Along the Way: L’Chaim to Life

By Xlibris US

Throughout my life, I was extremely fortunate to have met many of the good people that G-d placed on this earth and avoided most of the folks that he should take back and reprogram. For those persons that I came to respect and love they will always be referred to by their real names. To the best of my knowledge, not one of them has an outstanding warrant or owes me money so I have no reason not to include them in my story. Persons for whom I only use initials are very few and are only mentioned in reference to a humorous incident. Besides, Kim Young, master counselor and part of our family, insists that no one needs to mention a negative about someone as it is probably already common knowledge.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493180646

Book preview

ALONG THE WAY

L’Chaim To Life

Stewart Flate

Copyright © 2014 by Stewart Flate.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2014903977

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4931-8065-3

      Softcover      978-1-4931-8066-0

      eBook      978-1-4931-8064-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted

in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system,

without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 12/15/2014

Xlibris

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

609155

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Book 1    Early Childhood

Chapter 1    I was very young

Chapter 2    My Mom

Chapter 3    Good health, it is Important

Chapter 4    G-d and I get better acquainted

Book 2    A Delinquent Genius. Kaboom

Chapter 1    Christine and the Cathedral

Chapter 2    Four on a Match

Chapter 3    Timber

Chapter 4    The Masterpiece

Book 3    Early Formal and Informal Education. Straighten up

Chapter 1    Grades .5 thru 3

Chapter 2    Late Elementary School: grades 4-6.

Book 4    Summers: There is more to an education than school

Chapter 1    The Suppans

Chapter 2    California here I come.

Book 5    Jr High and High School. Ten Percent Inspiration, ninety percent dehydration

Chapter 1    Jr High

Chapter 2    The Bar Mitzvah

Chapter 3    High School at Shaker Heights High, sophomore year

Chapter 4    Junior Year

Chapter 5    Senior year. A tale of 6 o’clock and 12 o’clock.

Book 6    Ohio State and Time In between: The Good, Bad, and the Very Ugly

Chapter 1    Ohio State.

Chapter 2    Summer 1965: Camp Wise and the Appendectomy

Chapter 3    On the Road with Stan

Chapter 4    My time was up, my military physical.

Chapter 5    Preform Line Products

Chapter 6    My meeting with my Draft Board

BEFORE MARRIAGE AND SLIGHTLY THEREAFTER

Book 7    Morehead State University, Michigan State and the Freedoms Foundation: And G-d Said, Let There be Light.

Chapter 1    Becoming Oriented

Chapter 2    The Faculty. Dr. Exelbirt. My Fourth Place Hitter and MVP

Chapter 3    The Rest of the All Stars.

Chapter 4    My Friends

Chapter 5    Graduate School. Michigan State

Chapter 6    The Freedoms Foundation

Book 8    A Nibble of High School: A Buffet at Middle School

Chapter 1    Grand Rapids Ottawa Hills

Chapter 2    Portland Middle School: Getting hired

Chapter 3    The Middle School Staff

Chapter 4    The Middle School Kids

Book 9    Portland High, Go Raiders! A taste of Honey

Chapter 1    The Administration. The Principal: Monte Overweigh

Chapter 2    The Vice-Principal. Dr. Wes, part time urologist.

Chapter 3    The Teaching staff

Chapter 4    Mr. Flate’s words of wisdom

Chapter 5    The Kids. The ones who forced me to take a broader view.

Chapter 6    The Kids: The ones who taught me people can change for the positive.

Chapter 7    The organizers. AKA my aides.

Chapter 8    The Funny Girls

Book 10    MY BUDS: My Chosen People

Chapter 1    My Buddies From My Youth:

Chapter 2    Portland Hommies

Book 11    Emerald Pointe: My New Family

Chapter 1    My Emerald Pointe Peter Pan Buds: Forever Young

Chapter 2    Those EPers Who play with all 52 Cards

Chapter 3    In Memoriam

LATER ADULT LIFE

Book 12    Shawn: Only Son

Chapter 1    The Bushkie years (pet name for cute little kid).

Chapter 2    The Spirit Chaser

Chapter 3    Shawn’s Getting Older

Chapter 4    The Bar Mitzvah

Chapter 5    A Teenager

Chapter 6    College

Chapter 7    Adult life

Book 13    Debby: A Slice of Heaven

Chapter 1    We Meet, We Date. We are Both Old Fashioned

Chapter 2    Gram

Chapter 3    The Wedding and Honeymoon

Chapter 4    The beginning of Married Life

Chapter 5    The Honeymoon Period Came To An End and Real Life Began.

Chapter 6    Medical Operations

Chapter 7    Deb and Andy

Chapter 8    A Pledge Soon to be Fulfilled.

DEDICATION

To those grandchildren born and yet to be born.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

1. Thanks to Mary Louise Gorka. She can find a misuse of the English language in a Shakespearean play.

2. To Ann Greenstein. She kept the book strictly Kosher and declared it pareve (Yiddish spelling) which means you may read it while eating meat or dairy.

