And for my 100th post…100 random facts (about me)

This is post #100; thank you for continuing to “just bear with me.”

December 19 is also the two-year anniversary of this site’s launch (so I should gift myself either cotton or china, and it should be red).

To honor this symmetry, and to lighten the mood from my previous three posts (dealing—however obliquely—with the deaths of President George H.W. Bush, Pete Shelley and my maternal grandfather), I present 100 random facts about me. These tidbits of personal trivia are in no particular order.

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#1-19. I have seen every episode of…

Barney Miller*

Columbo*

Coupling

Documentary Now!

The Green Hornet (co-starring this guy)

The Honeymooners (classic 39 episodes, 1955-56)

Night Court

Police Squad (all six episodes)

Portlandia

Remember WENN

Sherlock

Soap*

Square Pegs*

Star Trek: The Next Generation

Sweet Genius

Taxi*

Twin Peaks (including this movie)

The Untouchables*

WKRP in Cincinnati*

 Shows with an asterisk I own on DVD.

#20. Barney Miller remains my favorite sitcom, followed by Taxi and Remember WENN (in some order), then CouplingWKRP and Soap (in some order) along with Cheers and Get Smart.

Barney Miller DVDs.JPG

#21. I have likely also seen every episode of a truly obscure 1980 late-night soap opera called The Life and Times of Eddie Roberts. 

#22. I have seen (and own on videocassette) all 20 adventures of The Mighty Heroes that aired as part of the 1966-67 series Mighty Mouse and The Mighty Heroes.

mighty heroes

Picture from here

#23. I have seen every episode of Doctor Who since the 2005 revival.

#24. I have seen every episode of Dragnet released as part of the 1967-70 color revival. 

#25. I have spent the night in 24 states (25, if you count the District of Columbia [DC]). Roughly in order from most to least: Pennsylvania, Massachusetts, Connecticut, DC, New Jersey, California, Florida, Maine, Michigan, Wisconsin, Georgia, New York, Vermont, Maryland, Illinois, New Hampshire, Iowa, Ohio, Louisiana, Missouri, Mississippi, Rhode Island, Virginia, and North Carolina and Tennessee (one night each on an April 1990 road trip).

#26. By contrast, I have never woken up in a foreign country.

#27-30. The only foreign country I have visited is Canada, three times in total.

The first time was to attend a Montreal Expos game in Montreal[1] on the afternoon of May 5, 1990 (which is what I told the gentleman at the crossing from Vermont).

The second time was on September 2, 1990. I began an eight-day road trip (1990 was my year for road trips) the previous day, driving west on I-90 through Massachusetts then deep into New York. Once it got dark, my rental car radio was able to pick up 1210 AM, the Philadelphia Phillies radio station, so I heard my Phillies sweep a double-header from the New York Mets (and the debut of a young second baseman named Mickey Morandini).

Believing I could simply find a room at an exit-ramp hotel, I had not booked one in advance. What I had not considered, however, was that it was Labor Day weekend. I remember one hotel clerk telling me there was not a room for “a hundred miles in any direction.” Exhausted, and unwilling to shell out an exorbitant amount of money for a hotel room 20 or miles away, I drove my rental car into the back of a Holiday Inn in Batavia, NY. I had had the foresight to pack a pillow, so I curled up in the backseat, using my robe as a blanket.

rental car September 1990.jpg

After sleeping for four hours, I roused myself at dawn and headed for Niagara Falls (which genuinely impressed me). I also found a pay phone and booked a room at a Motel 6 near Detroit, MI for that night. After touring the Falls, I drove into Canada, heading north to Toronto. It was a Sunday afternoon, so I listened on the radio as the Toronto Blue Jays playing the Cleveland Indians. The Blue Jays had their best starting pitcher, Dave Stieb, on the mound.

As I got closer and closer to Toronto, Stieb had still not allowed a hit. And I was literally in downtown Toronto when Jerry Browne lined out to right for the final out of the only no-hitter in Toronto Blue Jays history (by contrast, the Phillies have had six no-hitters since then).

I did not stop in Toronto, but rather drove directly to Windsor, Ontario, where I took the Ambassador Bridge north into Detroit—the only place you go north from Canada into the United States[2].

The third time was far less dramatic. On June 21, 1997, my then-girlfriend and I spent the night in Island Pond, VT (which I had first visited the day of the Expos game; different girlfriend, however). We listened to this painful loss in the motel room as it poured outside.

Since Island Pond is only 16 miles south on Route 114 from the border with Quebec, we drove to the border that night, crossed into Canada, drove a short distance then turned around and drove back into the United States.

#31. On that same September 1990 road trip, I was in the original Comiskey Park the night (September 3, 1990) Bobby Thigpen broke the single-seasons saves record.

#32. Speaking of old Comiskey Park (and Olympic Stadium in Montreal), I have been to more major league baseball stadiums that no longer exist (six[3]) than ones that are still in operation (three[4]).

#33. Over four consecutive summers (1978-81), I was a day camp camper, an overnight camp camper, an overnight camp worker (co-running the canteen) and a day camp worker (junior counselor at the same camp as 1978, Indian Springs).

#34. I was a camper at long-since-closed Camp Arthur-Reeta in the summer of 1979. For reasons which eluded me, my bunkmates gave me the nickname “Disneyland.”

