WHY DID MY GRANDPARENTS COME TO AMERICA

After looking at all the beautiful travelogues of Southern Italy, from where my paternal grandparents came, I wondered why, at the turn of the 20th century, they would give up everything to come to a foreign land where no one spoke their language and many left their families behind to look for work in America.

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There were reasons, but what were they. It seems , due to the political climate of the country, the economy was healthy in the industrial North but in the South it was tough to make ends meet. The South was primarily farmers who worked long hours for very low wages. The Southern Italians, mostly men, came to America with the intent of earning, and saving enough money to return to a better life in Italy. They did not plan on staying in the US permanently. They were Southern Italians and that is where they wanted to be. Due to a bloody Civil

War in the last quarter of the 19th century, Southern Italy was in dire economic straits and their citizens had no other choice.

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My great grandfather, Francesco Verdi came when he was 39 with his son, Francesco Jr. my grandfather, who was 19. They listed themselves as laborers even though they were farmers.

It was a tough life and far from what they thought it would be.. My grandfather married when he was 20 to another immigrant, Maria Felicetti, also 20. They had six (6) children together. 4 boys and 2 girls. My grandfather died at 29 yars of age from a burst appendix leaving his wife of 29 years old with 6 little children. One was my father, James. My grandmother remarried, had 2 more boys, and died at age 38. All my aunts and uncles went into Catholic homes for a time and eventually stayed with their 63 year old Aunt, Maria Felicetti. So it didn't quite work out the way my great-grandfather planned it. I still haven't found out about my great-grandmother, who was left behind in Italy, but I will. All my uncles fought in WW II and survived to have families of their own.

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It is interesting to note that in a book written in 1902, "The World's Work", that the "Race Average per Capita" of money held by immigrants passing through Ellis Island showed that Northern Italians had the highest $23.53 and the Southern Italians the lowest average of $8.67. The following is quoted from this book.

"Roughly speaking, the North-of-Europe people make better citizens than those from the South of Europe. The better class go to the country and the worst to the cities. Greeks are considered about the least desirable of all; the Italians from the Southern portion of the peninsula also make poor citizens; but those from the Northern part of Italy rank with the Swiss and other desirable nationalities."

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TALK ABOUT RACIAL PROFILING. Note that this was written more than 100 years ago by an American. Is there that much of a difference in the thinking of mainstream America today?

I hope so, but I really don't think so. Well, a New Year is around the corner. I don't know if it's that different than 1910 though.

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HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!

DID THE GREEKS DISCOVER EVERYTHING?

I have a Greek friend who I have known for the better part of 50 years. We grew up in Brooklyn, New York. I have always had the greatest respect for Gregory as he is very well educated has held CEO positions all over the world for an international advertising agency and knows many things, so when he says something I tend to listen, absorb and believe what he tells me.

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One day he told me that Christopher Columbus was Greek. Another time he told me that the Greeks invented the Hula Hoop. Well, he is also a great kidder and a bit of a practical joker, so knowing that, I told him he was full of s**t. He said that he was not pulling my leg and there is overwhelming evidence which proves what he is saying. He sent me an article written by a Greek author and scholar who makes a very strong case indeed showing that Columbus was actually a Greek Noble and experienced sea Captain. He also sent me evidence that what is called the Hula Hoop was originally used by ancient Greek athletes over 2,000 years ago and sent me a photo of an ancient painted Greek vase showing exactly that.

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Well I guess Gregory knew what he was talking about. Then I saw an article about a discovery of an ancient Greek ship which sunk off the coast of Tuscany about 2,000 years ago. It contained cargo from various ports along the Mediterranean Sea consisting of huge amphoras of flavored olive oil from Greece, wine from various parts of Italy and other goods which were obviously being delivered to merchants and to be sold. In the debris field of the excavation there was what can only be called a Medical Doctor's bag. It contained ancient medical instruments and amazingly, what appeared to be prescription drugs. Pills. They were dry because they were in the medical bag which was waterproof. DNA examination shows that they are, in fact, combinations of vegetables and herbs compressed into pills. These were described by ancient Greek doctors in medical manuals but there was never any evidence they existed until now. Each pill contained, among other things, carrots, cauliflower and yarrow. Now it appears that the Greeks also discovered and manufactured prescription drugs and were the forerunners of modern medicine.

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Gregory probably knew this but didn't tell me as he thought it might be overkill and he is very considerate. I always thought the Romans were great but it appears they took everything from the Greeks. The Romans were probably originally Greek.

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Oh well, I guess I'll have to listen to more of Greg's braggadocio and I guess it will never end. He's probably right, and I love him as my friend, so I will have to put up with it.

I hope I can find something soon that the Italians did, though. It's bad enough I have to accept the facts that the anciient Greeks were the fathers of Democracy and modern theater also.

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I've recently started to do a little genealogical research of my paternal ancestry and traced my great grandparents to the island of Ischia off the coast of Naples. In researching what appears to be my ancestral homeland I have now discovered that Ischia was originally settled by the ancient Greeks. Everywhere I look I see Greeks and more Greeks. Maybe I'm not Italian. Maybe, if I keep tracing my ancestry back far enough I'll find out I'm Greek and if that's the case I will have to buy some goats and some Olive trees and retire. Maybe the greatest composer of opera, Giuseppe Verdi, was a Greek but didn't know it. Maybe we have to add opera to the list of Greek accomplishments.

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Could it be that what Gregory tells me is true? Did the Greeks discover everything??

Maybe the next time Gregory tells me something I should believe him as preposterous as it may sound. And to think I always thought he was just some chubby little kid from Brooklyn.

Go figure.

BUT IT HAD TO BE DONE

69 years ago today, the United States was attacked by Japan at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. Then President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, declared it "A day that will live in infamy". At that moment, we declared war on Japan and shortly thereafter Germany and Italy declared war on the United States bringing America fully into World War II. From that point forward, we had to defend ourselves in the Atlantic and Pacific theaters of war. We were still in the "great depression" and unemployment was still very high. Many of our young men immediately joined the armed forces and went to war. Many died and many were severely wounded both physically and mentally, but it had to be done. Before the war was over millions of people all over the world, mostly civilians, were dead or permanently disabled , but it had to be done. Little babies were killed and maimed for the rest of their lives, but it had to be done. Great cities that had stood for thousands of years were leveled, but it had to be done.

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Was there a reason Germany attacked all its neighbors? Probably not., Was there a reason Italy attacked all its neighbors? Probably not. Was there a reason Japan attacked all its neighbors? Probably not. Is there ever a reason for countries to attack each other? No. Yet it goes on and on to this day all over the world.