3. To Winifred Cookee Shawver, AKA Mom: She would tell the truth to the devil.

4. To Deb Clark: She explained the English language to me. An absolute all-star

5. To Google: Where were you when I was in school on both sides of the desk?

6. To all the wonderful people I’ve met along the way.

7. And MOST IMPOTANTLY to my original and immediate family. Not only have they inspired many of these stories, but have had to listen to them for years.

8. A special thank you to Deb who occasionally reminded me that my memory periodically needs a tune up.

PROLOGUE

Throughout my life, I was extremely fortunate to have met many of the good people that G-d placed on this earth and avoided most of the folks that he should take back and reprogram. For those persons that I came to respect and love they will always be referred to by their real names. To the best of my knowledge, not one of them has an outstanding warrant or owes me money so I have no reason not to include them in my story. Persons for whom I only use initials are very few and are only mentioned in reference to a humorous incident. Besides, Kim Young, master counselor and part of our family, insists that no one needs to mention a negative about someone as it is probably already common knowledge.

No way could I write this book and not incorporate my Jewish background. If you speak or have knowledge of Yiddish, it is going to help. As countless Jewish mothers have said, it can’t hurt. For me, Judaism is my inherent culture and I wear it like a favorite shirt. As you will read, G-d is an intricate part of my life as He is everywhere; look around. What name He goes by, has been debated for years and the truth is it doesn’t matter except to the bigots. The orthodox Jews who read this might be a bit disappointed that I have never subscribed to the biblical Chosen People theory. We are all chosen. Ultimately, the individual decides what that choice will be.

If you have a working knowledge of professional baseball, it is definitely going to aid in deciphering many of my references. Hopefully, my illustrations will be self explanatory. If one of them baffles you, consider it a wonder much like a snow flake. If you understand them all, then you will have to call Jim Niebling or Scott Sandborn who have pledged to take folks like you out of your misery.

It is said that if you want to understand the heart of Americans, learn baseball. My experience has been that sports, baseball is also a religion, are a microcosm of life, especially mine. It is my firm belief that no mental incompetent can be successful at sports or much else for that matter. G-d has given us all a talent, the questions is, are we willing to work to develop that gift? In sports, as in life, only 10% of success is inspiration while 90% of a victory is perspiration. Somebody said that, I think it was Edison or perhaps it was Yogi Berra. Both of them said so much that I’m glad someone was taking notes.

Should you have a classical movie background that too will be of assistance in deciphering my references. If you have trouble following my allusions to the silver screen, check out NCIS’S Tony DiNozo, aka Mike Weatherby. If you are a fan of NCIS, you know that Tony’s dialogue is expressed as a series of movie references.

As I have already done, I sometimes will use the quip It isn’t going to hurt. When said with a Yiddish accent, the aforementioned phrase brings back memories of chicken soup or as it is commonly known, Jewish Penicillin. One of my favorite aspects of Judaism, is that when we don’t know the whole truth, we don’t have a problem in just making something up. Non-Jews call this gossip and some of my relatives are and were very proficient. As you might imagine, folks that are considered experts at this skill are called politicians. My mom was particularly proficient at filling in the blanks of virtually any story. I have bowed to her highness on many an occasion.

It is always been my experience that the overwhelming majority of people are good and therefore I focus on that part of human behavior. Most people also have a humorous side and if there was a funny aspect to someone, I try to relate it via a bit of levity. Kids are the funniest people as their innocence allows them to show you who they are. As you will see, I thoroughly enjoy discussing my former students as they were a key factor in making teaching an absolute joy, most days. Hopefully, time has not tarnished their shine.

Many people that I will mention have long since passed on. For the most part, they led rewarding lives and someday, not too soon, I hope to see them again. I don’t think I owe any of them money. To all of them, I offer a toast, L'chaim, to life.

There are thirteen books and all but two are divided into what I tried to make chronological chapters. The final two chapters focus on Shawn and Debby. It seems as if their prime mission is to serve as my advisors. They have diligently attempted to make sure that my feet always remain firmly planted on the earth and my head doesn’t exceed my hat size. Deb requires an oration to express her feelings while Shawn relies on one liners. Without them, there would have been an emotional canyon in my adult life. Some people say they have kept me in line much like my mother did during my childhood. Through Deb and Shawn, it is rather obvious that Mom is still watching over me. Cookee Shawver, aka MOM, Mary Lou Gorka, aka The Saint also provide aid and comfort to Debby while we are at Emerald Pointe, Punta Gorda, Florida 33950. I always require a minimum of two angels watching over me simultaneously.

Should you find something that might be just not quite accurate to your knowledge, there is a very good reason. Many historians have a saying that when there is a conflict between the legend and the alleged truth, teach the legend as that is what most folks will remember. Besides, historical truth changes from year to year, while legends live on indefinitely, HI Ho Silver! You will definitely meet the Lone Ranger, Clayton Moore, not this present day imposter. Johnny Deep as Tonto, really, Jay Silverheels has my sympathy.

