UNFLAGGED

Delayed by a wedding and some inclement weather, a tradition of planting flowers at the graves of our parents and grandparents finally took place today. Still a chance of rain (it did) we decided to undertake the task.

Arriving, at my parent’s plot I was disheartened. The flag I had placed to honor my father’s service, had been stolen. It has happened before, so I shouldn’t have been surprised. But my faith in human nature had taken another hit. We had planted the flowers (half-hearted, I sadly admit) before moving onto the next memorial.

The rain’s intensity kicked into high gear and we decided to resume at a later date.

I don’t know what possesses people to be so crass and callous of the feelings of others. I mean, sure boiled down – it’s a cloth stapled to a stick. But there is meaning in all of it. A banner defended by many lives lost and placed in honor of one such life. My pride in my father’s dedication and the service of other like souls buried here doesn’t change for lack of said flag. I just pray that whoever  removed the flag will come to learn its importance in the hearts of many. It is because of that flag and the brave souls who defend it, that even these kind of people have the “right” to be morons.

It’s just a shame they don’t understand.

MEMORIAL DAY 2013

I cook dogs and burgers any day of the week. And with an “empty nest”, my wife and I can enjoy them when we want. They never make the day special. They just make us well fed. Shopping spree sales seduce shoppers to spend whenever the yen to do so hits. Still not making for a memorable day. A day off to cut the lawn and become broccoli (vegetate) is not the allure.

The end of May brings us to more pressing thoughts (or at least it ought to). Memorial Day is an abused celebration for most of the wrong reasons. Remembering the fallen heroes of our armed forces should be the sole reason; recollections and dedicating honor to those who are most deserving. A chance to decorate (a throwback to the original holiday, Decoration Day) lives offered up and spent in service of freedom and liberty.

A chance to renew my fervor for a project I began last Memorial Day. I named it, “Of Honor and Remembrance”.   The purpose of this site is to simply honor and remember the military men and women who have passed on. It started as I said, last May when I took my handful of flags to plant at my father’s grave and the neighboring “heroes” who lacked that honor (or someone to present it). I was overwhelmed by the number of soldiers, sailors, airmen and Marines (from many different conflicts – some decorated with Silver and Bronze Stars and many Purple Heart recipients) who had been neglected by time and age. Marker stones almost completely covered with mud and grass, nearly obliterated. I began the monumental task of cleaning and clearing the obstructions so these people would be remembered.

The “Honor” part is in accumulating the names and service designations, as well as their Death Dates to post on the “Of Honor and Remembrance” blog. Currently, I am working on the fact gathering at local Buffalo area cemeteries and trying to determine what form the tributes will take. But until these are completed, I will continue to honor and remember the fallen pillars of our Free Nation.

If there are service men and women whom you would like to add to the Honor Roll, send an e-mail to the address found at “Of Honor and Remembrance”. Send all the information as it appears on the marker or headstone and the cemetery (city and state) and I will be glad to include it. This is a monumental undertaking and I have been overwhelmed but the sheer number of names I have accumulated from a small corner of two local burial places. But it remains to be done… to in some small way, Honor and Remember in the hopes of reclaiming the Memorial of what should be a decorated day!

REHEARSING TO BE MRS. KRUSE

It was an amazing 24 hours. The whole week really. Melissa had come home to be married out of our house like she always dreamed. We ate meals as a family. We watched movies together (wedding movies, needless to say). 

Cold, wet skies pocked the approaching days, and in a way we prayed for better weather. It poured as we entered the church to rehearse. Step here, do that. Don’t do this, the wedding party goes here… And it seemed to go smoothly (a precursor to the following nuptials). Dinner and a gathering again as a soon to be newly formed family. Drinks and laughs and food and long glancing looks.

Her mother looks contemplative. She knows our daughter will join the ranks as a wife and somewhere down the road, a mother. They’ve had their battles, both headstrong and driven. Melissa was too much like her mother, as much as neither would admit it. As much as they both hoped they would be.