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Great peacemakers and philosophers have risen and died over the millennia sharing their wisdom with us of life, love and peace. We revere them. We worship them. We pray to them. Yet how do we show them our respect. We kill each other in their name throughout time. We love you Jesus, so we have to kill the non-Christians. We love you Muhammad so we have to kill the infidels. We love you God, so we have to kill our children. We say "but it had to be done". Maybe we are destined to be forever killing each other. It seems to be the case. It has to be done.

I hope not.

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Maybe we will all join hands around the world some day and feel love, not hate. If we are to survive as a people, IT HAS TO BE DONE. We are approaching holiday seasons where we preach love, peace and hope for the future. I wish these feelings would never end. But I'm afraid there are too many two-bit narcissistic dictators around the world ready to drop a bomb on someone for no reason. I'm afraid there is not enough love in the world to prevent it. I hope I'm wrong.

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MERRY CHRISTMAS!! PEACE ON EARTH AND GOOD WILL TO MANKIND!!

DANCE OF THE SPIRITS

The Cree Nation called them the Dance of the Spirits. We call them the Northern Lights. The scientific name is Aurora Borealis. I prefer the Cree name as to me it is more descriptive. Of course, if you know Latin and Greek, you know that Aurora is the Roman goddess of dawn and Boreas is the Greek name for the north wind. Aurora's are usually seen around the time of the Equinox and almost always at night and always in the Northern Latitudes.

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I was in the U.S. Army Reserve on maneuvers in Fort Drum which is located in North Central New York State close to the Southern Border of Canada. I awoke at approximately 3AM for some reason and stepped out of my tent. It was the last week of September and you could feel the snap of fall in the air. I could not believe my eyes. The night sky was ablaze with swirling greenish white with glints of red and blue in swirling undulations. A sight I had never seen before or since except in pictures. It was amazing and spectacular and easy to understand why ancient people felt they were coming from the Gods.

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If you've experienced the sight you know how it feels. If you haven't you should. It's a very humbling experience which will remain with you your entire life. I can bore you with the scientific causes of the Aurora, but it wouldn't be important. It's much better to believe the Cree name because they believed in the spirits of the earth they lived on and valued the land. They respected the animals and all life. It is a philosophy I wholly embrace and it's a damn shame that all people are not like the Native Americans. Maybe then there would be a future for the earth and all it's inhabitants.

YOU"RE NOT GETTING MY PASSWORD

" Hi Frank, I have to take you're vital signs and I need some information from your insurance".
I asked "Who are you and where am I" The doctor said "You're in the Northern Westchester hospital. I'm you're surgeon. You've just had a serious operation but you're going to be fine. As you are just coming out of the anesthesia things probably are hazy but you'll be fine after I give you a rubdown and a sponge bath."

Things were spinning around in my head so I just tried to relax and try to figure out what happened to me. Maybe after the rubdown and sponge bath I'll wake up a little and figure out what happened. After a while I was feeling a little better and a nurse told me that I had a kidney removed and I would be in pain for a while, but they will give me some morphine if it gets too bad. In the meantime we are going to need a little more financial information. We will need your insurance card, a copy of your bank card and the password to your account. You will have to sign some papers also, but as you will be with us for a while we can do that later. Now you should rest.

I opened my eyes a little more and started looking around. There were a few nurses and doctors around, but it looked like I was in my bedroom. Very weird. It was as if my bedroom was arranged and furnished like a hospital room and I was home. It made no sense but I attributed it to the emergence from the anesthesia and put these weird thoughts out of my mind. Then I dozed off. I was awakened after a while by a nurse who told me I could have a little food and she would have an aide bring me a tray of food, but while we were waiting she needed my passwords to my bank accounts to enter in the hospital records. I didn't understand. Why would they need that information. No one had that information and I would never give it out. I knew better. I started to get suspicious and angry.

I then realized I actually was at home and it was made up to look like a hospital. I started to yell at the nurse and told her I knew what was going on and this was a ruse to get at my money. I was going to call the police. I was told to calm down or I would have to be restrained by "security". I became more angry and threw the food tray to the floor. Then I heard "We better call security and have him restrained".

A few minutes later two big guys came over and told me I would have to calm down and be nice or I would have to be put in restraints. I started to become angry and yelled at the alleged security guys, " I know what's going on, I've been drugged and you're trying to trick me into giving access to my bank accounts" They attempted to put leather restraints around my chest and then tie my arms to the bed. I fought them but was eventually trussed up and couldn't move. After a while, I started to feel like I was in a dream and then slowly coming out of a horrible nightmare. It wasn't a dream though. Everything was real.

It turns out I WAS in a hospital. I did have a kidney removed in order to save my life because the kidney had a spot of cancer on it which fortunately hadn't spread. The problem was I had a reaction to morphine which, as it turned out, caused me to hallucinate and I really believed that all these things were happening. After the effects of the morphine wore off I was back to normal but very embarrassed by the way I treated the hospital staff and the weird stories I told to friends who came to see me. Boy, did I have a lot of apologizing to do. I really had my own conspiracy theory. I was really whacked out.

So that's what happened to me one time in the hospital. Very funny now but not then. At least I found out I was allergic to morphine. I guess that was the moral of the story.

NO, THAT WAS NOT MY SURGEON IN THE ILLUSTRATION. I CAN DREAM THOUGH.

LOST IN TRANSLATION

We used to vacation in Montreal fairly often. We loved to walk around in this beautiful city exploring the different restaurants as we loved to try something new each night for dinner. Montreal is a French speaking city in the Canadian province of Quebec. They are extremely nationalistic as is evidenced by their laws regarding signs in public places. All signs must be in French with smaller English translations below as, after all, Canada is an English speaking country. Quebec is, however, a French speaking province. These laws are strongly enforced by language police who roam the streets and fine stores who do not comply. This is serious stuff with heavy fines, believe it or not.

Our hotel was on Rue Sherbrooke, which is a major thoroughfare of Montreal with many fine hotels, the Museum of Fine Arts and McGill University among the more important landmarks. We heard of a French Restaurant which was recommended by a friend of ours who lived in a neighboring town where we lived in New York. The restaurant was on a street off Sherbrooke so we decided one evening to make a reservation and have dinner there. We drove to the restaurant and eventually found it. There was a parking lot adjacent to the restaurant but as it was an Avis lot I was afraid to park there and get a ticket or worse, towed away. So we drove around and found the closest street parking and walked to the restaurant. For the life of me I can't remember the name of the restaurant or the street it was on, but we went there often.