There are a number of my friends who volunteered to proof read this work and offer their suggestions. Without their help, you would need an interpreter just for the prologue. When all is done, I will thank them with an acknowledgement. They deserve much more, but I’m on a budget.

Please read and enjoy. All of you have a story to tell. Write it, or record it, possibly draw it in a nearby cave, but at least tell it to a much younger person. Your young grandchildren will appreciate your story as it is a part of them. You can’t give a better gift than when you give yourself. Don’t wait until they are too cool to listen. Love the kids, especially the ones with dimples. They will be paying your Medicare and Social Security.

BOOK 1

Early Childhood

CHAPTER 1

I was very young

Now what I am about to tell you was related to me by relatives. Accept it with the proverbial grain of salt as my family has been known to lose the exact truth in the translation. You have to know that most of them spoke Yiddish which in itself is subject to multiple interpretations.

So I am told, I was born in St. Luke’s hospital, on Cleveland Ohio’s east side on July 8th, 1946. From what my relatives say, it was sometime in the early morning. I was asleep until the cold air caught me by surprise. Of this I have no doubt as my birth certificate states such. This is one of the few times the relatives relayed the entire story accurately. As every Hebrew school student should know, if it is written so shall it be, hence the term amen. Having an accurate birth certificate, has become more important these days than it once was compliments of those questioning our president’s state of birth.

Strangely enough, my parents chose St. Luke’s, one of the larger health facilities on Cleveland, Ohio’s east side; the best location in the nation, or so it was said, by Clevelanders that is. Odd though, you would have thought my parents would have selected Mt. Sinai hospital. Either they knew somebody at St. Lukes or they possibly had a coupon. Regardless, St. Lukes it was. Actually, being born at St. Lukes turned out to be a very good thing as it gave me the right to call on Jesus, in emergencies only.

Since my mother was 36 at the time, and almost died having me, it was apparent that I would be an only child. In addition, I was the youngest grandchild on my father’s side and the only direct descendant of the new generation on my mother’s side. There was so much sunlight on me that I had developed a beautiful tan by the time I was four weeks old.

Since my mom was also an only child, there was absolutely no competition for who was the focus of attention. My dad’s untimely passing when I was four, sealed the deal as to who received the disproportionate amount of affection bestowed upon the family’s children. Never did I have a doubt, that I was the center of attention. Nobody had to remind me of how much I was loved. I knew it and accepted it as just the way things were. With so many people wishing me well, G-d seems to have given me much of my family’s attention. This may have been His excuse to have ignored some of them. The reader should be able to see His point for who wants to hear the same prayer over and over again coming from the same people? Genug, enough in Yiddish, ask what you want and move on. G-d can be very cool.

CHAPTER 2

My Mom

Very few acts in my childhood do not somehow relate to my mom. Short lady, about 4'11". Forget her physical stature. Lillian could be as soft as expensive pillow, bought retail, or as nasty as a dog that had not been fed on time.

One of the earliest recollections I have of her was the time she was being robbed. After my father’s death, my mom took over the family business which was a beer and wine store located at 105th and Adams. One day, she was behind the counter and I was off to her left. A man came in, somebody she must have known, with some sort of weapon and told her to empty the register. She assured the man that there was no reason to get nasty and proceeded to grant his wish.

At that point, she placed what cash there was in a small brown paper bag and proceeded to reach under the counter telling the man that there were a bit more riches to be had if he just could display some patience. In one very quick motion, she reached under the counter, picked up what looked like to me, a small pistol, later proven to be a 45 automatic, and aimed it right at his head. Obviously, she caught this amateur John Dillon totally by surprise. After giving him a piece of motherly advice in words that can only be attributed to her often street vernacular, he left. However much longer this man lived, he was doing it on borrowed time.

She had the ability of saying G-d damnit so fast that atheist children, and possibly some older non-believers, would assume that my mom believed that damnit G-d’s last name. As I grew up, I often wondered if that might be true, that is until I was told what damn it meant.

About the time I was almost five and having spent much time at my uncle’s smoky bar, there was little doubt in my infantile mind that I had to learn to smoke. Smoking was just accepted in the early 50’s as something you did as part of some national tradition. Pall Malls, Lucky Strike and Camels were names I knew as well as some ball players. If you were alive, prior to Surgeon General C. Koops’s report on smoking, no one has to remind you of what LSMFT meant. For those kids reading this, LSMFT was a household phrase which meant, Lucky Strike means fine tobacco. Smoking was so accepted that Ted Williams even advertised for Chesterfields as did Babe Ruth.

My devious behavior always was prompted when I thought I had conceived a very cool idea. Wouldn’t it be ever so cool; I didn’t understand cool, but I was sure anyone of intelligence did, if I learned the finery of smoking at an early age? To be cool as an adult was no big deal, but to be cool at age five, well that was something to legitimize a strut.

It appeared to me that almost all adults smoked, not my mother of course, at any time during the day, but especially after meals, therefore why not give it a try. Have a little snack and light up. Pall Malls were my choice because my Uncle Art was a regular practitioner of their product.

