I don’t know how you celebrated Thanksgiving, but I had my daughter, son-in-law and grandson over to our new house for dinner. We even used the good china and silverware that only gets put out for special occasions. It hasn’t been on our table in years, and my wife spent the better part of Wednesday polishing that silverware.
The special dinner is my inspiration for today’s column. It is actually not a column so much as it is a borrowed poem from my favorite dead poet, Strickland Gillilan (1869-1954). I’ve used his poetry before, but I don’t recall ever doing this one, his recollection of a special dinner in the high society of New York. Here it is.
Which Fork?
Some persons yearn for knowledge
Of the kind you get at college;
Some long for musty facts from days agone;
Some hunger to be knowing
What the future will be showing,
While others watch the present humming on.
But when I’m called out to dinner
By some plutocratic sinner
Who was always in the social swimming pool,
I would give a whole diploma,
E’en my college bred aroma,
I would give it all and gladly be a fool—
I would give my evening clothes,
And the joy that ebbs and flows,
When I hear the mellow popping of the cork,
Were I not always forgetting
One small thing that keeps me fretting—
If I only could recall
“Which fork?”
There’s quite a row beside me,
But the wo of woes betide me,
If I can ever get them sorted out;
For each one has its duty
Just as each its dainty beauty—
The oyster one is three-tined, short and stout;
But the rest—they have me guessing
In a manner most distressing,
And I’d almost trade my hope of future joy
For a chance to eat again
In that farmhouse dull and plain
With the tools I used to handle when a boy.
For I’m sure I’ll never learn,
Through I yearn and yearn and yearn,
Though I spend a dozen seasons in New York,
Just which trident’s next in line;
So from soup to nuts to wine
I am haunted by the thought,
“Which fork?”
Mr. Gillilan is also the correct author of the world’s shortest poem, which is often wrongly attributed to Ogden Nash under a different title, “Fleas.” The correct name and poem are:
On the Antiquity of Microbes
Adam
Had ‘em.
I hope your Thanksgiving Day was as pleasant as mine.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Saturday, November 21, 2009
Great Gravy
I included a wonderful 3-page plan for buying and preparing a turkey for your Thanksgiving dinner in my e-mail column notice. My wife tells me that I’m crazy to send out that thing, since it is almost 40 years old and probably outdated. However, I have found that the recipes, ingredients and preparation instructions always work, so I invite you to print and use them for any turkey dinner you prepare.
There is only one substitution I would recommend, and that is the topic for the column today, just in time for Thanksgiving. Here is my foolproof recipe that I first published in 2004 and again in 2006.
If you are at all like me, and can't get enough of turkey during the winter holidays, then you will appreciate this recipe for gravy to go with that big bird on Thanksgiving. Of course, you might be one of those who prefers to fry your turkey outdoors in one of those new-fangled fry pots, thus missing out on the wonderful aroma of cooking that permeates the house most of the day. But with the new cooking bags to make basting unnecessary, I prefer the old-fashioned method of baking in the oven; and that makes perfect conditions for this recipe.
We all share fond memories of holidays past when Mom or Grandma spent the whole day in the kitchen preparing the feast. The tricky part was always the making of the gravy after the turkey came out of the oven. Most of the time the gravy was perfect, but every once in a while it turned out either thin and watery, or thick and lumpy. Well, those days are over. This recipe will always make perfect gravy.
The ingredients are enough to make gravy for a 12-15 pound turkey, but you can adjust the recipe by adding more if you prepare a bigger one, or if you like more gravy. Use two small potatoes, two medium carrots and one small yellow onion. (small means about 3-4 inches in diameter) Wash the potatoes, but don’t peel them, and cut them in half. Peel the carrots and cut them into thirds. Peel the onion and cut it in half. When you bag the turkey for cooking, add the cut up vegetables into the bag and follow the normal cooking instructions for the bird. When it is done, remove it and the vegetables. Save the juice from the bag in a measuring cup.