#35. That same summer, I was sent home from camp for a week or two with the worst poison ivy I have ever had.

#36-48. I have also worked as a/an…

…part-time assistant (gluing samples into a display binder) for a specialty stationery store in Narberth, PA (summer 1982)

…file clerk in the G.H. Arrow periodical warehouse near 4th and Poplar (Philadelphia, summer 1983)

…delivery driver for Boardwalk Steak and Sub Shoppe (aka Boardwalk Pizza) in Ardmore, PA (spring/summer 1984)—still my favorite-ever job; I combined the Sea Isle and the Margate into my signature sandwich: the mushroom provolone pizza steak.

Boardwalk Sub 1.jpg

Boardwalk Sub 2.jpg

Boardwalk Pizza.jpg

…cashier in a WAWA food store in Belmont Hills, PA (summer 1985)

…cashier in a Washington, DC pizza joint (two weekends, summer 1986), while I was an unpaid intern at the Brookings Institute.

…shelving assistant in the Social Science Library at Yale (junior year, 1986-87)

…cashier at two different B. Dalton booksellers in Philadelphia (summers 1988, 1989)

…teaching assistant (three courses) and three-time senior thesis advisor at Harvard (1991-95)

…research assistant for multiple professors at Yale and Harvard

…data entry assistant at Pegasus Communications in Cambridge, MA (summer 1995)

…Assistant Registrar at Brandeis University (January-May 1996; the less said, the better)

…conductor of telephone survey research in Media, PA (spring 2001; see previous gig)

#49. My mother and I spent the summers of 1974 and 1975 at the Strand Motel in Atlantic City (between Boston and Providence, the beach and Pacific). Back then, before the opening of Resorts in 1978 destroyed Atlantic City, a long string of motels stood along Pacific Avenue between Albany Avenue to the southwest and New Hampshire to the northeast. My favorite pastime was to collect pamphlets from their lobbies; in the winter, I would dump them onto my parents’ bed and reminisce.

#50. Another pastime was to charge fellow patrons of the Strand pool 25 cents (or was it 50 cents?) to “bowl.” If memory serves, I had six cheap plastic trophies I stacked in a pyramid, and the goal was to knock them over with a ball of some sort

#51. My mother and I (and my father on weekends) occupied “penthouse” A at the Strand. Penthouse B was occupied by Leland Beloff, whose golden retriever Whiskey I used to walk with our Keeshond Luvey. One day I asked “Lee” (then 31 or 32 years old, what he wanted to be when he grew up (had he only known…).

#52. Along the same lines, my orthodonist (on whom my mother had a crush), nicknamed “Dr. Touchy,” was convicted of sexually molesting his female patients.

#53. My mother once told me that I was not allowed to do drugs until I was 32 years old, because that was when she started smoking marijuana (1970).

#54. I think I was in ninth grade when my mother ruined my adolescence by telling me, “Do what you want, just be careful.” Nice, appealing to my “good doobie” nature.

#55. As this signed napkin (my mother and me) clearly shows, Nancy Spungen was the niece of Joe Spungen, my first cousin, once removed, by marriage. Actually, that should be grand-niece…not sure if the error was in the speaking or the recording.

Nancy Spungen.JPG

#56. Another first cousin, once removed is Lois Lane[5], but she is not THAT Lois Lane. This is one of her paintings.

IMG_3789 (2)

#57. On a field trip to Washington, DC on May 6, 1980, I threw up in a men’s room in the United States Supreme Court building. I had a stomach bug.

#58. I still do not know how to ride a bicycle.

#59. However, according to family lore, I was able to read at the age of two-and-a-half. Supposedly, one day in the spring of 1969 I was driving in our Havertown, PA neighborhood with my maternal grandmother, when I read a street sign: “Watch Children.” (In the retelling, it has become “watch childwenz.”). Upon returning home, she insisted my mother had had me memorize the sign. In response, my mother handed me a copy of Life magazine, opened to a random page. I read it perfectly.

Again…that is the story. My wife Nell, a former elementary school teacher with an MA in early education, does not think that is physiologically possible.

#60. What is true, though, is that I was a voracious reader as a child, and I built an impressive library of books—which I eventually Dewey-Decimalized. I once set up a “lending library” on our front lawn. One kind gentleman actually rented a book.

#61. I used to borrow substantial American history textbooks from my elementary school library to read over the weekend.

#62. In sixth grade, two other male friends and I formed the Bibliophiles and Explorers Club. No records of “BEC” meetings survive.

#63. While I still love reading history, my tastes have changed, as reflected by my ownership of 21 books dealing with Jack the Ripper; I think that qualifies me as a Ripperologist. (Ed. note: see here for more).

Ripperology.JPG

#64. Overall, I have 70 books I would broadly describe as “true crime.”

#65. That total is dwarfed by my detective fiction collection (and associated biographies, critical studies and histories): 522 (+/-10). Note that some volumes contain multiple novels.

#66. As a boy in the mid-1970s, I loved watching reruns of Batman–especially when the opening credits featured Batgirl. In retrospect, it is clear my first celebrity crush was Yvonne Craig.