My brilliant plan included a means to liberate a cigarette. There must have been an open pack somewhere close by and not being guarded by its owner. People knew where their cigarettes were at all times so the owner must have died and therefore really didn’t need his cigarettes; no harm done. For most people, running out of cigarettes was a personal tragedy which was far more significant than losing your keys. You could take your time replacing your keys’; needing a cigarette was an immediate problem to be solved by any means necessary.

After having completed phase 1, I was so proud; my next part of the plan was to find a spot where I could not be seen. This was not a real problem as my mother shared the store with a shoemaker who kept a sizable storage area in the rear. Please remember, I was working on cool and as a result, I dragged an oak chair, which was at least my size, into the back, unseen of course. Not being seen committing a crime, was an essential part of being cool. Any criminal in a state or federal prison can tell you that.

Since I already had learned how to strike matches, I was set. Pall Mall, big oak chair, matches, and my cool were now all alone. See, I knew developing being cool was worth the effort, what a high. Five years old and I was on my way to emphysema, how cool was that?

Sitting back in the chair, I placed the Pall Mall, the longest cigarette of the time (value you know), into my ever waiting lips, struck the match and sucked in that beautiful smell. I didn’t inhale because I didn’t know that you were supposed to do that. Somehow that 4'11" spy saw the exhale. That consequence of my plan had not really commanded much consideration, much to my eventual dismay.

Bat Woman was on me in what I thought was seconds. How did she do that? My plan was flawless except for the exhale part which I’ve already mentioned. BIG TROUBLE in a small package was now up on me. Who knows what was going to follow. Cursing my plan, I couldn’t orally say G-d damnit as quickly as my mom, but I sure thought it. Cursing was a set punishment and I knew to keep those words inside as by five years old I was all too familiar with the properties of Ivory soap. Readying myself, I awaited a 5yr olds doom.

Shockingly, she did not scream. As a matter of fact, she surprised me by her tone which was that of a soft spoken teacher about to partake in a teachable moment. See, I knew smoking was cool. Even Lil the Screamer appeared to be unaffected. However, she stated that she was a bit disappointed. Not because I had done something terrible, but because I had not done it correctly. Wow, as it turned out, my mom was indeed very cool even if she didn’t smoke. I knew I had inherited cool legitimately via genetics.

She even had an occasional beer, not that Carling Black Label swirl, but a real beer which in those days meant Budweiser, The King of Beers. Bud had, by far the most beautiful signs, mirrors, and Clydesdale displays. My uncles drank Bud and that made it G-d’s choice for his people. If there are ever sporting events in heaven, be sure Budweiser will be one of the sponsors.

In moving on with this tale, my mom pulled up a chair and proceeded to instruct me on how to inhale. I mean here was new knowledge. Indeed, I was grateful. Not smoking correctly could kill the cool and after all that was the point of the entire crime. After a few drags, I anticipated that my life would find a spiritual meaning much the same way it did when my Uncle Art’s barmaid made me fried chicken.

No doubt, I was on my way to conceiving even more brilliant ideas. No big deal, after all, the concept of smoking just came to me. Being brilliant was easy. Heck, I might even share my thoughts with the kids at school. They could use my brilliance to come up with ways to enhance their lives. As a result, I would be Mr. Genius. I didn’t know what a genius was, but my whole family used that word as if it came out of the Torah. In Mariah Carey’s words, I would be a hero.

Was I excited! Diamond Lil now demonstrated what I needed to do. That’s it, I thought. Being cool was as easy as breathing. Why don’t people tell you these things? Was I lucky to have a cool mom or what? Put the Pall Mall in my lips, look cool, light up, and breathe, and heaven surely couldn’t be far behind.

Cough, wheeze, and choke. What the hell had gone wrong? What had been so brilliant just a few seconds ago turned out to be a G-d damnit moment. Mom assured me I just hadn’t done it right. After I finished seeing every star in the universe, I tried again. After all, I had been taught that Flates didn’t quit, at least not the living ones. Again cough, wheeze, and choke. Something just had to be wrong or so I thought. Choking was not cool. Even a square five year old knew that. Again for you younger folks, being called square was far worse than being referred to today as a nerd. At least a nerd has economic possibilities. Squares were just folks that just didn’t get it.

By this time customers had heard me and deeply wondered what was going on. My mom spoke up, in a very proud tone, so I thought that 5 year old Stewart had mastered learning to smoke. For some reason the customers, most of who knew me, started laughing as if they were watching Bob Hope and Jack Benny entertaining the troops in Korea.

After the hilarity calmed down, the lecture started. The Wicked Witch of the West didn’t care who I thought was cool. She informed me to check with her the next time I had a brilliant inspiration. I didn’t, but at least I thought about it.

CHAPTER 3

Good health, it is Important

If there is anything my mom believed in it was good health. As you have seen smoking was a big no no. After all, Jews believe that good health is primary and trumps all other responsibilities. That is why our toast is l’chaim. If your mom insists that you must attend school and you don’t want to, I would advise Jewish children to get sick or at least fake it. At the very least learn how to fake a fever. Unfortunately, I could not play that card very often as I was constantly under surveillance. Should that tactic actually work, remember how you did it as you are going to need that creativity when needing a day off.

