Different Slants

From 1964 to 1969, when I was a teenager, I lived with my newly liberated father, who was originally married in 1946.  His name was Israel Katzman, but he was invited to “Americanize” his name, just before graduating from grammar school, in order to possibly prevent him from experiencing discrimination when he looked for a job.  He changed his name to Irving and Israel became his middle name.  He was practical about certain realities, but also intensely Jewish and proud of it.  Something he passed on to me.

My dad had an open door policy for wayward husbands who were temporarily dislocated, after their being ejected from their houses.  So, I got to know my dad’s friends, gradually, as they sought short-term refuge from their volcanic wives.  I would sit silently listening to their stories of woe, then hear about their hot girl friends, and eventually my dad and his pals, all in their fifties, would refight World War II.

Their side always won.

I imagine they edited their experiences because of my tender young ears, but occasionally whiskey was poured and words flowed with less reservation.  Some guys were distraught that their misadventures got them thrown out and they were filled with remorse.  Some guys needed a few bucks to tide them over, and my dad always had something to give them.  No one left with nothing.  I have no idea if anyone paid my dad back, but with all his relationships, wheels were greased and some doors opened for us, too, when we were financially backed against a wall.

I learned from all this–that friendship is not just about calling up a guy when you want to go to dinner or a movie.  It also meant that when someone was in real trouble, they could call on you, too.  My dad and I housed and fed those guys for the brief time they slept on our couch, and when they had the money, they brought us bags of food.

Sometimes, we all went out to a movie.  I was always included and the men treated me like I was one of the guys.  They made me feel good about myself, which at fifteen or so, was not a common emotion for me.  I think my father was aware of the beneficial nature of my being part of the group and not just watching them from the sidelines.  He was always aware of his responsibility to actively be my father.

My father, born in Kentucky in 1912, was on his own for a long time before he married my mother, and he was an excellent cook. He bummed around the country during the Great Depression as a teen, got escorted out of some less friendly towns by the local sheriff, and joined the United States Army on St. Patrick’s Day (March 17th) 1942, exactly one hundred days after the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7th, 1941.

(Read on …)

Robert M. Katzman’s Amazing Story:  http://www.differentslants.com/?p=355

So, now thoroughly enlightened as to how fast I could legitimately motor along Wale’s skinny streets, I drove on toward romantic Hay-On-Wye.  This was the high point of my trip and I eagerly looked forward to exploring endless used bookstores.

Going through guidebooks and a packet of information from The Wales Tourist Board, I learned a long list of intriguing bookstore names.  Chicago had a fair share of used bookstores in an area called Printer’s row, as well as another area just north of the famed landmark cinema, The Biograph Theater, where notorious bank robber John Dillinger was shot dead, after being fingered by the Lady-in-Red, by a fusillade of bullets from many FBI pistols, led by the famous (and as yet unknown cross-dresser) J. Edgar Hoover.

But reading the list of names, and anticipating visiting the actual stores, was like trying to eat just one piece of chocolate.  Here’s a probably incomplete list of the names.  Any errors are mine:

Castle Hay Books…Murder 4 Mayhem…Outcast…Rose’s Books…Richard Booth’s Bookstore…Marijana Dworski Books…Pemberton’s…Westwood Books…The Wye Gallery…Poetry Bookstore…Children’s Bookstore…Boz Books…Book Ends…Hay Cinema Bookshop…Antique Gifts and Books…Hancock and Monk…Lion Street Bookshop…Rare Comics and Cards and The New Strand.  (Whew!)

For me, being caught someplace without a newspaper or book while in an airplane, doctor’s office, or any situation where I’m waiting, is inconceivable.  I don’t know about the next generation, but for me, reading is as necessary as food.

I was going through this very busy and somewhat larger town, Talgarth, where there seemed to be some kind of street fair or celebration of some kind, and there were people and cars everywhere, whizzing around me.  I wanted to pull over and check it out, but there wasn’t enough time.  While thinking this over on a quieter side street, an annoyed person in a car waiting behind me honked loudly.

Surprised, I looked into the rear-view mirror, but before I could see who was honking, the dark vehicle suddenly whipped around my fragile rental car and smacked my left side mirror with a shuddering CRACK!!  At the same time, I saw their side mirror go flying off into the sky.  I guess it was a draw, in terms of unexpected damage.  But nevertheless, I was shaken by one more assault on my little car’s thin metal shell, again in someone else’s country.  This was a disconcerting moment.

What do I do now?

(Read on …)

The elections are over.  We can all get back to work.  The current state of the economy is about two swirls short of a flush.  The U.S. lost 240,000 jobs in October alone.  The official unemployment rate is 6.5%.  The real unemployment rate is estimated around 11%.

Washington is telling us we need another stimulus package.  Personally, I have reservations.  Since the campaigning is done, we should drop all the feel good give-aways that politicians used while pandering to an undereducated electorate and consider what the country really needs to regain it economic competitiveness.  Just handing out more cash so consumers can buy more imported plasma TVs will stimulate some one’s economy, just not ours.  Borrowing billions of dollars to buy non-essential stuff to fill our unpaid for houses is just racking up more national credit card debt.  If we are going to go further into hock to try to revive the economy, we need to spend the money on something with lasting value. (Read on …)