It was a delightful restaurant with a great French kitchen. The dinners were always a highlight of our trips. After a while, I somehow found out that the Avis parking lot was the parking lot of the restaurant. It seems that the word AVIS, pronounced "ahvee" is the French word for "notice" and the sign advised people that this lot was only for patrons of the restaurant and adjoining patisserie. Anyone not customers would be towed away. It took awhile, but we finally started to park there for dinner. There was no English translation as the sign didn't have enough room or the owners felt as it was frequented by locals who all spoke French, it wasn't necessary.
The patisserie, which was a part of the restaurant was great also. They had all kinds of delicacies which we would stock up on and snack on in our room.

We also would go to old Montreal, the original town with buildings dating back to the 17th century, many of which were historical and archaeological museums. There were wonderful open air markets and little alleys with stores in old buildings off the alleys. There were artists showing their paintings in the street and along the riverfront and many street performers. Acrobats, mimes, etc. Great stuff. We were getting a little hungry one day in vieux Montreal so we decided to go in to a little patisserie and have a bite. In this section of town no one spoke any English except the Asian and Indian shop owners. Ironic. Well, we had been out all day and I had to use the bathroom, so I asked the waitress where the men's room was and she stared at me trying to understand. I really had to go and was getting desperate. I started using words like bathroom, men's room, ladies room, washroom, toilet. The light dawned when I said "toilet". She said "Ah, toillette" and pointed to the wall behind where I was sitting. There was a tiny latch ring on the wall and when you stuck your finger in it and pulled it was a door to the "toilette".The wallpaper cleverly covered the door so you didn't even know it was there. If I didn't think it was impolite to say toilet, I wouldn't have had to wait so long to use it. Just in time for both of us.

The next day i took the dog for a walk and he peed on the McGill University campus. That was the highlight of the trip. There was probably a sign in French saying "do not walk your dog" or "no peeing on the grass" and I didn't know what it meant. Tough s**t. My dog certainly didn't speak French.

P. S. Read the English translation on the sign and please explain what it says in the comments.

Bon nuit, mes amis. English translation. You figure it out.

MY FATHER WAS BORN 100 YEARS AGO IN DECEMBER

About four months ago, I started thinking about my parents, specifically my father, who separated from my mother when I was six and died when I was eleven. Obviously, I have very few memories of my dad, so I never had any desire to walk on the land he walked on. If I did, all I had to do was go to Grand Street in Manhattan and/or Avenue "W" in Brooklyn. For whatever reason, at this ripe age, I decided that I wanted to know a man who was my biological father even though I felt he never cared for me.

For whatever reason, there was an emptiness in my heart that I wanted to understand. When I was growing up, my mother used to take my kid brother and me to her parents every Saturday and my father's sister, my Aunt Lucy, on Sunday. I knew my aunts and uncles and loved them so I figured it didn't make sense that my father didn't care for my brother and me as he was from the same parents as them.

Before I embarked on this project, my only memories of my dad were bitter, sad and only a few of kindness. Two or three that I can remember. I was very lucky that my mother was so caring and loving to my my brother and me to the extent that she almost took the place of two parents.
We were very poor, but very rich at the same time, if you know what I mean. I now had an overwhelming desire to know something about my father, other than living with him for a while when he died and kissing his forehead in his coffin when he was 38 years old.

I decided to join an ancestry site and do some genealogy to find out. As I looked like my dad and had his genes, I figured he had to be a little caring and I wanted to know why or how he could be so cold as to desert a wife and two young sons. I found out a lot about his short life that I was not aware of, but maybe not all the answers I was looking for. I wish I could have gotten to know him, but it wasn't meant to be. I have to be thankful I had a wonderful mother, a good brother and great friends as I was growing up. I think they gave me the empathy and compassion I have today. I truly believe my dad had the same qualities based on things I discovered from my research and family stories from my mother, aunt Lucy and some of my uncles.

I found out that my father's father ( my paternal grandfather) died when he was only 29 in 1920 of a burst appendix leaving a wife of the same age and six kids. His name was Francesco and I was named after him. His wife, my father's mom (my grandmother) Maria, remarried and had two more boys with her second husband and she died at age 38 (the same age and the same date as my dad). My father survived all this as a young boy and young adult at the height of the great depression. The reason I am now convinced that my dad was a good man is a story his brother John told the family. His brothers were in Catholic homes as orphans. When my father was 19, he borrowed a car from a friend, drove to Long Island to see 2 of his brothers and took them for a ride. He took them to NY City and left them with his older brother William, who was recently married. I am sure it was pre-arranged. The amazing thing was, according to his brother John who told this story, it was the first time John had ever met his brother Jimmy (my dad). John was12 and his brother was 15.

I am sure my father remembered them as children and feeling responsible for them did it out of love and family. I truly believe this was my father and whatever happened to break up our family I believe my dad was basically a good man. There are many other things I have discovered but will leave it at this at this time.

My father was a good man with faults as we all have. He did the best with what he he had in a tough and short time on earth. Now, after all these years, I can heal the bonds and love my dad.

Sorry you had it so tough dad.

(to be continued)

TRICK OR TREAT

Sunday, October 31st, 2010, rolled around and it was Halloween night. The weather was beautiful so I figured I would stock up on a couple of bags of Reese's Pieces and wait for the little devils with Okie, my dog. I decided that I would beat them to the punch and before they could say anything, I would say "Trick or Treat?" to them. So I did.

Well there were cute little boys and girls dressed in various outfits. Some very creative and some not. One little girl of about 7 was a little angel with wings. Maybe a woodland faerie. Cute as all get out with her mother in the background, so I said "Trick or Treat" She got confused and stood there speechless. I told her she was supposed to say that to me and proceeded to compliment her on her outfit, especially her wings. I told her she must be getting tired from all that flying. She held out her bag and I gave her a little extra. Her mother thanked me and said I was a good neighbor.


After a couple of hours of this, things quieted down, so I decided to turn off the outside lights, but then decided to leave them on. No reason to make things easy for the bigger kids that may be running around thinking of causing a little trouble. The area where I live is pretty quiet and the neighbors are all polite as well as their kids so I wasn't concerned but I left the lights on anyway.

It turned out to be a good thing because a few minutes later, the doorbell rang and two kids were outside, one guy and one girl. They were pretty big, so I said"aren't you two a little big for Trick or Treating? How old are you". So the boy said "I'm only 12." So I said "Trick or Treat?" He looked at me and said "treat". So I gave him a couple of "Reese's Pieces".

I asked the girl the how old she was. She looked at me and said "19!!". She definitely was at least that age and really made up. Very cute. So I said not realizing a possible double meaning "Trick or Treat" and she replied instantly, staring me straight in the eyes, "I don't do tricks."