#67. Excluding a girl I helped get around our elementary school after she broke her leg, my first crush on a person I knew started on a December weekend in 1978. My seventh-grade class had just read A Christmas Carol. A local second-run theater was showing the 1951 film version. As my buddy and I were settling into our seats towards the darkened rear of the theater, I happened to look over to the right. Settling into her seat maybe 20 seats away was a lovely blond female classmate, who I already liked in a platonic way.

My brain did not literally go “zoing!” but that is as good a description as any.

#68. Five months later (May 1979), after my mother, Luvey the dog and I moved in with her sister (and her two kids and Spanky the dog), I flew on an airplane for the first time (I was 12). My maternal grandmother took my cousins and me to Walt Disney World. I have not been back since then.

#69. That was not my last trip to Florida. In March 1993, on a lark, I flew to Clearwater, FL to watch four Phillies Spring Training games (in another baseball stadium that no longer exists, Jack Russell). The first game I saw was an afternoon game in St. Petersburg against—I believe—the St. Louis Cardinals. I arrived about noon for a 1 pm start and took a seat in the bleachers. It was a hot, sunny day, so I took off my t-shirt—and kept it off the entire three-hour game (we lost 9-7). Coming from wintry Somerville, MA, it did not occur to me to apply any sunscreen.

I have never been so sunburned in my life…though that did not stop me from thoroughly enjoying the rest of the trip.

#70. In fact, I returned the next March, this time with my then-girlfriend (and an ample supply of sunscreen). We skipped 1995 because of the strike, but returned in 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999 and 2000. The Phillies did win any of the 12 games we watched in 1994, 1996 or 1997—an impressive 12-game losing streak with us in the stands.

#71. During that last trip, we stayed at a Hampton Inn (now a La Quinta Inn) on Route 19 north. One night, I was relaxing in the outdoor hot tub. I was 33 years old at the time. A number of young men were also in the hot tub, and they were discussing to which lower-level Phillies minor league affiliate they had been assigned. One of them then turned to me and asked something to the effect of, “So, where have you been assigned?”

Yeah, I was pretty flattered.

#72-74. I was even more proud of the following accomplishments (the first two of which are sort of repeat facts):

-Unanimous election as president of the Harriton High School Math Team

-Winning Harriton’s first ever Latin and Mathematics subject area awards.

-Unanimous election as chair of the Ezra Stiles College Council

#75. The latter election took place on September 21, 1986. Later that night, I visited the room of a young woman I liked. Very early the next morning, I wandered up Broadway—happy and bedraggled—to my own room. Along the way, I passed the Master of Ezra Stiles College, Traugott Lawler. Taking in the situation instantly, he simply nodded cordially to me, and I to him. To this day, I appreciate his discretion.

#76. I had officially become “a man” seven years earlier, at my Bar Mitzvah. As part of my months-long preparation, I was required to write out the answers to a series of Judaism-related questions in a notebook. I never got that notebook back because Rabbi Maltzman (who I adored) decided to use it as an example for future Bar and Bat Mitzvot. 

#77. I saw Talking Heads live twice, in the summers of 1983 and 1984. While I was at the first concert, someone asked my mother where I was. “Oh, he’s gone to see the Walking Dead.”

#78. The only acts I have seen live as many as four times (excluding my cousin) are Genesis (1982, 1983, 1987, 1992) and Stan Ridgway (2007, 2009, 2010, 2015).

#79. The first concert I ever saw was Cheap Trick, on October 5, 1979 at the now-gone Spectrum in Philadelphia. My father—to his great credit—drove and accompanied my buddy (the same buddy with whom I had watched A Christmas Carol) to the concert. While seated near us, someone offered him some grass to smoke. He politely declined.

Cheap Trick.jpg

#80.  The first album I ever bought (Spring 1977?) was Wings Over America—which I still have:

Wings Over America.JPG

#81. The second summer I worked at a B. Dalton Bookseller (1989), an African-American man in a long raincoat came into the store while I was cashiering. He perused the magazines before selecting a Playgirl.

He paid for it with a wrinkled $20 bill. Something about the bill felt…off…but it was almost the end of my shift, so I paid little attention. Shortly after the man left the store, my supervisor (who did not like me at all) saw the bill in the cash drawer—and realized it was a counterfeit.

We had to make a statement in a nearby police station.

A day or so later, I was fired.

C’est la vie.

#82. I left my last full-time position—data guru at Joslin Diabetes Center—on June 30, 2015. Three days later, with Nell and our daughters in our house on Martha’s Vineyard, I drove to the Cod Cove Inn in Edgecomb, ME for a little R&R.

IMG_1872.JPG

For supper, I drove north on U.S. 1 to King Eiders Pub in Damariscotta, which I cannot recommend enough. With my substantial meal, I had a glass of red wine and a single malt Scotch.

After the meal, I drove north on U.S. 1 to Rockport, where the Denny’s I had visited a few times in the late 1990s with an ex-girlfriend sat. I had something desert-like there, along with decaffeinated coffee.

When I left, it was past midnight…meaning it was the morning of July 4. I began to drive south on U.S. 1, winding my way through the “urban” streets of neighboring Rockland.

Almost immediately, the blue flashing lights of a police car appeared in my rearview mirror. I pulled over and waited (license and registration in hand) as not one, but two, male police officers approached my car.