Place the vegetables in a blender or food processor and add a quarter of a cup of the juice from the bag. Set aside the rest of the juice. Blend on medium setting and add more juice a little at a time until it has a gravy texture and look. Now taste it, and as the old Cajun cook, Justin Wilson would say, “I garrontee that you won’t be able to distinguish the taste of any of the veggies in there.” It will taste and look just like the great gravy that Grandma used to make. Not only will it taste right, but all things considered, it will probably be healthier for you too.
If you like giblet gravy—some do, I don’t—then be my guest and throw the boiled giblets in, but then you’re on your own. And forget the previous observation about healthy eating; you’re back to square one.
It wouldn’t be right to publish this recipe and not give credit to my daughter-in-law, who introduced it into our traditional Thanksgiving dinner several years ago. It might have even been in 2004, the same year I first shared it in my column. Thanks again, Anjula.
Well, that’s my contribution to your Thanksgiving feast. I hope each and every one of you has a joyous and memorable holiday season, both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
There is only one substitution I would recommend, and that is the topic for the column today, just in time for Thanksgiving. Here is my foolproof recipe that I first published in 2004 and again in 2006.
If you are at all like me, and can't get enough of turkey during the winter holidays, then you will appreciate this recipe for gravy to go with that big bird on Thanksgiving. Of course, you might be one of those who prefers to fry your turkey outdoors in one of those new-fangled fry pots, thus missing out on the wonderful aroma of cooking that permeates the house most of the day. But with the new cooking bags to make basting unnecessary, I prefer the old-fashioned method of baking in the oven; and that makes perfect conditions for this recipe.
We all share fond memories of holidays past when Mom or Grandma spent the whole day in the kitchen preparing the feast. The tricky part was always the making of the gravy after the turkey came out of the oven. Most of the time the gravy was perfect, but every once in a while it turned out either thin and watery, or thick and lumpy. Well, those days are over. This recipe will always make perfect gravy.
The ingredients are enough to make gravy for a 12-15 pound turkey, but you can adjust the recipe by adding more if you prepare a bigger one, or if you like more gravy. Use two small potatoes, two medium carrots and one small yellow onion. (small means about 3-4 inches in diameter) Wash the potatoes, but don’t peel them, and cut them in half. Peel the carrots and cut them into thirds. Peel the onion and cut it in half. When you bag the turkey for cooking, add the cut up vegetables into the bag and follow the normal cooking instructions for the bird. When it is done, remove it and the vegetables. Save the juice from the bag in a measuring cup.
Place the vegetables in a blender or food processor and add a quarter of a cup of the juice from the bag. Set aside the rest of the juice. Blend on medium setting and add more juice a little at a time until it has a gravy texture and look. Now taste it, and as the old Cajun cook, Justin Wilson would say, “I garrontee that you won’t be able to distinguish the taste of any of the veggies in there.” It will taste and look just like the great gravy that Grandma used to make. Not only will it taste right, but all things considered, it will probably be healthier for you too.
If you like giblet gravy—some do, I don’t—then be my guest and throw the boiled giblets in, but then you’re on your own. And forget the previous observation about healthy eating; you’re back to square one.
It wouldn’t be right to publish this recipe and not give credit to my daughter-in-law, who introduced it into our traditional Thanksgiving dinner several years ago. It might have even been in 2004, the same year I first shared it in my column. Thanks again, Anjula.
Well, that’s my contribution to your Thanksgiving feast. I hope each and every one of you has a joyous and memorable holiday season, both Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Finding My Niche
As you have probably surmised from recent columns, I have moved. It was only about a five-mile move from Augusta to Grovetown, but it was a lot of work, especially all the change of address notifications. It took a week to change address with all the people and businesses that need my permanent address on file.
We now live in a rural area with a wooded area just outside of my backyard, and a large cemetery right across the main road at the head of our subdivision. The cemetery is one of those that has absolutely no headstones, but instead has lots of flowered graves, a large mortuary and a chapel. It is very peaceful looking. Even its name is pretty, Bellvue.