Well, I was taken aback and speechless. For me that is unusual. She said"I'll take some of those chocolates though". "You want candy? " said I. "Well I didn't spend 4 hours getting made up for nothing." So I said to myself"this girl's too smart for me, gave her the rest of the bag and decided to go inside and turn out the lights. In parting she said "Goodnite Mr. Verdi, we're your neighbors from across the street. Thanks".

I'm sure she had a good laugh and a few stories to tell her friends about her Halloween as did I.

WINTER - ANOTHER DOG'S TALE

It was spring, 1993. My wife and I had a beautiful black and white Shetland Sheepdog which we had purchased from Rosmoor kennels in Connecticut 6 years prior, when our first dog, Wendy, died at age 16 +.

Winter's full name was "Winter Remembrance of Rosmoor". He reminded my wife of the colors of winter and Wendy's coloring. Eunice, being a poet, named him. His grandmother had won "Best of Opposite Sex" and the Westminster Dog Show and his father was a multiple prizewinner. Winter was a magnificent animal and he knew it. He was ineligible to show because he was a little too large for his breed but to us he was a prizewinner.

One day that Spring, I noticed he wasn't eating and was generally listless. There was obviously something wrong as he was always active and running around in the backyard. We took him to the vet and the vet checked him and took some X-rays. The X-rays revealed a large mass on his pancreas which the doctor said was probably an inoperable cancer. Rather than cutting him open, he suggested we take him home and force-feed him with a turkey baster to see what happens and bring him back in a week. If he didn't improve we should have him euthanized.

So twice a day, we would mix a liquid formula and squoosh it down his throat.. The day he was scheduled to be put down he was up and looking for food in his dish so I filled it. He ate it all up and started to bark to go out. We were amazed. He looked fine and he was running around. So we took him to the vet and had more X-rays taken. The mass on his pancreas was gone. It was a miracle. The vet gave us medication to give him to treat "pancreatitus" and we all went to Cape Cod in July as we usually did. We didn't take the vet. Winter was running around again and we all had a great time. In all my life, before and since, I never had the experience of bringing a living creature back from the brink of death. It was the most amazing feeling I had ever had.

Winter had that summer and I felt I gave it to him. Unfortunately the illness returned and one day, about a year later,he died peacefully in his sleep. I was glad I was able to give him one more summer of fun in the sand and surf he loved so much. He deserved it. He was a damned good boy.

WILL IT EVER END?

I was reading a story the other day written by a holocaust survivor and I thought about a day in 1946, when I was a little boy of eight. I was at my maternal grandparent's house where my mother, brother and I went to meet our cousin, who had just arrived from Europe. He was 18.

His name was Eddie and all the family was there to meet him. Maybe 20 people in all. Eddie was a young man about 6'2" tall and weighed approximately 90 lbs. He was a survivor of a German death camp. It is a memory I carry with me today. Even though I try to forget I cannot nor should I because the only way to avoid it from happening again is to remember.

50,000,000 Chinese died at the hands of Mao
23,000,000 Russians died at the hands of Stalin
12,000,000 Civilians, 6,ooo,ooo jews at the hands of Hitler
5,000,000 civilians at he hands of Tojo
2,500,000 Armenians, Greeks & Assyrians by the Turks
1,700,000 at the hands of Pol Pot in Cambodia

And on and on and on to this very minute in Africa, Asia the Middle East, and I haven't even mentioned the Native Americans at the hands of the Europeans and the Vietnamese and Korean civilians by the U. S. We are not innocent and we all have blood on our hands. Why can't we stop? Is all this necessary? Is mankind condemned to forever kill his own brothers? It seems so.

When I was a boy Eddie came to visit and he once told me a story. When the Nazi's came for him, they put him on a truck and started to drive away. His little brother started to run after him yelling "Eddie, Eddie wait for me." He was the last of his immediate family he ever saw again.
His last memory was of a Nazi soldier throwing his brother to the ground beating him in the head with his rifle. He never saw any of his immediate family again.

Maybe this is too tough to take for some readers and for that I humbly apologize. But it's the way I felt today and I had to put it in words and hope things will change. I like to think they will.

As Thanksgiving is just around the corner, let's give thanks for what we have and hope more people throughout the world will be able to have a little more next year and they can also be thankful.

WENDY, A DOGS TALE

When we bought a house, as we had some land, I thought we should have a dog to share it with. I was in a department storeone day and they had a pet shop where local people used to bring litters of puppies, which their dogs had given birth to, for adoption. They usually were mutts and the store charged $5.00 each. I saw a litter and they looked adorable. One in particular, seemed to connect with me more than the others. She was the only female out of a litter of six. I went home and asked Eunice if we should get a dog and she sort of said no, but I asked her to come with me to the store and look at them. She agreed and the next day we went. There weren't 6 pups anymore, there was only one. Amazingly, she was the one I wanted. It's almost as if she was waiting for me to come back. The people who brought her for adoption were there also, as they were going to bring her home if no one took her. I picked up the pup and asked Eunice to hold her. She did and it was love at first sight. She wanted this dog so we took her home. I spoke to the former owners and they said she was part terrier and part other parts.

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I used to volunteer to do work at the Guiding Eyes for the Blind and was very friendly with the Head Trainer of the Guide Dogs. He told me Wendy was mostly Border Collie. I was happy because Border Collies are considered the most intelligent breed and as it turned out, she was smarter than me. I didn't mind as most females are more intelligent than me anyway. She was a wonderful dog. She was housebroken in a few days. She loved to run and play and bark and have a good old time. And boy, was she smart. She loved to ride in the car and we had to take her with us whenever we could. She was also very protective. I could leave her in the car with the windows rolled down and if anyone other than we used to go near the car, she would bark, growl and bare her fangs. When we went to the beach in Cape Cod , we would take her with us and she would run all over the place but always made sure she kept us in sight. She loved the water and used to swim with us off the boat and she used to sit on the bow of the boat as we rode. She guarded the boat as she did the car. If we were on the beach we would leave our stuff with her and she would sit there until we came back and guard it. You couldn't get near it.

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The years went by and one day I was relaxing. Wendy kept bringing me her Frisbee and barking to go out and play with it. She was a great Frisbee player. She would leap high in the air, catch it in mid-flight and come down running with it in her mouth. She almost never missed. I didn't want to go out so I took her ball and threw it down the hall. She ran after it, got and brought it back for more. After a while, I had it. I told her to lie down and leave me alone. Finally all was quiet and I was able to relax a little. Then I heard "ka-plop, ka-plop, ka-plop", over and over and I heard Wendy running down the stairs, running up the stairs, down and up, down and up. What the hell is going on? So I slowly walked down the hall to see what she was doing. Much to my amazement, Wendy had figured out a way to play a game with herself. I saw her run up the stairs with the ball in her mouth, fling it with a shake of her head, down the stairs, run down, pick it up and repeat the procedure over and over again. I told you she was intelligent.