For some illogical reason to me, Mom worried about her precious son swimming in lakes. In whatever spare time she had, mom must have done a bit of medical research. Somehow she knew that persons contacting polio had usually spent time swimming in a lake just prior to contacting the disease. FDR was her prime example. Therefore, I was never allowed to swim, not that I could, in a natural body of water. Should have Dr. Sabin or Dr. Salk spoken with my mom, she could have saved them quite a bit of time and money. We could have been rich and famous. I can hear her now saying, Keep the famous, you can’t spend it. Obviously she didn’t know much about advertising.

Following the popular medical treatments of the time, she ardently believed that par gorge was the all-purpose treatment for anything a kid could contact. The stuff tasted absolutely disgusting, but it did calm me down and seemed to treat most symptoms of whatever condition I was having. Good thing it tasted as badly as it did as one of its ingredients was heroin. She didn’t know it at the time, but she could have been responsible for having me banned from baseball for life, let alone the Hall of Fame.

Another good health belief in her time, was the old Kellogg theory that children needed enemas to keep their juices flowing which in turn relieved the body of poisons. Today we call them toxins, which scientists have found are far less serious. Later in life, I would be treated by my gastroenterologist, Dr. Butler, yes don’t laugh, that’s his real name. How could I make that up? To this day, his philosophy is that every ten years, for people reaching the age of 50, a gastroenterologist should be consulted to check if all of your poisons have been removed. It is medically called a colonoscopy, but legally it is called an invasion of privacy. Should you be interested, this was the first legal exception to the Fourth Amendment.

And yet those were her mild idiosyncrasies. The dentist office was where she would receive her revenge for my being caesarean. Dr., I can’t remember his name and just as soon not remember his name, and Mom entered into a conspiracy to toughen me up so that I might resist any disease. After all para gorge could only be counted on for so much. Being an only child, I did not have daily harassment from an older or younger sibling. Being a dedicated mom, she took on that responsibility. Indeed, if harassment aided a person’s immune system, then I was exempt from any bacteria or virus ever seen on earth.

In light of this thought, Mom thought good dental health was a prerequisite to a child surviving their early years. Sadly the dentist, whose name still escapes me, agreed with her; go figure. Dr. Strangelove asked Mom Should I be given novacaine in case he found a cavity? Nonchalantly, she replied, Was novocaine really necessary? I don’t want any wimp for a kid. Would my mom have been a great director of child services?

Displaying a lot of nerve or as we say chutzpah, she asked him this right in front of me knowing that I had no knowledge of what novocaine was, let alone the consequences of NOT receiving a shot prior to drilling. In case you missed it, this and all her other theories except the polio idea, were just plain child abuse. In those days, adults, parents and nonparents, called it, what came to be known as tough love. As Retevya would say, love someone else for a while.

So now I was in the chair, which during off hours was used by the State of Ohio to execute prisoners, Dr. Strangelove was probing through my mouth more thoroughly than a 49er in a river during the California gold rush. Sure enough, he found a cavity. As best I can remember, he asked Diamond Lil, his co-conspirator, should he take care of all the rot now as opposed to a later date. Of course, Mom said, Do you think I’m paying for another carfare?

At this point, I was part of the chair, probably strapped in for all I remember, and the drilling began without novocaine by Mom’s request. These were baby teeth mind you, but neither of them told me I was going to soon lose them. It became obvious that they were both wasting their talents as the KGB recruited this brand of sadist and paid them quite well. Come to think about it, Dr. Strangelove had a strong Russian accent.

So get the picture, small kid, you couldn’t get away with this on a teenager, strapped in an electric chair, no Novocaine and Dr. Strangelove, Dr. Mengele’s first cousin, with a very slow drill in his hand inside my very small mouth. The mouth would get bigger as time went on, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Smoke arose out of my mouth and as Bill Cosby said, this was a reason for anybody with a blood pressure to panic.

By the time Dr. Strangelove finished, I was exhausted, traumatized, but much tougher. Had I been a member of a tackle football team, the coach surely would have had me in the game especially during critical situations. The coach probably would have had me play offense and defense maybe even without a helmet. On a no wind day I could have also punted and kicked 40 yard field goals. After just one session with Dr. Strangelove, I was now officially tough. Had tattoos not been banned in the bible, I was sure I would had some emblem needled into my arm as a reward for being tough. Never mind the therapy that I might have needed to overcome this trauma, I had now become an official American kid, red, white and black and blue. Both the Dr. and my mom were very proud; me not so much.