There is a nice loop road that runs through the cemetery, and I noticed that people use the road as a walking trail. I am determined to do that too.
We were driving out of the housing area the other day and talking about the fact that this will hopefully be our last move. I spotted the cemetery and said, “Well, there is one more move to make, but it will be just across the road.”
I thought that was a pretty witty remark, but then I followed up with, “I think I’ll go over there and find my niche.”
In case you didn’t know, an alcove in a wall to place a vase or other object is a niche. The word also comes into play in the saying, “I’ve found my niche in life,” referring to one’s place. (Well, Judy didn’t find it particularly cute to tie the two together, but I hope you will.)
I’m not in any hurry to get into my niche, so I think I’ll just walk around there for a while. That must be why they put that nice road through the cemetery as a matter of fact. You can walk around and find a good place to rest.
We now live in a rural area with a wooded area just outside of my backyard, and a large cemetery right across the main road at the head of our subdivision. The cemetery is one of those that has absolutely no headstones, but instead has lots of flowered graves, a large mortuary and a chapel. It is very peaceful looking. Even its name is pretty, Bellvue.
There is a nice loop road that runs through the cemetery, and I noticed that people use the road as a walking trail. I am determined to do that too.
We were driving out of the housing area the other day and talking about the fact that this will hopefully be our last move. I spotted the cemetery and said, “Well, there is one more move to make, but it will be just across the road.”
I thought that was a pretty witty remark, but then I followed up with, “I think I’ll go over there and find my niche.”
In case you didn’t know, an alcove in a wall to place a vase or other object is a niche. The word also comes into play in the saying, “I’ve found my niche in life,” referring to one’s place. (Well, Judy didn’t find it particularly cute to tie the two together, but I hope you will.)
I’m not in any hurry to get into my niche, so I think I’ll just walk around there for a while. That must be why they put that nice road through the cemetery as a matter of fact. You can walk around and find a good place to rest.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Bad Day at Disneyland
My son informed us that he is taking his family to Disney World soon, and will be able to stop over in Augusta to visit us in our soon-to-be new home. Normally, I would be pleased that he is going to stop and stay with us for a few days, or even overnight. But there is a problem... He’s going to Disney World!
If you haven’t followed my columns for at least five years, you won’t know about my long-standing aversion to the Magic Kingdom. I won’t go into detail about it, but I can summarize the source of my disgust with Disney.
In July of 2004, my wife, daughter, son-in-law and grandson and I went to Southern California. We started in San Diego, visiting Sea World and the San Diego Zoo, both fine attractions. Then we headed north for what was to be the best attraction of the trip, Disneyland in Anaheim.
We arrived at the gates to Disneyland just before the opening, and were pleasantly surprised to be able to get on the first two rides with no wait. Then the trouble began... Of the five premier rides at Disneyland, Space Mountain was closed for renovation until 2005, and Thunder Mountain Railroad was closed for the day. Then, after a 40-minute wait to get into the Indiana Jones Adventure, we were turned away and it was closed indefinitely due to some technical difficulty. It never reopened that day.
Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion were operational and as good as ever. However, our troubles weren’t over. When we stopped at a cart to buy some pretzels at about 10:30 AM, the kid running the concession said, “We’re out of that one right now.” He gave no apology, no courtesy, just a bored response.
His attitude seemed typical of most of the personnel in the park. They just weren't the cheerful and friendly people I remember from past visits. Other than the Disney characters in costume, everybody with a badge on seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere and smiles were a rare commodity.
The capper of the day was an innovation that was new at that time called “Fastpass.” It is a means of signing up for a ride and getting a guaranteed time to enter without standing in a long line.
Anyone can apply for a Fastpass once you are in the park, although nowhere is there any written or verbal notice of that. You have to ask park personnel about Fastpass, and my initial impression was that it was a special type of ticket that you could buy at a premium price.
In fact, they were free and were dispensed at kiosks throughout the park. Once you have one, you merely go to any ride where there is a waiting time posted, visit the Fastpass person there and get a ticket stub with a time on it. You return at the time shown and are given access to a separate queue that bypasses the waiting line of riders.