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Wendy lived to the ripe old age of 16+ years. We had fun almost the entire time. I really loved that dog.

BOTTOMS UP

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In the '70's I owned and operated an Insurance Brokerage firm in Westchester County, New York. One of my employees, we'll call her Mary, worked in the collection department. Her job was to collect premiums due if they were late. Mary would call or write to clients so that their payments were sent in before their policies cancelled due to non-payment.
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She was always on time but wore a heavy perfume which I didn't particularly like, but I guess she did. As the day wore on I noticed that in the afternoon her speech slurred a bit and while I did not actually smell liquor on her breath, she appeared to more and more show signs of having a few. She didn't go out for lunch and ate in the office and I never saw any evidence of her imbibing. Her work was satisfactory and never did I have any suspicions of her mishandling any money. However, I felt I had to speak to her and tell her my suspicion that she was somehow drinking on the job and if she had a problem with alcohol, she should tell me and perhaps we could get her some help.
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Mary swore to me that she never drank while she was working and told me that she never would. I said OK, but if I found out she was lying to me I would have to let her go. Not for drinking, but for lying.
**********************************************************************************
Things went along for about a month with no problem, but she still seemed to me to be drinking during working hours. As was normal, I usually stayed late each evening for a couple of hours to check everything and do paperwork which fell behind. I usually kept some soda in the refrigerator and I was a little thirsty one night so I went for a soda, but was all out. I noticed a large bottle of orange juice. I figured nobody would mind if I took a small glass so I poured a little, went back to my office and, you guessed it, had the greatest screwdriver I ever had. At least the strongest anyway. The next day I asked who's orange juice that was and someone confirmed that it was Mary's.
***********************************************************************************
Poor Mary, I knew what I had to do but it wasn't easy. I explained to her if she hadn't lied to me we could have worked something out. She understood and said goodbye. And she asked if she could have her orange juice back. So I gave it to her and said goodbye and good luck.
*********************************************************************************
I had never fired anyone before and it wasn't easy. The least she could have done was offered me a drink once in a while. What is the moral of this story? Be nice to your boss and offer him a drink on occasion or don't lie. You figure it out.

THE WATER SKIER

One day I noticed in the local "Penny saver" what looked like a real good buy for a speedboat. I knew Eunice always wanted a boat to use in summer to be kept at the swim club we belonged to at Lake Mahopac. As I had a little extra cash,
I asked Eunice if we should look at it and if we liked it, buy it. She jumped at the chance and we called the owner, who was a local policeman, if we could take a look at it. Well, it was kept in his garage and all the time he had when not on the job, he polished and cleaned it. *************

Suffice it to say, it was in immaculate condition and was a beautiful little boat. it was an almost new Silverline, 19' long with an 80 HP outboard engine. The boat was fully loaded and ready to go, the price was right and we decided to buy it on the spot. I gave him the cash, took my car to get a trailer hitch put on, came back, hooked it up and drove it to the lake. We rented a slip, launched it and it floated. The engine started right up so we went for a spin. *************************************************************

Eunice was ecstatic. There was a pair of Water Skis and all the paraphernalia that goes with it so Eunice said she has to learn to water ski. Well, the next day she gave it a shot. She got in the water, got all hooked up, and I started to move. Eunice came up about halfway out of the water and plopped back in again. She just couldn't do it. We decided to take the boat to cape Cod for a couple of weeks and did the following week. We got a mooring in little Pleasant Bay and I called a Ski instructor to make an appointment the next day. He merely showed her one thing and she was up and skiing. He noticed she was coming up and out of the water with her knees and arms bent, so he told her to lean back and to keep her knees and arms straight, relax and let the boat pull her out of the water. It worked the first time and she was skiing all over the place. She was a natural. The only thing that got her out of the water after that was when the lake froze.********

Eunice wrote a poem so let her tell you her experience. It's called THE WATER SKIER********

Emerald pools surround me.
Muscles expand and then contract,
Blood rushes,
Suddenly, I am thrust up and out,
as if being born;
The rope holds tight,
like a maternal cord,
Guiding me as I fly.
**********************************************************************************
The sun lies upon my back,
like wings, that open and close,
pushing me forward,
towards flying geese,
Past bending trees,
I am the wind,
I am the sea,
Gliding on painted glass.
*********************************************************************************
The rope breaks,
I fall, deep, into darkness,
into sleep,
falling.
A force holds me,
Then floats me towards the sky,
Releasing me in the air,
Where a butterfly,
dances with the breeze,
and dissapears,
Journeying to another life...
Reborn...
Set free...
***************************************************
Eunice Verdi, Lake Mahopac, 1972

SARA'S BIRDS

**************************************** Eunice had an Uncle Hyman who she was vey fond of. He passed away. His wife's name was Sara and they were very close and together for many, many years. Hy was the older brother of Eunice dad.

Sara was a very shy and withdrawn woman and had few friends. Hy was her life. Eunice and I were friendly with them because Eunice had a knack of becoming friendly with even the most withdrawn people. She was drawn to them and they to her. Eunice had a profound empathy for people's feelings. She identified with them because Eunice had similar childhood experiences and she was very sensitive. *************************************************************************************
As is the case in many instances, when people are very close and their partner is the closest person in their lives, they tend to lose their will to live. That's the way it was with Sara, even though we tried to bring her into our lives. After a short while Sara became ill and passed on. We knew she wanted to be with her beloved Hy and that's what she chose. The following poem was written shortly after Sara's funeral be my dear, sweet Eunice. She titled it

"SARA'S BIRDS."

*************************************************************************************
On a cold February morning,
When the north wind howls,
Then blows the trees hunched-back
with arms bent over...
Sara joined her lover in a silent sleep,
Among the shadows, straight and gray,
Under the stars.
On Valentine's day...
*************************************************************************************
On a snowy, February morning,
on Summer's cold and lonely porch,
I tempted nature with seeds and corn...
**************************************************************************************
Squirrels came, their furry tails
fan-dancing in the wind,
their cheeks full...
*************************************************************************************
A crow came...
his black, sleek body reflected the sun,
With feathers that stretched,
then arched'
then flew away...
*************************************************************************************
A cardinal, his red coat flaming,
set the snow on fire...
Chickadees sang, They merrily danced
from tree to tree...
And two Mourning Doves, walked closely
together, a couple...
They looked at me with doe-like faces...
And left footprints upon the white floor,
Their lasting tribute to the falling snow..
*************************************************************************************
From the heavens they came...
Sara's birds.
*************************************************************************************
written by
Eunice Verdi
*************************************************************************************
This was always one of my favorites. It really is Eunice.