A warning to anyone under the age of 12 who might be reading this, your parents will use all kinds of trickery in the name of preserving your health. Don’t expect them to give you all the facts although federal law now demands that the physician issue a disclaimer. For heaven sake, listen to the possible side effects of any medical procedure. Believe me, the Power of Love, 80’s song performed by Hewie and the Blowfish, will not cure all your physical ills. However, it might be more effective than some of the concoctions my mother had in reserve in case the Dr. could not be reached. I remember that one of those elixirs was composed of Vodka, butter and honey heated to a temperature that would melt steel. It was devised by an old Jewish pharmacist, who consulted my mom on a regular basis as to how to raise tough kids.

CHAPTER 4

G-d and I get better acquainted

Not too many years later, I would get my revenge. After 7 years of religious training, for the most part on my home field, I had now graduated to the Class AA league of Judaism. In our neighborhood, there was no AA team so I was promoted to AAA which was the Heights Temple team. They played their home games in Cleveland Heights which, in Cleveland was the Jewish center of the world. It was similar to Yankee Stadium in New York.

Heights Temple, no reformed Jews need apply, was gigantic. If G-d needed to stretch out, this was the place. Three-thousand families belonged and Heights could accommodate them all. At High Holiday time, it did. In effect, you were in G-d’s ball park. The only major difference was that if you became hungry, you had to go to the kitchen. No venders were allowed. Obviously, on Yom Kippur, a person had to figure out a way to sneak in food. The practice of fasting is not in the Ten Commandments and therefore I figured G-d never intended us to take the practice seriously.

For some reason, which I never understood, I was awarded a Sabbath School scholarship which entitled, if not demanded, that I spend my Saturday mornings demonstrating to my peers that I was one of the tribe. In Cleveland, that had a double meaning for a Jewish kid as the professional baseball team was and still is also nicknamed the tribe, whose park was holier to me than the synagogue. Jews don’t believe in the afterlife of hell, so please don’t worry about me.

Sadly, those of us who did attend a religious school were convinced that atheists were responsible for ALL Cleveland Indians loses. After all, how could an atheist pray for a victory? In close games, we even sought the help of the reform Jews despite them having very little influence with G-d. The Orthodox Jews were of no help as the bible did not speak of the Cleveland Indians as one of the thirteen tribes and thus their fate was exempt from an Orthodox Jew’s prayers.

Please don’t get excited that you are reading about some sort of Jewish scholar as any kid whose parents pledged their offspring to Heights, I later discovered, was awarded a scholarship. Every week attendance was religiously no pun intended, taken. We were told don’t look to G-d to forgive you for skipping because he’d sooner forgive someone who was late in paying their synagogue dues. I’m telling you, we knew not to try to put one over on the Lord. Look what he did to pharaoh, nuf said.

However, the best example of health trumping all and thus my revenge for the dentist came when I was just starting my teen years. On one fine Saturday morning, I arose not feeling too well. This was indeed a mixed blessing. Couldn’t go out to play later in the day, but Sabbath school was going to have to go on without me this week. Almost tearfully, you have to be a good actor to be a certified American kid, I went to my mom and informed her that I was suffering from something the enema and para gorge couldn’t cure. Thank goodness I was too young for a total colonoscopy.

A warning to all of you kids, faking illness is a double edge sword. To quote Mr. Lincoln, You can’t fool all the people all the time. What Mr. Lincoln should have added was that there are some parents who just don’t give in to their kid’s contrived stories any of the time. By now, you should know that my mom was the honorary president of the fraternity appropriately named Tough Love Parents.

Nevertheless, I felt obligated to try to relieve my Saturday of the week’s religious experience. If things went well, I was planning a resurrection by noon. Needless, to say I was going to play my St. Luke’s card and appeal directly to Jesus. Not buying it at all, my mom said, You are going, G-d damnit. By her resorting to cursing on the Sabbath, I figured G-d was going to take my side, let alone Jesus. I figured G-d could tolerate a white lie now and then, but swearing on the Sabbath had to be an act that could delay a person getting into heaven. That is assuming you had earned a boarding pass for that destination. Mom was not particularly worried about her destiny and therefore, I didn’t have a chance. She didn’t even feel my forehead. Come on Ma, at least let me present the evidence., I pleaded.

Reluctantly, I ordered myself to Get on that bus and don’t even dream about taking a ball glove. Aren’t you just annoyed by people who claim to be clairvoyant, especially family members? Unfortunately, moms really are. They are way ahead of you probably because they have been there before. Reluctantly, I caught the bus which had as its advertised destination spelled out in supersized bold letters, Christians, Mayfield Ave, Jews the Promised Land. For most Jews, Israel was and is the Promised Land", but for Cleveland Jews, in 1958, it was Heights Temple, AAA you know. major league Jewish centers were in Los Angeles, Miami, Detroit, Chicago and of course New York.

Now you know that saying, be careful what you pray for?, I would learn its true meaning that day. The trip to Heights was just a bit shorter that the journey Moses took the Israelites on as they left Egypt and just as boring. At least the Israelites had the crossing of the Red Sea and Moses coming down the mountain to break up the monotony. As the bus moved on at a speed shattering 20mph, I knew this because Jewish kids are all taught to sit behind the driver for fear of missing their stop and therefore, I could read the speedometer. Gee, who would want to miss the Jewish Center of Cleveland?