The problem is that the Fastpass path goes parallel to the waiting line. Not only does it give the appearance of line cutting, but also some of the Fastpass riders are prone to taunting those in line as they go past. This does not create a pleasant atmosphere in which to wait for up to an hour and a half. The Fastpass concept is okay, but the practice leaves something to be desired.
Well, I tried to condense my poor experience at Disneyland, but I managed to use two pages to recap it anyway. I tried to lodge a complaint at the park, but found no desk or office to do so. I did write a letter and sent it to the Disneyland address after I arrived home from the trip. I never got any response at all.
Ever since that trip, I have tried to discourage people from going to Disney World or Disneyland. Maybe some people have good times there, but I was sorely disappointed and felt it was not worth all the money I paid to get the five of us in. I intend to boycott Disney for life.
If you haven’t followed my columns for at least five years, you won’t know about my long-standing aversion to the Magic Kingdom. I won’t go into detail about it, but I can summarize the source of my disgust with Disney.
In July of 2004, my wife, daughter, son-in-law and grandson and I went to Southern California. We started in San Diego, visiting Sea World and the San Diego Zoo, both fine attractions. Then we headed north for what was to be the best attraction of the trip, Disneyland in Anaheim.
We arrived at the gates to Disneyland just before the opening, and were pleasantly surprised to be able to get on the first two rides with no wait. Then the trouble began... Of the five premier rides at Disneyland, Space Mountain was closed for renovation until 2005, and Thunder Mountain Railroad was closed for the day. Then, after a 40-minute wait to get into the Indiana Jones Adventure, we were turned away and it was closed indefinitely due to some technical difficulty. It never reopened that day.
Pirates of the Caribbean and The Haunted Mansion were operational and as good as ever. However, our troubles weren’t over. When we stopped at a cart to buy some pretzels at about 10:30 AM, the kid running the concession said, “We’re out of that one right now.” He gave no apology, no courtesy, just a bored response.
His attitude seemed typical of most of the personnel in the park. They just weren't the cheerful and friendly people I remember from past visits. Other than the Disney characters in costume, everybody with a badge on seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere and smiles were a rare commodity.
The capper of the day was an innovation that was new at that time called “Fastpass.” It is a means of signing up for a ride and getting a guaranteed time to enter without standing in a long line.
Anyone can apply for a Fastpass once you are in the park, although nowhere is there any written or verbal notice of that. You have to ask park personnel about Fastpass, and my initial impression was that it was a special type of ticket that you could buy at a premium price.
In fact, they were free and were dispensed at kiosks throughout the park. Once you have one, you merely go to any ride where there is a waiting time posted, visit the Fastpass person there and get a ticket stub with a time on it. You return at the time shown and are given access to a separate queue that bypasses the waiting line of riders.
The problem is that the Fastpass path goes parallel to the waiting line. Not only does it give the appearance of line cutting, but also some of the Fastpass riders are prone to taunting those in line as they go past. This does not create a pleasant atmosphere in which to wait for up to an hour and a half. The Fastpass concept is okay, but the practice leaves something to be desired.
Well, I tried to condense my poor experience at Disneyland, but I managed to use two pages to recap it anyway. I tried to lodge a complaint at the park, but found no desk or office to do so. I did write a letter and sent it to the Disneyland address after I arrived home from the trip. I never got any response at all.
Ever since that trip, I have tried to discourage people from going to Disney World or Disneyland. Maybe some people have good times there, but I was sorely disappointed and felt it was not worth all the money I paid to get the five of us in. I intend to boycott Disney for life.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Taking Credit
This morning (Friday, October 30, 2009), Judy and I went to an attorney’s office with our landlord/real estate agent to sign the papers and become the proud owners of a brand new town home here in Augusta. What an ordeal it is to do that!