ANCIENT TREE

My wife, Eunice, was a keen observer of nature. When we went to the beach, she would examine the effects of the tides on the creatures left behind by outgoing tide. She carried binoculars to watch and record the different types of birds which would feed at the many feeding stations she would have in different areas of the yard. She watched the progress of the many trees and plants I put in the ground. She would watch for visitors, white-tailed deer, raccoons, skunks, squirrels, chipmunks and many others who would come to eat and live on our property Eunice would observe how the changes in season affected everything.

When something happened she would write wonderfully descriptive poems using nature as metaphors for what she felt. In a way, I guess I was an observer of Eunice. One day she took me to an overlook to watch Bald Eagles who were nesting and fishing in the river below. That's another story.

Eunice was brought up by her grandmother who lived with us. When her grandma died Eunice wrote many poems about how she felt. The following work is the way Eunice combined both nature and her grandma. I hope you'll enjoy it.

ANCIENT TREE

Ancient tree, aged bones cracked and bent

Branches that twist and grope, reach out,

Beckon me...

I come closer and the ground rumbles from

Beneath, with roots like wooden snakes, which

Fold and then unfold, in grotesque design,

Like pythons ready to strike, they guard their

Treasure, their sacred tree...

I touch its pitted skin, and

Whisper, who put you here years before,

Tell me all you know...

Silent is this remnant from the past,

No brain, no voice, dead...

Suddenly, it looms its head into the air

Arms and legs, thrashing, bombard me

From above,

And on the ground,

Shadows flashing, Black and white,

Attack me in the wind...

I stand motionless,

A prisoner of nature's war...

The wind slows and rocks the shadows

To sleep,

The tree nods lazily,

It knows the secrets of the past...

And lets me go.

By Eunice Verdi.

WHAT A PRETTY PUPPY

It was a beautiful day and as I usually did, I got up early to take the dog to the beach for a walk.
Her name was Wendy and she was a beautiful little black & white mutt. Mostly "Border Collie".

The beach was on Cape Cod bay and all I had to do was open the door, cross the street, go down a flight of stairs and I was on the beach. I told Eunice to sleep and I'll be back with her morning coffee and some pastry.

My guess is that it was around 7AM as I remember that there was no-one on the beach.
There I was, on a pristine, isolated beach alone with Wendy and having a great time. All of a sudden I heard a sexy female voice whisper "What a beautiful puppy. Can I pet her?" So I said "Sure, she's a very friendly little girl." As I slowly turned I noticed this beautiful young woman with long dark hair, kneeling down and petting Wendy.

As she moved I realized, it must have been her birthday, because all she was wearing was her birthday suit. I didn't know what to say so I tried to avoid looking at her and answer her questions about the dog at the same time. Usually I was a cool customer and most things didn't phase me but this was a new one on me. So I tried to be as blase' as possible, carry on a conversation, avoid too much observation and stay cool. It was not easy. I also had to realize that Eunice was only a short distance away and prayed she was still sleeping.

Then I heard this lovely nymph shout "Look at this beautiful dog. Come over here". Two more young ladies approached and it must have been their birthday also. Well, I had to do something as I couldn't hang around, then one said "Let's go swimming". I said to myself, thank you and they all ran in to the surf saying "see you around". I said "have fun, see you around" I took off straight to the coffee shop got coffee and pastries, and ran back to my room and had coffee and cake with Eunice.

Wendy had a great time. I had an memorable adventure and I'm sure those three cuties were laughing all day. I may have told this story to Eunice but I don't remember if I did. I probably didn't. It would have made a great painting.

WHOOPS!!! There goes the Follower Arm

It was 1964 and I was a raw recruit about 5 weeks into the U. S. Army's Infantry basic training course. Aside from all the physical activity and training, the most important thing was the "M1" Garand Rifle. We were required to be able to dis-assemble it, clean it, oil it and re-assemble it as quickly and accurately as possible.
It was stressed that there nothing as important.

Every morning we would do our calisthenics, have breakfast and prepare for inspection of our barracks, our equipment, our rifle and ourselves. I was one man in a 42 man platoon. The platoon consisted of 4 squads, (3 rifle squads and 1 weapons squad) a Platoon leader, (2nd Lt Marquis de Sade) a platoon Sgt, (SSgt Earnest Kindness) a radio-telephone operator, a forward observer and a medic.

Each evening we would break-down, clean and oil our rifles, re-assemble them, straighten and clean our equipment, spit polish our boots and get ready for bed.

We were up at 6AM each day, got dressed and be at assembly in front of our barracks at 6:30. Then roll call, breakfast, and barracks inspection by Sgt. Kindness. We would then assemble outside for a uniform and rifle inspection by Lt. de Sade. At this time I would like to tell you a little about the assembling of the M1. There were many pieces that had to be put in their proper place inside the mechanism of the rifle. One of these pieces was the "Follower Arm". This item had to be put under another piece of the mechanism to hold it in place. If it was put over it instead, when you pulled back the bolt there could be a problem.

Back to the rifle inspection. We went outside and assembled for Lt. de Sade with Sgt Kindness trailing along with his little pad to take notes.Lt. de Sade would check the shine on the boots, check the uniform for deficiencies, make a few nasty comments which the Sgt would note and then order "INSPECTION ARMS". We would hold the rifle in the correct position, pull back the bolt and show the interior of the rifle to Lt. de Sade. He would then say things like "good" or "this is disgustingly filthy" "what the fuck did you clean this rifle with? Shit?" and so on with Sgt kindness making notes.

Well, I was next. "Very good shine, Verdi" "More starch in your fucking pants, Verdi." Then the dreaded "INSPECTION ARMS" So I dutifully pulled the bolt back and the "follower arm" went flying out hitting Lt. de Sade in the nose. I said "OOOOPS" He just stood there for a moment and said nothing. Then he said in a quiet tone, glaring at me "Verdi, find that fucking thing and get the fuck back to the barracks and do it right."

Suffice it to say, I always remembered where the "Follower Arm" went and made sure it always went there in the future. I did not get a weekend pass that week.

"To be Continued"

You have the wrong guy!!!