One officer came to my driver’s-side window to inform me I had been driving 40 miles per hour (MPH) in a 25-MPH zone; this was likely true, I confess. However, he then asked me what I had been drinking earlier that evening. I was honest, though I emphasized how much food I had eaten as well. He clarified that I had not imbibed any alcohol at Denny’s.

I was then asked to step out of the car.

Oh boy.

I was told to lean against the front of the police car, where I went through a battery of tests. The one that stands out is being asked to follow his fingers with my eyes WITHOUT moving my head.

Which I did well enough, apparently, that I was told I was free to go.

Here is the kicker, though.

I had ostensibly been pulled over for speeding.

However, I was not even given a warning, let alone a speeding ticket. And while I was being put through my DUI paces, the other officer was carefully inspecting my black Honda Accord (Massachusetts plates).

My suspicion is they were looking for a car matching my description, and they needed a plausible reason to pull me over.

Still…oy.

For the record, that Denny’s closed for good recently.

#83. My favorite question as a child—the one that used to send the adults in my life completely ‘round the bend—was “Howcum?”

#84. One day after school (an early elementary school grade), a family friend named Hank asked me how school had been. I responded that “it was a cinch.” From then on, Hank (later a second father to me before his own untimely death in October 1983), called me “Cinch.”

#85. My father, however, preferred to call me “Pal.”

#86. When I was 13 years old (November or December 1979), I took the est training. While I now view its “teachings” with great skepticism, I enjoyed the experience. My mother spent much of the 1970s exploring all manner of consciousness-raising (or altering—I remember lots of marijuana and green glass jugs of white wine), though when she tried transcendental meditation, she immediately forgot her mantra.

#87. I actually did much the same for a few years in the late 1970s (coinciding, not coincidentally, with the start of adolescence and post-parental-separation moves), becoming fascinated with astrology, card reading and, especially, numerology (Chaldean, not Pythagorean, thank you very much). To this day, despite my capital-s skepticism, I still unconsciously ascertain whether a number (a day of the month, say) is “compatible” with me or not (before dismissing the notion).

But when I met one of my closest friends (his mother later introduced me at his wedding as “my third son”)—literally the first student I met in my SECOND seventh grade—I immediately asked him when his birthday is; all I had with me were a blue three-ring binder and my numerology book.

He told me, and I excitedly responded, “Oh, you’re a 3!” (I am a 3, and 3’s get along with other 3’s, you see.).

#88. Astrology actually led to another lifelong friendship. Just after the end of my freshman year of high school, a friend threw a picnic at nearby Ashbridge Park. I had just had my braces removed, boosting my self-confidence. Spying two girls I recognized from their visit to Harriton High School[6] during the preceding school year sitting in a tree, I climbed up to join them. I do not recall if they were already discussing astrology, or if it emerged organically in the conversation, but it was an immediate ice-breaker.

#89. The first occupation I remember seriously wanting to be “when I grew up” was archaeologist, around 7th grade or so.

#90. I have only been bitten by a dog once. When I was maybe five years old, I climbed over our backyard fence and down a boundary stone wall into the backyard of a house on a parallel street. There, the only truly vicious dog I have even known (all I remember is that it—he?—was black) came out of nowhere and bit my right hand in the fleshy part between the bases of the thumb and forefinger.

That traumatic experience, however, did not dissuade me from wanting a dog. So, one night in early January 1973, my parents and I drove to a pet store near Wilmington, DE (my father knew a guy…), where we acquired a Keeshond. It was my mother’s idea to name him Luvey “because he loves everybody.” This photograph was taken just outside the door of our “penthouse” at the Strand.

Luvey in Atlantic City August 1974 2

He would have been 46 years old (that’s 322 to you and me!) on December 17.

#91. You can have your air guitar. I far prefer air keyboards, with air drummer a distant second.

#92. I have never been arrested.

#93. In the unlikely event I am ever arrested, however, under “distinguishing marks” would appear “White scar under left eyebrow.”

One Saturday or Sunday in the summer of 1974, my father (who knew another guy…) took me for a speedboat ride on the Absecon Inlet (separating Atlantic City from the mainland). We were two of maybe six or seven people on this guy’s boat. At one point, another speedboat zipped by us traveling way too fast and way too close. The resulting wake tipped our boat enough that I went flying into the side of the boat. My head landed on something sharp (or with enough force to break the skin) just above my left eye. A few millimeters lower…

Now, does my father take his profusely-bleeding son directly to the hospital on Ohio Avenue? Nooo…he brings him to his mother at the Strand. After reading him the riot act, she took me to the hospital, where I believe I needed 16 stitches to close the wound.

#94. That arrest report might also include “Small white scar on chin.” That would be from the time I whacked by chin into the kitchen counter, after I slipped trying to climb up to reach something (a cookie? a box of cereal?) in a cabinet.

#95. However, I did not require stitches—or emergency medical treatment of any kind—the first time I was ever in Island Pond, VT.

After the Expos game, my then-girlfriend and I wandered south through Quebec, somehow finding this blink-and-you-miss-it village. We decided to get some exercise by pitching and hitting; we had baseball bats, balls and gloves with us. Doesn’t everybody?