We had to sign about two-dozen documents relating to deeds, termite inspection, closing costs, warranties, survey and releases. And that was a small stack of papers, only because we aren’t carrying a mortgage on the property. If we had applied for a loan, it would have entailed at least twice as much paperwork.
We’ve had to transfer a lot of funds around in order to get enough in our bank account to get a cashier check for the total amount due. And when we went to the bank yesterday to have the check issued, they acted like it was their money that we were taking away.
It took longer to have the check issued than it did to close on the property.
We have been renters for the past three years, but it always hurt to have to pay rent every month and not have anything tangible to show for it. In addition, with the economy in the doldrums and the dollar falling in value, it seemed like we were on the short end of a losing proposition.
Then the government came along with the first-time home buyer tax credit… Just in case you have been on a desert island for the past year, here is a recap of what the credit is.
Anyone buying a home for the first time, or anyone who has not owned a home in the past three years, is entitled to a refundable tax credit* of up to $8,000 or ten percent of the value of the purchase (whichever is the lesser of the two). The credit is available for any home purchased before December 1, 2009, although there is a move in Congress now to extend that date and possibly to increase the amount of the credit to $15,000.
*I will digress for a moment to define a “refundable tax credit.” There are two kinds of tax credits, refundable and non-refundable.
A non-refundable tax credit is one that only refunds a tax amount that you would otherwise owe to the IRS after you get to that line on your 1040 that is labeled “Taxable Income” and the subsequent line labeled “Tax.” An example of a non-refundable tax credit is Child Care Tax Credit, because you can only take the credit up to the amount of tax liability you owe. Any amount over your current tax liability is forfeited.
A refundable tax credit is one that can exceed the amount you owe the IRS, and will get you a check from the government even if you don’t owe any tax at all. A prime example of a refundable credit is the earned income credit available to low income workers with dependents. The first-time home buyer credit is also a refundable credit, so a qualified buyer can get back more than is owed to the IRS.
Since we had sold our last home in El Paso on September 24, 2006, we had a window open to claim the credit between September 24th and November 30th of this year. That was too good to pass up.
Another plus that helped us to decide on buying was that our landlord, who was also a real estate agent, promised us that if we used his services to buy a house, whether or not it was the rental property we lived in, he would not charge us for breaking the lease. That usually amounts to an extra month’s rent, and was paid up front as a security deposit when we first rented the town home.
It took us about a month to find what we wanted, and we were frankly just about ready to give up when we found a new town home in the early construction stage in a somewhat rural area. We were able to get an allowance for upgrades taken off the price, and used it to upgrade the carpet, purchase three ceiling fans with lights and a full set of high quality blinds for the windows.
The only miscalculation we made was in redeeming some shares in my IRA to assist in the purchase price. I took out enough to put me into a higher tax bracket, and it cost me part of that nice $8,000 credit. But I still cannot complain too loudly. All that money I redeemed is now invested in a real tangible asset.
Maybe I’ll put some pictures in one of the future columns after we get moved in.
We had to sign about two-dozen documents relating to deeds, termite inspection, closing costs, warranties, survey and releases. And that was a small stack of papers, only because we aren’t carrying a mortgage on the property. If we had applied for a loan, it would have entailed at least twice as much paperwork.
We’ve had to transfer a lot of funds around in order to get enough in our bank account to get a cashier check for the total amount due. And when we went to the bank yesterday to have the check issued, they acted like it was their money that we were taking away.
It took longer to have the check issued than it did to close on the property.
We have been renters for the past three years, but it always hurt to have to pay rent every month and not have anything tangible to show for it. In addition, with the economy in the doldrums and the dollar falling in value, it seemed like we were on the short end of a losing proposition.
Then the government came along with the first-time home buyer tax credit… Just in case you have been on a desert island for the past year, here is a recap of what the credit is.
Anyone buying a home for the first time, or anyone who has not owned a home in the past three years, is entitled to a refundable tax credit* of up to $8,000 or ten percent of the value of the purchase (whichever is the lesser of the two). The credit is available for any home purchased before December 1, 2009, although there is a move in Congress now to extend that date and possibly to increase the amount of the credit to $15,000.