And I was as melancholy as I had become as the big day neared. Mixed emotions, I guess you would say. Melissa was our first born. She was my helper, my right hand. She cared for her sister while mom worked nights and I tried hard to keep the ship afloat. Her chosen field (teaching) came to her naturally, again in her dealings with Andrea, her junior by seven years. The girls liked to play school. And in acting as teacher, Melissa did indeed teach her sister, how to read and write long before she had been enrolled at school.

She was my biggest fan. She enjoyed my music and was my best critic when it came to my verbal scribblings. I knew my poetry was good when I was able to elicit tears from Melissa through the touching beauty of some well chosen words. For a while it felt like I was losing that.

But all I was losing was the daily connection we had come to rely upon. None of the rest really changed.

The morning of the wedding moved like a high speed movie. Disjointed scenes, random clips of a pre-scripted show. Hair appointments, and dressing, photographs and in the milieu of time, a wedding happened. Me, on wobbly legs escorting this beautiful woman (the second time in my life) down an aisle to a new life. No practice was really necessary, she knew what to do all along. It was as if she were leading me to where she needed to be. I had been replaced. And she couldn’t have chosen a better man.

But in reality, it was he that made the correct choice. And it couldn’t have happened to a nicer couple of kids.

TIME FLEES

It’s been a week since I last posted. You see, I’ve been distracted, but I’ll go back and fill in with thoughts or profiles or attractions. I had done so well, and then it hit me squarely between the eyes.

My oldest daughter is getting married tomorrow. The past week was filled with preparations, last minute changes, fittings and gatherings and a whole mess of panic as it ebbed and flowed. But sitting here now I still find no relief.

The girls are off doing girly things (nails and the last blasts of tanning) before the rehearsal. And I find myself as Steve Martin did at the beginning of “Father of the Bride”; lost in a chronology leading to this day. Twenty seven years passes quickly when you aren’t paying attention.

We’ve spent a lot of time together the past few days. Family meals at a full table were reminiscent of days past. Conversations and melancholy rambles and getting on each others nerves occasionally. (Old habits die hard). Evenings were special, as we watched every “wedding” related movie in our DVD library. Looking back at it, I think we’re ready to begin this new phase. It will be different for sure.

As you get older, the phrase “Time Flees” takes special meaning. But for one day, I am willing it to stand still.

I can hear God laughing now.

BEING FOR THE BENEFIT OF… ROY HOBBS

Iris Gaines: You know, I believe we have two lives.
Roy Hobbs: How… what do you mean?
Iris Gaines: The life we learn with and the life we live with after that.

                             ~ Dialogue from “The Natural”

Movies if well made, stand the test of time. In this Baseball classic based on Bernard Malamud’s novel, “The Natural”, the hero Roy Hobbs steps out of a self-imposed obscurity to become the best ball player in the game. The lessons learned in a lifetime of learning gave Hobbs the basis for a new future after baseball.

The stadium and other venues around Western New York, became the backdrop for many of the scenes in the movie, The Natural.

With big names like Robert Redford, Glenn Close, Robert Duvall, Kim Bassinger and Darren McGavin setting up shop here, Buffalo took on an almost surreal sense. Seeing familiar sites portrayed as clearly as day on the big screen, gave Buffalonians (auto-correct wants to change this to Babylonians) another sense. It gave them a sense of pride.

War Memorial Stadium (the “Rockpile”) became Knight’s Field, home of the fictitious New York Knights. The original home of the Buffalo Bills of the AFL, and long-time home of the Buffalo Bison Baseball club, the “Rockpile” took on legendary status here (as did the Memorial Auditorium, “The Aud”, where the Buffalo Sabres – ‘NHL’ and the Los Angeles Clippers (as the Buffalo Braves ‘NBA’) had their beginnings.)

The “Hotel Ellicott” in the movie changed the function of the Ellicott Square Building. ESB is an office complex which at the time it was built hailed as the largest office building in the world. The site also claimed the first dedicated movie theater known to exist. It was named for Joseph Ellicott, the purveyor who planned the then Village of Buffalo.

