of stairs and knock on the hatch door. "This one?" I queried. "Yeah, just knock, somebody'll come". The hatch opened and a fifty-ish guy opened it wide, took a look at me, took a look at John looking up from below and said "What's up?" John explained that I was the son of a WW II Intrepid crewman, could I come in? The man smiled broadly and welcomed me into a large meeting room deep within the bowels of the ship. Inside there were six other sixty-ish guys who once filled in on my identity welcomed me like a long lost relative. "How about something to drink? A beer?" one of them asked. "Hey, I'll take a Coke if you've got it". "Comin' right up pal". These were sailors from New York. Retired now but still drawn to the extended family that the Navy will always be for them. They still come here to meet or play cards and shoot the breeze. You don't find better people than the guys you serve with and these fine men will always have each other and the Intrepid.
I told them Pop's story and showed them the pictures. One of them took a look at the sepia-toned Navy portrait of Pop circa 1941 and exclaimed "My God, he's a movie star! Look at that face. That's YOU!" Another commented "Wow, you look just like him". I was a little embarrassed, and really proud. Yeah, he's a movie star alright. Or he should have been. They were rapt with interest and expressed how sorry they were that he'd passed away. They wanted to hear as many stories as I could tell them from Pop's past, stories that I wish I'd remembered with more detail. They told me that the old timers, the men from my father's era, had just left. They come on the weekends early and leave before late afternoon kicks in. I'd just missed them. I was keenly disappointed but I somehow knew I'd be coming back here someday so my regret was somewhat muted. The guys told me how to obtain my father's service record which I needed if I wanted to reconstruct the timeline of his military service. We posed for pictures and after an hour I found that my Coke was finished and I had to leave. "My father would love to come here and shoot the shit with you guys" I said. "If he lived in New York he'd be here every day playing cards or something". Pop would have liked those guys. Those are his people and they welcomed me like family which I will never forget.
I thought I was going to spend a couple of hours with the Intrepid but somehow it had turned into four. I had come searching for Pop but only found whispers and vestiges of him. But the people I met welcomed me and accepted me without question because of his service. In one respect, they are him. But he himself remains elusive and out of reach. I'm hoping to find him the next time I visit. How great it would be to stumble upon him hitting golf balls off the fantail of the Intrepid into the Hudson. I'd hit a few and he'd then turn to me and give me that shitty grin and say "You're shagging balls today, I'd get started on that." I swear I wouldn't tell him to stick it up his ass, I'd just say "Sure Pop, anything for you".
FOOL:
The reason why the
seven stars are no more than seven is a pretty reason.
KING LEAR:
Because they are not eight?
FOOL:
Yes, indeed: thou wouldst make a good fool.