*I will digress for a moment to define a “refundable tax credit.” There are two kinds of tax credits, refundable and non-refundable.
A non-refundable tax credit is one that only refunds a tax amount that you would otherwise owe to the IRS after you get to that line on your 1040 that is labeled “Taxable Income” and the subsequent line labeled “Tax.” An example of a non-refundable tax credit is Child Care Tax Credit, because you can only take the credit up to the amount of tax liability you owe. Any amount over your current tax liability is forfeited.
A refundable tax credit is one that can exceed the amount you owe the IRS, and will get you a check from the government even if you don’t owe any tax at all. A prime example of a refundable credit is the earned income credit available to low income workers with dependents. The first-time home buyer credit is also a refundable credit, so a qualified buyer can get back more than is owed to the IRS.
Since we had sold our last home in El Paso on September 24, 2006, we had a window open to claim the credit between September 24th and November 30th of this year. That was too good to pass up.
Another plus that helped us to decide on buying was that our landlord, who was also a real estate agent, promised us that if we used his services to buy a house, whether or not it was the rental property we lived in, he would not charge us for breaking the lease. That usually amounts to an extra month’s rent, and was paid up front as a security deposit when we first rented the town home.
It took us about a month to find what we wanted, and we were frankly just about ready to give up when we found a new town home in the early construction stage in a somewhat rural area. We were able to get an allowance for upgrades taken off the price, and used it to upgrade the carpet, purchase three ceiling fans with lights and a full set of high quality blinds for the windows.
The only miscalculation we made was in redeeming some shares in my IRA to assist in the purchase price. I took out enough to put me into a higher tax bracket, and it cost me part of that nice $8,000 credit. But I still cannot complain too loudly. All that money I redeemed is now invested in a real tangible asset.
Maybe I’ll put some pictures in one of the future columns after we get moved in.
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Gone But Not forgotten
My column last week, “I’ve Got a Secret…” spurred a wave of responses greater than any I had ever seen in ten years of writing My Weekly Wisdom Column. I was truly touched by the expressions of sympathy all of you sent. And I wanted to thank all of you in some meaningful way.
I can think of no better means of saying “Thank you” than to tell you something about my brother. First of all, I don’t mourn for Don. He will surely be missed, but he didn’t want a lot of moping and sadness. Instead, he wanted those who knew him to celebrate his life. We did that last Friday with a Champaign toast and a lot of remembrances.
Since most of you never knew my brother, I will give you a brief biography.
Our family consisted of Mom and Dad, three boys and two girls, seven of us in all. Don was the second oldest of the children, but he was also the creative genius among us. He never failed at anything he tried, and he tried many different things. At various times during his life he was an accomplished musician, an actor, a director, a screenwriter, a builder, a furniture designer and maker, and the list goes on.
One of the talents I envied in Don was that he could do something naturally without any formal training. For instance, our father was a concert pianist, a graduate of Eastman School of Music. He used to play classical music on our upright piano almost every Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, after Dad had finished playing one of the classics, Don sat at the piano and played the same piece. He had never taken a single lesson on piano, yet he was able to play a very difficult song without any mistakes. That was just the way Don was. If he thought he could do something, most likely he could do it, and with little or no learning curve.
Part of Don’s life was a mystery to me. He married while I was away in the Air Force, and I never really got to know his wife, Katie, that well. They had two daughters, Gwen and Kelly, but the marriage eventually ended in divorce. He was geographically separated from the girls after the divorce. However, he later brought them back into his life, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren, sometimes traveling cross-country from California to North Carolina to be with them.
Don liked to ski, so he left a promising career in television and lived for about three years in Vail, Colorado so that he could indulge his love of skiing. In order to support himself, he went to work helping to build some of those magnificent chalets that grace the hillsides of Vail. But he wasn’t building walls and ceilings and such. No, Don was a finish-carpenter, doing all the fine touches on the interiors.