My favorite building in the area, the Buffalo Central Terminal stood in for the Chicago Train Station, with interior scenes captured there.

The candy shop where Roy Hobbs and his girl Iris meet while the Knights are in Chicago, is in reality The Parkside Candy Shoppe keeping its name and function, although losing its location on Main Street in Buffalo.

Buffalo’s All-High Stadium doubled as Chicago’s Wrigley Field during the filming of “The Natural”.

The NYC Maternity Hospital that Roy Hobbs was taken to was “portrayed” by the Buffalo Psychiatric Center. The center currently is not open to the public. Crazy, right?

Other memorable scenes in the film include: South Dayton, New York as the Water stop / Carnival where Roy strikes out “The Whammer” on three pitches as the Hobbs Family farm found its location in Stafford, New York.

***

Other films had their origins in and around Buffalo, but not to the scope of “The Natural”. It shined a bright light on the city and people of Buffalo and the surrounding area.

For more in-depth descriptions of these locales,
visit FORGOTTEN BUFFALO

IT’S ONE OF THOSE OPINIONATED DAYS…

Bob Curran was one of my favorite columnists when I was finding my way in life. Writing for the Buffalo (Evening) News, Bob was a decorated combat veteran in World War II. His “Curran’s Corner” column was consistently a tribute to veterans everywhere and through it he had championed many veteran causes. His trademark…  his tag line, encouraging words for his brothers in arms was “Hang Tough”.

Of his articles, I loved the snippets of truth he would present under the above title, “It’s one of those opinionated days…” The news of the day can elicit many emotions ranging from compassion to down right frustration with the world at large. It is easy to draw upon these to fester a muse or pose problems; it’s a lot harder to “rage against the dying of the light”; presented as opinion and taken as “fightin’ words”. But to the contrary, those voices be damned. Have your say, but don’t shove your beliefs and vision down my throat (or up the old “Eerie Canal”). Thank you Bob Curran for your service and your common sense approach to dealing with the world. But back to the subject.

It’s one of those opinionated days…

…What ever happened to common courtesy? I remember helping hands extended in the guise of brotherhood,and having four fingers and a thumb, not just a single digit. These days the return of the “Me” society, the “Hurray for me, screw everyone else”, seems more prevalent than a polite, “Can I give you a hand?”

… I remember a little thing that was displayed after every show that aired on television called “Television Code Seal of Good Practice”.  It meant that what was viewed carried a responsibility with it. Family friendly fare and some socially redeeming values. Those were the days.

…In that vein, it seems the world could use more Mayberry and less Honey Boo Boo.

…Does anyone play the “Star-Spangled Banner” at the end of the broadcast day anymore? With endless infomercials on the air, does the broadcast day even end anymore?

…Reality was every day living; the hardships and joys of life dealt with in dignity and not some scripted adventure show about living in the wilderness, or having babies in your formative teen years. Stars dance (big whoop), and dive (bigger whoop), and race and walk and so on, ad nauseum. REAL people fall on hard times, lose jobs and become homeless, some contract diseases like cancer and AIDS and heart disease, and some even die from them. But I guess such topics are too harsh for a viewing audience.

…Thank a veteran for their service. The freedoms we share (and sometimes abuse) are hard won through their sacrifice and bloodshed.

…We used to care for our elderly and infirm. It became a family responsibility to pick up this gauntlet and carry on. Financial burdens are understandable, but we seem too ready to put our aged into facilities and forget them to carry on with our self-important lives. And so it goes.

…There was a time when crime rates were down and respect for law enforcement was up.

…Does anyone write new music anymore, instead of just talking over someone else’s proven success? Does a lyric carry more meaning by adding the word “fuck” or “mother-fucker” to it? My naivete is obviously showing.

The opinions expressed above have been fermenting for a long while, and appear less relevant in today’s society. When we give governments full control of our lives it is easy to not live (and believe we’ve never had it better). I guess it’s best that I bury my head back into the sand and dream of Bob Curran and the “good old days”. Life just seemed to be more valuable then.