Things were going well until I threw a pitch that caught a bit too much of the plate—and she sent it screaming right into my face.

Luckily, it did not do any actual damage.

Except to my ability to throw a strike, for longer than I want to admit.

#96. My clear favorite “guilty pleasure” movie is Times Square. You can see why this movie would have appealed to 14-year-old me.

#97. I rediscovered it the year I lived in DC. I was so blown away by the soundtrack, I walked miles from my apartment to a downtown store that sold it (on vinyl, of course).

Times Square.JPG

I recently bought a copy of the film on DVD as well; it is a key part of how I came to love film noir.

#98. The first time I ever bought condoms was that September night in 1986. In those days, they were stored behind the counter, meaning you had to ask for them—with everyone listening. As I did so (“ummm, I’ll take the, uhh, the blue box there.”), a friend was standing in line with me.

The next day, he wrote on a piece of paper attached to the door of my room, “A brave man dwells within.”

#99. Next to dogs, my favorite animal is the horse. This is somewhat ironic in that it was horse racing (and cards) that fueled my father’s gambling addiction.

#100. That is why I never gamble.

Until next time…

[1] The Expos lost to the San Francisco Giants 4-1, with John Burkett outdueling Dennis Martinez. While my then-girlfriend and I sat in the leftfield stands, Kevin Mitchell hit a home run which just bounced off my glove—but into the hands of a youngster sitting just in front of me.  That remains the closest I have ever come to catching a ball. http://www.thebaseballcube.com/teams/def_lineups.asp?Y=1990&T=25

[2] I spent the next five nights just south of Chicago; just outside Iowa City, IA; in Fremont, OH; in Pittsburgh, PA; and in my mother’s apartment in Penn Valley, PA (in the Philadelphia suburbs).

[3] Besides the two listed—and, of course, Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia—they are Busch (St.Louis), Shea (New York) and Three Rivers (Pittsburgh).

[4] Citizens Bank (Philadelphia), Fenway (Boston), Oriole Park at Camden Yards (Baltimore)

[5] Well, at least until she married Jed Bark.

[6] Harriton allowed students to bring a guest to classes with them for one day. The picnic hostess and another girl had brought these two friends from a nearby high school. The four girls all knew each other from a local church.

Samuel Joseph Kohn: exemplar of the Jewish immigrant experience

He had been a powerfully-built man, which served him well when he spent nearly two decades as a Philadelphia police officer (rising as high as plainclothes detective in the late 1940s). His 1940 World War II draft card lists the then-36-year-old patrolman as 5’10” tall and 210 pounds, dark-complexioned with black hair and brown eyes. But the stroke he suffered at 73 had left the right half of his body paralyzed, making him seem much frailer. Nonetheless, as I stood next to his bed in the rehabilitation center, he had more than enough strength in his massive left hand to grip my smaller 11-year-old hand tightly.

As he held my hand, he made me swear to him that I would become either a doctor or a lawyer, the professional pinnacles for late 19th– and early 20th-century Jewish immigrants and their immediate descendants. At that age, I was far more interested in math and history—and not particularly good with blood (I still am not)—so neither option appealed to me.  However, I adored my grandfather, so I did as he asked.

None of us in that room, in the early fall of 1978, had any idea what “epidemiology” was, but that is the field in which I earned my doctorate 36 years later.

That counts, right?

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Wednesday, December 12, 2018, would have been Samuel Joseph Kohn’s 114th birthday. Here he is, with my grandmother Irene (who he would divorce only a few years later), at his younger daughter Elaine’s 1960 wedding to David Louis Berger. Six years later, the young married couple would adopt a boy and name him Matthew…but that is an entirely different story.

Irene and Samuel Kohn January 1960

More precisely, what I learned growing up was that a man named Samuel Cohen had been born in a town near Kiev (in modern-day Ukraine) called Shpola (sometimes Shpolakievagubernia[1]) on December 12, 1904. And that date of birth is clearly recorded on his headstone:

IMG_0012 (2).JPG

However, as I wrote with regard to my paternal grandfather Morris Berger (and his four younger siblings), dates of birth are hard to pin down when official American birth certificates are not available. Decades after the fact, researchers (and curious descendants) are forced to rely on documentation such as naturalization papers, military service documents and United States Census (“Census”) records.

But it is not just dates of birth that can be difficult to verify. Things as supposedly straightforward as name and place of birth may prove tricky as well…especially when those facts were deliberately altered to fit in better with an early 20th-century urban American milieu.

I do not mean this to sound sinister. It was no secret when I was a boy that sometime between 1930 (when the Census records 25-year-old “Samuel Cohen” living at 1842 N. 32nd Street) and 1934 (when his marriage record to Irene Goldman lists him as “Samuel Kohn”), my grandfather changed the distinctly-Semitic (and distinguished) last name of “Cohen” to “Kohn,” believing it to be more ethnically ambiguous. He had done this, supposedly, anticipating anti-Semitic resistance when he joined the police force (and even when that occurred is a bit of a mystery). When you consider that his father, Joseph Cohen had been, variously, a rabbi, a shochet (Kosher butcher) and a Hebrew school teacher—and that he and his 11 brothers and sisters were purported to be direct descendants of the legendary Shpoler Zaide [2] (“the Grandfather from Shpola” or, as I knew him as a boy, “the Dancing Rabbi of Shpola”), the surname change is even more striking.