When Don decided to get back into television and movies, he left Vail for Los Angeles, where he was a news director for one of the network affiliates. About that time, the TV spoof on soap operas, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was running on his channel. Don took the theme from that show and applied it to his venue. He created, produced and directed a local show called “Metro News, Metro News.” It ran after the nightly news, and was an impromptu parody of all the stories reported that evening.
“Metro News, Metro News” was very popular with the LA audience, and it earned Don a very important life-changing event. He met his future wife, Penny, whom he married in 1986. That is a story in itself, and I won’t tell it here except to say it was one of those instances of simultaneous love at first sight.
Don always worked behind the scenes in Hollywood, so you probably never saw his name unless you read the credits, but he was there. One of his accomplishments was the production of what he called, “newswraps,” short films that promoted movies and were shown on TV stations. One that I recall vividly was a short half-hour film about the making of “The Cannonball Run.” It was almost as funny as the movie that starred Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Farrah Fawcett and many others.
The newswraps included outtakes and bloopers, and a lot of film that would have wound up on the cutting room floor. They probably helped spawn the “TV Bloopers & Practical Jokes” shows that Dick Clark and Ed McMahon hosted, since they were very similar in content and predated the bloopers show.
Several years ago, after attending one of our biennial family reunions, this one held in Winston-Salem, Don and Penny decided to move from Los Angeles to North Carolina. Don made yet another career change, and after a yearlong apprenticeship, became a designer and builder of furniture. Once again, he was successful, and many of his friends and clients have treasured pieces in their homes.
One day last year Don was doing some yard work and walked into a partially closed garage door, hitting his head and knocking himself flat on his back. The next day he was suffering from some neck pains and went to a chiropractor. During the preliminary exam, the X-rays showed some anomalies, and the chiropractor suggested that Don see his family doctor. Further examination revealed that there were tumors in Don’s lungs. He had smoked earlier in life, but quit back in 1981. The doctors thought that the cancer was in the early stages, and could be successfully treated.
What began as another obstacle to be overcome soon became the supreme battle. Though Don and Penny remained optimistic throughout the treatment, Don lost the battle. I had the good fortune to visit with him twice in the last few months, and he was as cheerful, funny and positive as ever.
I lost four people at once: brother, friend, mentor and co-conspirator. I would be remiss if I closed without relating a funny story involving Don and me.
My father once got angry with me and banished me from his house, probably deservedly so, but he also kept most of my clothes. Don learned of the incident and volunteered to help me regain my belongings. While I waited a few houses down the street, Don took his new car over to show to Dad and offered to have him test drive it with him.
The two of them drove off on their short test hop, while I stole into the house and recovered my clothing, which had been not only stored there, but also dry-cleaned and bagged in garment bags. I got them back in better condition than I had left them, and Dad didn’t discover the “theft” for a while, so Don didn’t even get into trouble over it. We eventually told him how I got my property back, and I think he was actually amused by the tale.
So thank you for the condolences, but I have many fond memories of Don that make it a lot easier to say goodbye to him. So, “Farewell, brother! You’re still my hero.”
I can think of no better means of saying “Thank you” than to tell you something about my brother. First of all, I don’t mourn for Don. He will surely be missed, but he didn’t want a lot of moping and sadness. Instead, he wanted those who knew him to celebrate his life. We did that last Friday with a Champaign toast and a lot of remembrances.
Since most of you never knew my brother, I will give you a brief biography.
Our family consisted of Mom and Dad, three boys and two girls, seven of us in all. Don was the second oldest of the children, but he was also the creative genius among us. He never failed at anything he tried, and he tried many different things. At various times during his life he was an accomplished musician, an actor, a director, a screenwriter, a builder, a furniture designer and maker, and the list goes on.
One of the talents I envied in Don was that he could do something naturally without any formal training. For instance, our father was a concert pianist, a graduate of Eastman School of Music. He used to play classical music on our upright piano almost every Sunday afternoon. One Sunday, after Dad had finished playing one of the classics, Don sat at the piano and played the same piece. He had never taken a single lesson on piano, yet he was able to play a very difficult song without any mistakes. That was just the way Don was. If he thought he could do something, most likely he could do it, and with little or no learning curve.