“Say a prayer for our guys (and gals) over there!”

Hang tough!

God rest you, Bob Curran!

HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE – OUR LADY OF VICTORY NATIONAL SHRINE AND BASILICA

Dome and spires of Our Lady of Victory National Shrine & Basilica in Lackawanna, NY

Chosen randomly to be highlighted and explored, is the Our Lady of Victory National Shrine and Basilica (quite a mouthful) in Lackawanna New York. This impressive structure is awe inspiring, and the storied history of this church and the surrounding complex in this quiet, one-time bustling steel making city should be read.

Monsignor Nelson H. Baker 1841-1936

Among its many accomplishments, the Basilica is the final resting place for the man responsible for its existence, and his dedication and works of charity have put Monsignor Nelson Baker, most commonly known as “Father Baker”, on course to undergo the process for Canonization.  Pope Benedict XVI declared Father Baker Venerable on January 14, 2011. A museum touting his life draws many thousands of visitors annually.

An interesting fact: The Angels

“There are a thousand angels in the Basilica,” Father Baker once said. According to estimates, the actual number ranges anywhere from 1,500 to 2,500. The plan was to place an angel in every possible sight line.

For more information about this Western New York landmark click on the link:   Our Lady Of Victory National Shrine and Basilica

MY MOTHER IS ALWAYS WITH ME…

It is said that the greatest gift you could give your children, is to love their mother. It is unfortunate that I did not always strive to present such a prize to my girls. Thankfully, people can change. It seems I’ve finally gotten around to giving my girls the gift that they always deserve. What my daughters have learned in the growing we all did as a family can be attributed to the lessons I was taught by my mother. No better day to pay that tribute forward.

Irene Marion (Kura) Wojtanik 1930-1986

My grounding was the same as hers, being raised in the very same house into which she was brought, an old wooden clapboard three family house on Wood Street. (I don’t know how they did it then, but I guess you did what you had to do) It was near the railroad tracks that guided six or seven different lines through the neighbor every day for three-hundred and sixty-five.

Raised with her brother and her sister (half-sister/cousin) by my grandparents; he a Naturalized Citizen from Poland and she the American born sister of his first wife who had succumbed to Tuberculosis. My mother’s sister was a product of that union and thus the confusion. But they grew as true siblings. (I never knew the convolution until I was much older researching our genealogy)

The closeness had been expressed in later years when after meeting, dating and marrying my father brought me and six siblings into the tight confines of our house. We each offered different challenges, but she handled it and all subsequent speed bumps with her motherly grace and resolve. Her toughness was exhibited when my oldest brother (her firstborn, Joseph) died nine hours into life. (Complications from her toxemia). The next year she welcomed my sister and we moved forward from there.

As we got older and started to find our footing in the world, mom found our independence both comforting and disturbing. She was glad we had direction. But she also worried that the family was fracturing in that we didn’t spend times together as a family. My mother out of frustration would always tease (threaten), asserting that “one of these Christmases, I’m taking a long trip and I’m not coming back!’

She became her own self-fulfilling prophet when on Christmas Eve 1986 my mother died from a brain aneurysm. The loss of her on such a day could have been devastating for the family, but it began the process of pulling us together closer. That found completion when four days short of the twentieth anniversary of her death, our father passed from this life.

But in all that time (27 years this December) there hasn’t been a day that I’m not reminder of my mother. I have her hazel eyes and her facial features; my youngest daughter bears a strong resemblance to my mother as a young girl (from the photographs I’ve archived). I don’t need to look far to find her.

My mother is always with me. She is the whisper of the wind rustling the leaves as I walk down the street. She’s the feel of softness in my freshly laundered socks; the consoling hand on my brow when things are not well. She has presented me with my creative flair.

My mother lives in my laughter, and is crystallized in every tear drop ever shed for her. From her I have originated, she was my first home. When I need direction, she is the map I follow and she guides every step that I take. My mother becomes the model I consult when my parenting skills go askew.