It may not have been simply joining the police department, though. Sometime after landing in Philadelphia in 1911, Yaakov Gurmankin of Cherson (in modern-day Ukraine) became “Jack Goldman” of Philadelphia—and his four daughters (of whom Ida—or Irene—was the eldest, born August 11, 1914) became the “Goldman Girls.” Adopting a less “Jewish” sounding name was a fairly common occurrence for these newly-arrived immigrants, a natural part of their slow assimilation.

But let us return a moment to his 1940 draft card. It lists his date of birth as December 12, 1904 (so far, so good) and his place of birth as…Cleveland, OH?

When I located this draft card via Ancestry.com sometime last year, as I began my family research, I was less surprised by the birth location as I was by how early Samuel Kohn had begun claiming it.

In February 2015, “Snowmageddon” shut down Boston’s Logan Airport, forcing me to spend two extra days in the San Francisco area (Burlingame, actually) following the conclusion of that year’s NOIR CITY film festival. As I enjoyed dinner (including a nice chianti) at Café Figaro my first night in Burlingame, I had a long text exchange with my maternal aunt and her children (which, unfortunately, I have since deleted). It was then I learned Samuel Kohn had changed his birthplace from Shpola to Cleveland, adding to his slow Americanization.

OK, so how do I know he was born in Shpola?

Let us start in 1979, when a grandson of Joseph Cohen (first cousin of my mother and her older sister) took three sheets of orange paper and wrote out the family tree of the descendants of Joseph Cohen and his wife Bat-sheva (later Bessie) Koslenko Cohen. I have no photographs of Joseph (so far as I know), but my great-grandmother struck quite a pose:

Bessie (Barhseva Koslenko) Cohen

The 1979 record lists the eight children of Joseph and Bessie Cohen who eventually made their way to Philadelphia: Sima, Bella, Sarah, Benjamin, Sophie, Samuel, Anna, Jack. Some 60 years earlier, meanwhile, Joseph Cohen’s United States of America Petition for Naturalization (dated June 4, 1918) listed eight children (with dates of birth) of Joseph Cohen (and wife Bessie):

Sima (later Sarah; July 3, 1887[3]),

Rebecca (later Bella; November 10, 1890),

Sara (October 4, 1897[4]),

Benjamin (November 28, 1901),

Sofia (February 12, 1903),

Israel (November 22, 1905),

Anna (April 1, 1908[5])

Jacob (January 1, 1912)

According to this same document, Joseph Cohen (and his wife Bessie) hailed from Shpola, Russia (forcing him to “renounce forever all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign, prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty, and particularly to Nicholas II Emperor of all the Russias[6], of whom I am now a subject.”). The eldest daughter, Sima, also hailed from Shpola, according to the Naturalization Petition of her husband Leib (later Louis) Goldstein. Put two and two together…

Joseph, Bessie and six or seven of their children[7] were among the 1,091 steerage (I presume) passengers who sailed on the SS Haverford from Liverpool, England on November 18 (or 20), 1912, landing in Philadelphia on December 3, 1912.

SS Haverford

Photograph from here.

It was quite a harrowing journey, according to the front page of the December 4, 1912 issue of the Philadelphia Inquirer. I wonder how close my grandfather and his family truly came to perishing in the North Atlantic (only eight months after the sinking of the Titanic), which would have rather dramatically altered my family’s history.

Rough voyage of Haverford 1912

Wait, hold on, back up a second.

Who the bleepity-frick is “Israel Cohen,” born November 22, 1905?

**********

When my mother died in March 2004, I acquired a handful of documents relating to my grandfather. One of them was a small white piece of paper on which was written my grandfather’s Hebrew name as it was supposed to appear on his headstone; I recently came across it digging (again) through the “genealogy” folders in my filing cabinet.

Samuel Kohn headstone information.jpg

Clearly, at some point between December 3, 1912 and January 14, 1920–the date on which the 11-person Cohen household (including 15-year-old “Samuel”) at 729 Morris Street in South Philadelphia was enumerated by A. S. Burstein—”Yisrael (son of Yosef) HaCohen” became “Samuel Joseph Kohn.” I do not know why Rabbi Levin did not put this Hebrew name on the headstone; perhaps he simply could not reconcile “Yisrael” with “Samuel” (whose Hebrew equivalent is Shmuel).

As for when a date of birth of “November 22, 1905” became “December 12, 1904,” it is telling that the latter date is more consistent with the ages listed for Samuel Cohen on the 1920 (15) and 1930 (25) Censuses. The former is consistent with a date of birth between January 15, 1904 and January 14, 1905, while the latter (conducted April 4-5, 1930) implies a date of birth between April 6, 1904 and April 5, 1905.

The bottom line is this: upon embarking from the SS Haverford onto the Washington Avenue pier 106 years ago (what must the city have looked like to him, his parents and siblings coming from a town that had a population of about 12,000 in 1897?), a sea-sick Yiddish-speaking seven-year-old boy named Yisrael HaCohen from Shpola, on the rural outskirts of the Russian Empire, slowly transformed into the English-speaking Philadelphia police officer Samuel Joseph Kohn from Cleveland, OH. Why he chose “Cleveland” and moved his date of birth back 11 months and 10 days remains a mystery.