Part of Don’s life was a mystery to me. He married while I was away in the Air Force, and I never really got to know his wife, Katie, that well. They had two daughters, Gwen and Kelly, but the marriage eventually ended in divorce. He was geographically separated from the girls after the divorce. However, he later brought them back into his life, and spent a lot of time with his children and grandchildren, sometimes traveling cross-country from California to North Carolina to be with them.
Don liked to ski, so he left a promising career in television and lived for about three years in Vail, Colorado so that he could indulge his love of skiing. In order to support himself, he went to work helping to build some of those magnificent chalets that grace the hillsides of Vail. But he wasn’t building walls and ceilings and such. No, Don was a finish-carpenter, doing all the fine touches on the interiors.
When Don decided to get back into television and movies, he left Vail for Los Angeles, where he was a news director for one of the network affiliates. About that time, the TV spoof on soap operas, “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman” was running on his channel. Don took the theme from that show and applied it to his venue. He created, produced and directed a local show called “Metro News, Metro News.” It ran after the nightly news, and was an impromptu parody of all the stories reported that evening.
“Metro News, Metro News” was very popular with the LA audience, and it earned Don a very important life-changing event. He met his future wife, Penny, whom he married in 1986. That is a story in itself, and I won’t tell it here except to say it was one of those instances of simultaneous love at first sight.
Don always worked behind the scenes in Hollywood, so you probably never saw his name unless you read the credits, but he was there. One of his accomplishments was the production of what he called, “newswraps,” short films that promoted movies and were shown on TV stations. One that I recall vividly was a short half-hour film about the making of “The Cannonball Run.” It was almost as funny as the movie that starred Burt Reynolds, Roger Moore, Farrah Fawcett and many others.
The newswraps included outtakes and bloopers, and a lot of film that would have wound up on the cutting room floor. They probably helped spawn the “TV Bloopers & Practical Jokes” shows that Dick Clark and Ed McMahon hosted, since they were very similar in content and predated the bloopers show.
Several years ago, after attending one of our biennial family reunions, this one held in Winston-Salem, Don and Penny decided to move from Los Angeles to North Carolina. Don made yet another career change, and after a yearlong apprenticeship, became a designer and builder of furniture. Once again, he was successful, and many of his friends and clients have treasured pieces in their homes.
One day last year Don was doing some yard work and walked into a partially closed garage door, hitting his head and knocking himself flat on his back. The next day he was suffering from some neck pains and went to a chiropractor. During the preliminary exam, the X-rays showed some anomalies, and the chiropractor suggested that Don see his family doctor. Further examination revealed that there were tumors in Don’s lungs. He had smoked earlier in life, but quit back in 1981. The doctors thought that the cancer was in the early stages, and could be successfully treated.
What began as another obstacle to be overcome soon became the supreme battle. Though Don and Penny remained optimistic throughout the treatment, Don lost the battle. I had the good fortune to visit with him twice in the last few months, and he was as cheerful, funny and positive as ever.
I lost four people at once: brother, friend, mentor and co-conspirator. I would be remiss if I closed without relating a funny story involving Don and me.
My father once got angry with me and banished me from his house, probably deservedly so, but he also kept most of my clothes. Don learned of the incident and volunteered to help me regain my belongings. While I waited a few houses down the street, Don took his new car over to show to Dad and offered to have him test drive it with him.
The two of them drove off on their short test hop, while I stole into the house and recovered my clothing, which had been not only stored there, but also dry-cleaned and bagged in garment bags. I got them back in better condition than I had left them, and Dad didn’t discover the “theft” for a while, so Don didn’t even get into trouble over it. We eventually told him how I got my property back, and I think he was actually amused by the tale.
So thank you for the condolences, but I have many fond memories of Don that make it a lot easier to say goodbye to him. So, “Farewell, brother! You’re still my hero.”
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