She remains my teacher and supporter, my mentor and friend. Mom is my protector, steering me from disaster. She is everything I could have ever asked for in a mother. She had been my first love and my first heartbreak and nothing in this life has been able to separate us. Not time. Not space. Not even death can remove her influence from my life. My mother is gone, and she is always with me.

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY to my mother, my wife Janice and her mother, and all mothers on today your special day!

WE BURIED A FRIEND TODAY…

On May 7th, Charlie Viney died.

Those who never knew him would say, “So what, people die.”

But to the people of my hometown of Lackawanna, New York (a suburb of Buffalo) it’s a big deal. Charlie Viney was a big deal. Charlie was a big man. Big in stature, but also big in respect. And that respect carried a lot of responsibility which he accepted unwaveringly. Charlie had a big heart.

When you were in High School in Lackawanna and you needed a job, Charlie was the guy who connected you. A friend from the moment you met him, you didn’t want to get on his bad side (if he really had one) and if you did, he didn’t stay mad for long. Reading many of the tributes online in the past few days, a majority of people spoke of Charlie being their “first boss” The crew at McDonald’s on Ridge Road would change over through the years, but the constant that had the longest influence and tenure was Charlie Viney.

He had a voice that resounded, and a set of pipes that made you grin from ear to ear. Charlie could sing. He would regale you with songs from his youth, Do-Wop favorites and Soul music that had as much heart as the man who belted the songs. I remember hearing “Hey little girl in the High School sweater…” or “I feel like bustin’ loose…” the most. The latter elicits a smile in that the first time I heard him sing those lines, I thought Charlie was singing, “I feel like mushroom soup…” When I informed him of my error, Charlie laughed out loud. A large hearty laugh. A Charlie Viney laugh. From then out, when Charlie sang those lines, he sang, “I feel like mushroom soup…”

A son, a brother, a husband and father, a boss, a mentor and a friend, Charlie filled many shoes quite admirably. And like the rest of us, he was human. Charlie had his flaws; he fought his demons. But he was never far out of our thoughts and prayers. He was a good man among men. And the ladies also found favor in this gentle giant of a human being.

In his passing, we all join in remembering Charlie Viney. We hope he knew that we loved him very much. And that he will be greatly missed; his memory will be lasting.

We buried a friend today…

“I feel like mushroom soup…”

THEY GROW SO QUICKLY…

“Where are you going
My little one, little one
Where are you going
My baby, my own

Turn around and you’re two
Turn around and you’re four
Turn around and you’re a young girl
Going out of the door”

Harry Belafonte, Alan Greene & Malvina Reynolds wrote a song called TURN AROUND (a partial lyric above and below), and much like SUNRISE, SUNSET from Fiddler on the Roof, the songs lament the coming of age of the young lives with which we were entrusted as young parents.  We think, “How can they be growing older when we don’t seem to be doing so”. The sad truth is we all have and as our children become the young idealistic adults that we once were, we step aside and allow them to assume the reigns on this life.

Two week from today, my oldest daughter will walk down the aisle (with her old man in tow) and start a new phase of her life with a young man who adores her as much as her mother and I do. A touch of sadness will undoubtedly slip in, knowing that our “little one” is no longer little. But she has earned her happiness, making her mother and I extremely proud. and we are comforted knowing we did the best we could by her and it shows.

However, before we reach that pinnacle, we celebrate the birthday of our youngest daughter as she turns twenty today. Seven years younger than her older sister, she is stepping into very comfortable shoes. She remains a bit more hard edged than her sibling, but her values and attitude mirror her sister almost exactly. She will be the Maid of Honor for the wedding, and it warms our hearts that the bond these two share is as close and loving as any two sisters can be. They’ve had their differences, but settle them with understanding and compassion. These are two good girls…er, fine young women we have raised.

“Turn around and you’re tiny
Turn around and you’re grown
Turn around and you’re a young wife
With babes of your own

Turn around, turn around
Turn around and you’re a young wife
With babes of your own”

They grow so quickly, don’t they?

***

SUNRISE, SUNSET Lyrics

TURN AROUND Lyrics