It was 1964 and I was on active duty with the 77th Infantry Division stationed in Fort Dix, New Jersey. I was a clerk-typist in a 6 month reserve basic training company and my primary responsibility was receiving a list each day from headquarters with orders to remove certain reservists from the 6 month reserve program and reassigning them to mobilization with their unit for an undetermined period. I was to type new orders for each of these individuals and find them so I could hand-deliver their new orders.

As you can see, I was not the most popular soldier on the base. Remember, 1964 we were escalating the war in Vietnam and everyone was subject to re-assignment, including myself. The first thing we guys did every morning was read the list of reserve units that were activated and pray we weren't on it.

One day, I prepared the list of re-assignment orders, got a jeep from the motor pool and set out to find the guys that I had to deliver the new orders to. Most of them knew if their unit was called up and weren't surprised when I gave them their new assignments. However, there was this one soldier, we'll call him John Smith, who said "This is not me. My unit has not been called up. You have the wrong guy." I explained to him that I'm sorry, but these orders came from headquarters and they check out. Your serial number is the same and so is your name. So he swore to me it had to be a mistake because this is not his unit on the orders. "They can't do this to me. I have a wife and two kids." Well, he was so convincing that I told him I would check it out with headquarters, and he should come to my office around noon at which time I will know if it really is an error.

I called headquarters the next morning and told them the story. They called me back after a couple of hours and sure enough, he was right. There was another soldier with a same name and they mixed up the orders. When John Smith came in at Noon I gave him the good news and gave him another order rescinding the first one and reassigning him to his proper unit. All the color came back to his face, he cracked a big smile and I thought he was going to kiss me. It's a good thing he didn't or I would have decked him. Any way, everyone was happy and we both had a laugh.

That's one of many of my military tales. More to come.

A Visit to Montreal

For a reason that I don't recall, one day in the mid-90's Eunice and I decided to vacation in Montreal, Quebec, Canada. We were very friendly with a couple, Alex and Betty, from a neighboring town. He was a psychiatrist and his wife was a well known local artist. They were from Montreal originally and that may be the reason we decided to go. When Alex and Betty found out we were planning on visiting Montreal they provided us with information on the places to see and the restaurants to frequent. They also asked us to go to the Jewish section of town and get a couple dozen bagels from a certain bakery which they hadn't had in years. That's probably why they encouraged us to go.

************************************************************************************

Well we had a great time. There are many fantastic places to visit and we must have crammed as many of them as we could in two weeks. Museums, parks, plazas, the waterfront, the old city, Cirque de Soleil's headquarters, Notre Dame, 17th century buildings and the Botanic Gardens to name a few. We never even got to the Casino. A wonderful city. One of our favorite restaurants was the Cafe Stash. A great Polish restaurant where they had great Polish cooking and a fantastic selection of Vodka's which were served at room temperature. Absolutely delicious. We also had our favorite French restaurants because, after all, Montreal is a French city. It's the spoken language and English is used only as a secondary language. In fact the law requires that signs must be posted in French and English translation is permitted, but only as a smaller sub-title. They actually give summonses if this is not followed.

**********************************************************************************

Well, we went to the Jewish quarter and found the bakery that Alex told us about and the day we left we loaded up the car with his famous bagels. We also found a great kosher breakfast place which we would frequent quite often. And of course Schwartz's delicatessen.

Eunice, being brought up in a Kosher Jewish environment, remembered all those days when she was a child at her Grandmothers knee. The following is the way she expressed it.

************************************************************************************

POEM

*******

The Magician

************.

It was magic when I saw him,

Magic, here in this foreign place

Midst the oui's and voila's.

******************************

His beard and hair were black

With curls that tumbled over his ears.

His high hat and long coat were black too.

He carried a prayer-book

Tightly within his hands.

I smiled at him

and remembered

The smell of freshly starched

clothes in the Synagogue,

the silent vigil of the earnest

bowing their heads in silent prayer.

**********************************

The borscht on the dining room table.

Rich, deep red, almost black.

Like red velvet, which tasted

sweet and pungent:

The sizzling of potato latkes in the

frying pan.

*****************************

The shimmering of Sabbath lights

in a darkened room,

Which would dim, then rally,

then fade in a wisp of gray smoke...

*********************************

As I watched the man scurry away,

he carried my childhood with him,

In fast footsteps that clattered

On cobblestones,

Past shadows of ornate

Trellises which framed cozy

homes where families gathered

for dinner,

and here midst the wine

and the pate's, there was

Black Magic.

*********************************************

Eunice Verdi - written in Montreal probably in the mid-90's

A STRANGE SATURDAY NIGHT

It was a warm July evening as we parked the car in a parking lot about a mile from the center of Provincetown. Two friends of ours, Annie and Larry, along with Eunice and I, had decided to spend the evening in town. As it was the middle of the tourist season this was the closest parking spot we could find so we started our little trek toward the main section of town where all the action was with the idea of having dinner, do a little shopping in the quaint stores and perhaps take in a comedy show with some female impersonators performing at a club and have a few drinks.

It was a beautiful night with a full moon and as we were strolling along we noticed that we were the only people walking along this street. Strange to say the least. It was then that we realized we had taken a path through the town cemetery. We could see the center of town and knew we were heading in the right direction so no big deal. It turns out that Annie, while being a very intelligent girl, being of Mexican descent, was a little fearful of graveyards. It was then that Larry and I decided to make some spooky noises and start seeing things floating in the air. At least this is what we told Annie. None of this bothered Eunice but Annie started to freak out a little so obviously Larry and I increased our haunting mode and we were all entertained and having a great time. That is, all except Annie, who was getting more nervous by the minute. She kept saying, "This is not funny. Stop it. This is the way those movies start." About that time we were just about through the cemetery and entering the area we were heading for, so we stopped before we frightened the poor girl out of her wits.

We then decided, as it was still early, we would look through the quaint little stores, but of course, we had to use the public facilities first. Annie gave Larry her stuff to hold while she went in and Larry and I finished and waited for the girls to come out which they did eventually. We then started to go into a few stores and look around. After about a half hour, we turned around to talk to the girls and noticed they were gone. So we figured they were in one of the shops looking around and we started to back-track checking the stores we had gone past. The girls were gone. Nowhere in sight. They had simply disappeared. Annie's words were coming true. "This is the way the movies start." After another half hour we decided to walk back to the car and start to drive around looking for them and, lo and behold, there they were, relaxing on the car, waiting for us.