Anyways, I was really beginning to feel ill. Don’t mess with G-d. Obviously, Jesus had turned over my plea directly to G-d. Sadly, I was not dealing with Jesus where I knew I would be forgiven. This stunt could cost me some serious discomfort. Nevertheless, upon arriving at class, I sought out the teacher and told her what a brute my mother was for sending an ignorant helpless, brow beaten child to pray for who knows how long. At this point, I emphatically felt that G-d should be praying for me. Admittedly, I didn’t know who He would pray to, but I figured if anyone had connections it had to be Him/her. Thankfully, I didn’t know Rabbi Bigman, our present Rabbi, and her philosophy that G-d has no gender or just might be female. Had I accepted that concept, I really would have been scared. G-D possibly being female would have been a scary thought because that would have meant that Mom just might be connected. From overhearing my family talk, I knew what being connected meant. Check out the 1920’s Detroit Purple Gang for a definition of the term connected.

Really, no way is G-d possibly female since its rather obvious that girls are better looking than boys and that has to be a plan of a male. Mother Nature is beautiful most days can you say the same for father time? As Forrest Gump would say, That is all I’m going to say about that. If you have questions about this, please refer them to Yogi Berra as he knows all there is worth knowing.

Looking quite pitiful, I wasn’t acting, I begged the teacher to take my temperature. No problem, all Jewish women over the age of 5 carry a thermometer on their person. As she placed the mercury stick into my mouth, only your mom and the Dr. can take your temperature other places, she quickly noticed and most profoundly expressed, You are burning up. I knew it. Man did I wish I were Catholic. Into the confessional I would have run, I wouldn’t have paused not even for a snack. Could faking being ill and actually becoming ill really be connected? Jetho Gibbs, of NCIS, says there is no such thing as a coincidence; rule 65. I quickly learned that when you play with fire, there is a good chance you are going to get burned.

And yet, I was to realize a measure of joy emanating from my plan. Faster than you could say 102 degrees, the teacher was on the phone with Mom. She reamed Mom out but good. Come get this sweet boy. At first, Mom didn’t know who she was talking about, but as the oration continued, the guilt multiplied exponentially. I knew Mom knew about guilt for she used it on me often enough.

In today’s world, I might have thought that the situation deserved a, That’s what I’m talking about. Give it to her good, teach. In those days, you were taught to shut up when you were winning. Thankfully, I occasionally paid attention to the wisdoms of people who had been where I wanted to go. As a result, I resisted any inclination to do a victory dance. Besides, I really wasn’t feeling like dancing.

All the way home, I tried to look as if this could be my last ride. Look pitiful, I said to myself. Why not, it worked for dogs? Mom loved dogs. She often spoke of hers. Its name was Nellie and I was banking on my pitiful look conjuring up old memories. Kids, should you find yourself in a similar situation, try to look as if you are fading out of this world and moving on to a better place. Groaning is optional, but sneezing and coughing are required.

A note, Jews really don’t believe in a heaven in the same form other religions do. There are no seventy-two virgins waiting for us. We would be pleased with a reasonably attractive girl, approximately our age, who could cook. My thought was heaven was where you get season box seats to see the Indians and all the food in the world to choose from. A girl, they would always be around, you could get one later and in heaven she would also like baseball.

For how many days I milked that guilt, I do not remember, but obviously the memory is alive to this day and it still feels great. Revenge is mine. Naturally, the revenge is G-d’s first or so says the bible, but it felt good to have had a piece of the action.

BOOK 2

A Delinquent Genius. Kaboom

CHAPTER 1

Christine and the Cathedral

Mom was usually working which necessitated the need for a sitter. Rich people let sitters sleep over and call them nannies. Middle class folks such as us very seldom have the sitter sleep over. After all, what good can she be doing in the middle of the night when Mom was home?

No question, hands down, my favorite sitter was Christine. She was, along with my cousin Marsha, were not only my caretakers, but my buddies as well. Please note that parents are not buddies. Kids have plenty of buddies, they need parents.

Should I want something out of the ordinary, I knew not to carefully express my request until after my mom was long gone to work. An essential element of all my plans was to not ask until you knew Mom was really gone. Kids, be aware that parents can be very tricky. Being over anxious could result in utter disaster. Chances were that Mom would not turn around and come back for anything but her keys.

And yet, G-d has a way of playing with a creative kid’s mind. Some people, often the police, misinterpret creativity for delinquency. I maintained that creativity was not criminal behavior, but merely a deviation from the rules. Today that type of mind set is called thinking outside the box. Back then it was called juvenile delinquency. After all, aren’t parent’s rules really just suggestions for our well-being? Don’t parents want their kids to make money? Look around, most people who succeed in this world do it by thinking of what could be rather that what is. I would later learn that big trouble could result when a kid adheres to that philosophy in direct defiance of their parent’s instructions.