**********

In April 1930, Samuel Joseph Kohn was an attendant at a Gulf Refining Station—and probably starting to play pinochle, which would be the great passion of his life. Sometime in the next four years, he met a lovely teenager who lived about five blocks north of his packed house at 1842 N. 32nd Street. He married Ida “Irene” Gurmankin, I mean Goldman, at the Jewish-catering Imperial Hotel in Atlantic City in the summer of 1934. The would have two daughters, including my mother Elaine in January 1938. It was a contentious marriage—two hotheads separated in age by eight or nine years—but he was a great father. Later, he would be a beloved grandfather—and family patriarch.

As I have noted, his time on the force remains a large black box, but a handful of articles in the Philadelphia Inquirer[8] and conversations with my aunt (plus this book) tell me he was stationed in at 28th and Oxford (not far from his Strawberry Mansion house) in February 1937, where he was an incidental part of a post-shootout car chase. By 1948, he was a plain-clothes detective working on the Crime Prevention Squad (which targeted juvenile offenders); in November of that year, he and partner Jack Auerbach arrested two brothers at 23rd and Venango for running a numbers bank with a daily take of $1,200.[9]  In 1951 and 1952, a patrolman again, he worked in South Philadelphia (7th and Catherine) busting rackets under Acting Staff Sergeant Frank Rizzo (who would serve as a very controversial police chief, then mayor from 1972 to 1980); Rizzo and my grandfather looked very much alike, actually. My aunt told me he always voted Republican (despite living in a family that adored Democrats like Franklin Roosevelt) in those years because he thought his career depended on it.

A few years later, he had retired from the force and begun to operate a series of taverns in “seedy neighborhoods” (according to my aunt), at first with his brother-in-law Harry Alterman. I would love to imagine David Goodis frequenting one of those taverns.

His father Joseph died in October 1930, followed by his mother Bessie in November 1941. In January 1922, his sister Sophie had died seven days after giving birth to her only child, a daughter named Evelyn; she was only a month away from her 20th birthday (as I put it to my wife Nell, this is when this type of research “gets real.”). His sister Sima died in October 1944.

And by 1930, his brother Benjamin had moved to New York City to start a family. This left Samuel the male head of a rapidly growing family that would meet every year (becoming known as the “Cousins Club”) to celebrate the first night of Passover with the ritual Seder meal. (This tradition would continue for decades; as a boy, I looked forward to seeing all of my cousins at the vast Doral Caterers—which closed in 1989—near the intersection of Bustleton and Cottman Avenues, where inevitably one of us would be injured after an evening of high-spirited shenanigans).

Here he is, standing alone in the back, running the show in 1946 (my eight-year-old mother is sitting alone in the bottom center)…

Cohen Family Seder, 1946

…and again in 1953 (my 15-year-old mother is in the white blouse, seated on the right edge).

Cohen Family Seder, 1953.jpg

Five years after this Seder, in 1958, both his brother Benjamin and his sister Bella died.

But on January 17, 1960, he proudly watched his daughter Elaine marry a charming and handsome young man named David Louis Berger. His first (of four) grandchild, Mindy, was born on March 8, 1962. And then I arrived (literally) in September 1966.

By 1964, meanwhile, he had divorced his wife of nearly 30 years and moved to Atlantic City, where he drove a jitney for a few years before retiring; I used to spend hours riding them up and down Pacific Avenue for only 35 cents in the summer of 1974 and 1975.

It is those summers I remember when I think about my grandfather. By then, he had settled into the Warwick Apartments, just off the beach on Raleigh Avenue; I would occasionally spend a weekend with him there over the winter (I loved it, but let us just say that my grandfather could give Oscar Madison a run for his money).

619963-large-fullheightview-view-from-the-southeast

Occasionally, he would take me for a ride on one of the double-decker (we always sat on top in the open air) boats that departed from Captain Starn’s seafood restaurant and sailed lazily south along the beach then north again. He would treat me to an ice cold can of Coke or Dr. Pepper from a vendor with a cooler; they remain the most delicious sodas I have ever tasted.

And then there was the night—probably in the summer of 1974—when my mother and I had dinner with him in his apartment. At the start of the meal, I was served a steaming hot bowl of tomato soup (most likely Campbell’s cream of tomato). It was a hot night, so I sat at the table shirtless. Then, somehow, my grandfather tipped the entire bowl of soup onto my bare chest.

Owwww!!!!!

At this, my grandfather—tough-as-nails Philly cop, tavern owner and Cohen family patriarch—became completely distraught; I have never seen a man look so shattered. And while my chest was still stinging in pain, despite the butter (yes, butter) being rubbed on it, his reaction had me feeling sorrier for him than anything else.

Just over four years later, on November 15, 1978, Samuel Joseph Kohn (and Yisrael ben Yosef HaCohen) succumbed to complications from his stroke (“cardio respiratory collapse” from “myocardial infarction”), ending an extraordinary rich life that typified the 20th century immigrant experience. Less than one year later, I wore his yarmulke at my Bar Mitzvah. Despite being a Jewish-raised Atheist (married to an Episcopalian-raised Agnostic), I still wear it (with my father’s tallit) when I light the candles of the menorah on Chanukah.