So what happened? Well, it seems that Annie, noticing her purse was gone, made a beeline back to the ladies room, assuming she left it there. When the attendant told her that there was no handbag or purses found, Annie freaked out accusing the poor woman of stealing her bag and threatening to call the police. It was then that Eunice remembered that Annie had given Larry her purse to hold so she wouldn't leave it in the ladies room, so they decided to go back to the car and wait for us. By that time, as we hadn't eaten, we decided to drive a little way and find a restaurant with a parking lot and have dinner,a few drinks and a few laughs which we did.

It was an interesting evening, to say the least.

Cape Cod Bay

We had been going to Bermuda for a couple of weeks vacation, every year for a number of years, with an occasional trip to the Bahamas and Florida as Eunice loved the beaches. We also had been to Virginia Beach, Myrtle Beach and beaches along the Gulf of Mexico. Then one day someone said that we should try Cape Cod in Massachusetts as they had beaches that rivalled the best in the world and only a four hour drive. So we decided to give it a shot and we found some of the most spectacular beaches we had ever seen. We were hooked, so for many years thereafter, that's where we would go.

Eventually, we wound up at the very tip of the Cape in Provincetown, a very old whaling town in the 18th and 19th centuries with many of the original buildings intact. Absolutely delightful place. As I liked to paint and Eunice loved the beach and we both loved Art museums, which were plentiful there, it had everything we could have wanted. We also would occasionally trailer our small speedboat, and moor it in Pleasant Bay, because Eunice loved to water ski. Suffice it to say it became our favorite vacation spot. In addition, it was a gay community and as we loved to go to Greenwich Village a lot so it was a perfect place for us and our dogs who also loved the beach.

Amazing vacations, sometimes with friends and sometimes just the two of us. We used to stay at places right on the beach along Cape Cod Bay. We would get up early and walk along the beach at low tide where the water would recede for great distances and we could wander forever until the tide finally came back in. There will be many stories in the future about Cape but at this writing I want to introduce you to Eunice, my wife of 42 years, who was a wonderfully expressive poet. I will do this with a couple of her observations of the Bay which follow.

SEA WALK

The sea surrounds me,
white, then black shadows
flowing past me as I walk
through endless corridors...
and upon the sand
a dismembered jaw, with
teeth like porcelain arrows floating on
the waters edge.
drifting right... drifting left... drifting...
a past life searching... separated
from an ancient soul...
mighty bones, fearless eyes!
Warrior of the deep!
I can see you as you soar the ocean's floor.
And now you just lie upon the sand...
Drifting...
Your strength, the flowing tides...
Your greatness, the thoughts of
Man passing through the sea...

LOW TIDE

Sea don't leave.
Waves flowing toward the horizon.
Whom do you run to...
Silently, fading in the light...
Leaving your lost,
Your lonely,
Upon the cool gray sand,
waiting for the night...

Sea, don't leave them...
Abandoned...
Unprotected life, lying
Upon the beach...
For the sun will scorch their hearts
And the birds will pick their bones,
And the wind,
The unrelenting wind/
Will whirl endlessly through their souls...
Sea don't go...
For they'll die
waiting for you.
Waiting for the night...

July 18th, 1979 - Cape Cod

THE POEM

The years were flying by and for some reason Eunice and I were growing closer. Closer together than we had ever been. Our understanding of each other had reached its peak after 40 years of marriage. It was then that we both started to realize that we always loved each other even through the rocky times.

I was 62 and Eunice was 57. She had completely come out of her shell and she was happier than she had been since she was a child. Her poetry, which was almost always written in response to a death or expressions of loneliness had changed into expressions of hope. She was writing about Spring and rebirth. We now started to discuss our golden wedding anniversary and how we were going to celebrate it on that magic date of July 10th, 2010. We were both still young and in our prime and had no reason to think that would change. But it did.

In late August of 2001, Eunice was diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer in her ear and neck. It was as if with all her personal tragedies and grief through the years finally gone and only sunshine and happiness ahead, life apparently did not want her to have these things. Through the next 10 months of operations, radiation, chemotherapy, pain and suffering she still remained upbeat to the end. Eunice had a way of reaching out to people and making them feel special. Everyone who came in contact with her, loved her and felt better for the experience. She was special.

At Eunice memorial service there were about 200 people in attendance yet I still received so many requests from people who couldn't make it that I had to set up another memorial where another 200 people came. If the measure of a person is what other people think of them then Eunice was a remarkable woman. She was amazing.

I am not a religious man nor am i a spiritual one. I consider myself to be logical and somewhat of a skeptic. Yet in the weeks after Eunice died, I was constantly examining and re-examining our life together. I knew there were things IO did that hurt her deeply and I wondered if she loved me. It was constantly on my mind and in my dreams.

One morning I awoke after dreaming this question. I arose and sat on the edge of the bed and there at my feet was a scrap of paper. I picked it up and it was a poem written in Eunice hand in which she answered my question. She did indeed love me as much as I loved her. I figured my dog, who slept at the foot of my bed and had a habit of picking up pieces of paper and dropping them, put it there. But considering it was one of Eunice works I had never read before, who knows.

I want to think Eunice put it there because it would have been something she would have done. Why do the people you love leave you before their time? It's a mystery of life that may never be answered. Then I realized she didn't really leave me because she is always with me insde and she will always be. I now know that the people you love can never die. So maybe that is the answer.

The poem. LOST YOUTH

Did I ever tell you I loved you...
It's been so long,
Time changes,
Rearranges;
We're not the same...
There is gray in your hair
and tears in your eyes
I've never seen before;
I'm not shy anymore
hanging on to your every breath...
Your every word...
When did we change...
Lost, is our dreams,
Lost is our youth of yesterday.

Eunice Verdi

The Eternal Optomist a Brooklyn Boy.: WALKING CHARLIE (continued)

The Eternal Optomist a Brooklyn Boy.: WALKING CHARLIE (continued): "If someone complained that wasn't possible and the game was rigged, I would take a baseball and show them how easy it was. Of course i was a little closer and would throw it from underneath so the hats would come off more often than not.

When it got really busy, and it did fairly often, I would stuff the dollar bills in two boxes underneath the dummies and once in a while some bills would magically wind up in MY pocket. It was at least enough to make all those hours worthwhile. As I mentioned the owner was a big, fat Italian named Ralph. He smoked the smelliest cigars, perspired like a pig and smelled so bad you had to stand downwind to survive his visits. The story goes that once he passed gas on a crowded bus killing 4 people and sending 12 to a local hospital. I heard he was a made man so I did what he told me.

At the end of the summer, he called me aside to tell me what a wonderful job I did and he was giving me a bonus. A bag of money. When I got home to see how much it was, it turned out to be a bag of pennies so I didn't feel so guilty anymore about the weekly bonuses that magically wound up in my pockets.

At least I learned the value of money that summer.