Christine loved me and she was not my mother; a delightful combination which I quickly learned to exploit. Christine loved to travel. As long as we stayed on Cleveland’s east side, the world was our playground. Why just the east side? For you senior Clevelanders, I don’t have to explain. For the remaining number of you, let’s just say that the West Side did not have too many fans of Thurgood Marshall and later Dr. King, especially at night.

On the trolley, off the trolley, if it was opened and free, we went there. Gentlemen, keep that in mind when you are looking for a cheap date. A trip to church impresses your date’s parents and for the Jewish kids, synagogue doesn’t even pass a plate. On the Sabbath they even serve food. It’s called an Oneg. Even many of my Christian friends knew what that was. As a matter of fact, my classmate Buzz Ealy often instantly converted to Judaism when the occasion dictated that it was to his advantage. Obviously, I looked to Buzz for inspiration on many an occasion. That boy had talent later to be misinterpreted by the ignorant as delinquent behavior. No way, Buzz had charisma.

You have to know that Christine was what was then referred to as a Good Catholic. She wasn’t quite my friend Mary Lou Gorka, Aka, The Chicago Saint, but she and G-d must have been very tight. For those who have never met Mary Lou, G-d has Mary Lou’s number on speed dial.

At that time, Cleveland’s main cultural showcase was the Cleveland Art Museum. Swans out front and mummies inside, and no admission charge. Forget libraries which my mother considered holy spots second only to synagogues. I considered the Cleveland Art Museum second only to Cleveland Municipal Stadium and of course The Palace Theater. By the way, should you visit Cleveland’s Art Museum, don’t feed the swans up close unless you don’t intend on ever using all your fingers. There were no signs posted, so how was a kid to know? Those flying angels from hell look really beautiful, but they bit. Later in life, I met some girls who had the same characteristics.

Since there was a humungous cathedral close by, Christine often stopped by to let G-d know how things were going and to pray for her boyfriend who was in Korea defending us, all of us, by fighting the Commies including the us who lived on the West Side. At that stage in my life, I had never met a Communist, to my knowledge, but I knew that if anybody needed a little killing, it was them. Christine said so and so did my Mom and Uncle Art which made the idea plenty good enough for me. Better dead than Red was the saying of the day. Heck, even the Cincinnati Baseball team changed its name from Reds to Redlegs which naturally was much more politically correct.

My first time with Christine, in the Cleveland branch of St. Peters, you could have flown airplanes in that church; I was having a particularly anxious afternoon. As I have said to you before, patience was not my forte. In Yiddish, we call this spilchus in the tuchess (gargle here to get the ch sound) which literally translates to springs in your butt or ants in your pants if your heritage is Eastern European. On and on I rattled and jumped around about who knows what. It didn’t really matter; an only child always knows somebody is listening. However, even Christine could only take so much.

Did I mention that Christine also could be a bit devious? Takes one to know one, and on that day her talent had reached its all time peak? Please remember that it was my first excursion to a Catholic church. This particular church was huge and to a 4 year old, it was the largest building I had ever been in. Gigantic is what I expected since Christine had already informed me this was G-d’s house. As a matter of fact, this particular church was G-d’s Cleveland headquarters. Please I mean no disrespect to Heights temple, but there must have been many more Catholics in Cleveland than Jews. Christine said that this was G-d’s house and that was good enough for me.

No squirming or needless chatter in G-d’s house. Christine’s message came through loud and abundantly clear. Unfortunately, while my mind understood what she was trying to get across, my hormones could have cared less. Christine issued an executive order that my disruptive behavior had to stop and right now. She said that I was upsetting the Lord. How she knew that I didn’t care to find out. Some questions you just don’t ask for fear of the answer.

Finally, Christine’s voice became almost hushed which was scary in itself. She pointed up. There, right above me, was the largest crucifix that I was ever going to see. Obviously four year old Jewish kids don’t know, let alone have seen up close, a man crucified on a cross. Possibly they might have seen a crucifixion in a movie, but that doesn’t count.

Upon my initial look at Jesus way up there on a cross, I must have set the record for a four year old in the high jump. As I landed, while at the same time fighting back my fear of what could happen next, I, without a word, looked at Christine. Still with the hushed tone, she whispered, He didn’t listen either.

CHAPTER 2

Four on a Match

During the late 40’s and throughout the 50’s, without question the authority on raising children was Dr. Spock. No not the Vulcan, but rather the child psychologist. Whatever there was to be known about raising kids was in that book. Child blows up a mailbox turn to chapter 3. Kid sucks thumb when they’re fourteen, chapter 9. If a kid raised a question that would confuse King Solomon, no problem, look through the table of contents under troubleshooting and the parent could assure themselves there would be an answer. As you know, experts always have an answer. If you don’t like their response, no problem, for enough money they will be happy to supply you with another answer which may even contradict the first answer. Economists are great at this.

Most dads were not buying Dr. Spock, but moms around the world purchased so many books that a large forest in Oregon had to be set aside just to supply the paper. Mom read and quoted that book the way a rabbi would dig into the bible and pull out a passage which supported any particular point they were trying to make.

Somehow Dr. Spock