IMG_3304

*********

I end where I began, with this excerpt from page iv of my doctoral thesis.

Dedication

          This dissertation is dedicated to the memory of three late members of my family whose love and support I miss every day.  

          First  is  my  maternal grandfather,  Samuel  Kohn.  Toward  the  end  of  his  life,  he  made  me  promise  that  someday  I  would  become  either  a  lawyer  or  a  doctor.  

Pop-Pop  Sam,  I  kept  my  promise.

Until next time…

[1] “Shpola in the governing district of Kiev”

[2] In early November 2018, a man reached out to me on Ancestry.com, seeking information about Joseph Cohen. He believes (and there is some decent evidence in support) that his great-grandfather Yankel Cohen—a rabbi from a town just 10 miles south of Shpola called Zlatopol (now part of Novomirogrod), whose younger brother were also rabbis—was my great-grandfather’s older brother. And he alerted to the researches of Dr. Jeffrey Mark Paull, who has traced, through Y-DNA, the male descendants of the Shpoler Zaide. Somewhere in here lies the truth of our descent (or not).

[3] Curiously, the date of birth listed on her husband Leib (Louis) Goldstein’s Naturalization Petition is July 10, 1886.

[4] Or was it July 4, 1894?

[5] This was actually a guess based upon her being born on the third day of Passover in 1908, which she later learned was April 19.

[6] The italicized words were handwritten on his Declaration of Intention, dated June 1, 1915.

[7] According to the 1930 Census, Sima Cohen arrived in 1914, though that date is almost certainly 1913, when she and her husband Leib arrived in Philadelphia on the SS Breslau. Meanwhile, the 1930 Census says Bella arrived in 1899, though she would only have been eight or nine years old then; I suspect that is a miscommunication.

[8] “GUNMEN FLEE POLICE SHOTS IN TWO DUELS,” Philadelphia Inquirer (Philadelphia, PA), February 28, 1937, pg 4; “Brothers Seized On Numbers Count,” Philadelphia Inquirer (Philadelphia, PA), November 27, 1948, pg 15.

[9] A little over $12,600 in 2018 dollars.

Pete Shelley, RIP; or my life in punk and new wave

As I walked into my office this past Friday afternoon (December 7), I vaguely noticed our eldest daughter sitting on the sofa reading. Firing up my computer, I turned on iTunes. The 9,560 tracks contained there are sorted by artist, so I only needed to scroll down to the end of the B’s. I clicked on the track I wanted, turned up the volume, and sat back to listen.

“Well, you tried it just for once/

found it all right for kicks.

But now you found out/

that it’s a habit that sticks.

And you’re an orgasm addict,

you’re an orgasm addict.”[1]

The track continued in the same vein for an additional two minutes, tracing numerous permutations of sexual release, concluding with…

“Johnny want fuckie always and all ways.

He’s got the energy, he will remain.

He’s an orgasm addict, he’s an orgasm addict.

He’s always at it.

He’s always at it.

And he’s an orgasm addict.

He’s an orgasm addict.”

Unbeknownst to me, our eldest daughter had come into my office. And as the track ended, she asked:

“Daddy, what’s an orgasm?”

Uh-oh.

OK, that did not actually happen. But the possibility that it could happen kept me from blasting “Orgasm Addict” in response to the news that Buzzcocks co-founder and lead singer Pete Shelley had died on Thursday at the age of 63.

**********

A few years ago, I bought this book for our daughters.

IMG_4013 (2).JPG

This is what is written on page 13:

“Back in foggy Londontown, things were getting really bad.

All the young kids in the streets seemed to be going mad.

They played music that was new, it was bold and it was brash.

The Damned and the Sex Pistols, the Buzzcocks and the Clash.”[2]

Pete Shelley (born Peter Campbell McNeish) and Howard Devoto (born Howard Trafford) formed Buzzcocks in Bolton (near Manchester), UK in early 1976. It was they who organized the legendary Sex Pistols concert at Lesser Free Trade Hall on June 4, 1976 whose audience included future members of The Smiths, Joy Division/New Order and The Fall.

However, as deeply influential on the development of punk as Pete Shelley was, I first became aware of him through his solo work in the early 1980s, soon after the breakup of Buzzcocks.

It was most likely the fall of 1982 when my mother first signed us up for cable television, allowing my first sustained exposure to a nascent 24-hour-a-day music channel called MTV. MTV often played a video for a mesmerizing synthesizer-driven track released the previous December called “Homosapien.” Having grown up with Kraftwerk’s Autobahn while recently loving influential synthpop tunes like M’s “Pop Muzik” (I still have the original 45 RPM single) and Gary Numan’s “Cars,” I was particularly drawn to this track.

I was just 15 years old then, so while I unequivocally appreciated the more-unites-us-than-divides-us message, I may have missed the fairly overt declaration of sexual preference.

**********

By the summer of 1979, I had become aware of something called “new wave” through breakthrough hit singles by Blondie and Joe Jackson. My ongoing love of this genre—one of many pop-influenced offshoots of punk—is apparent in my own musical journey, summarized graphically below (the yellow represents new wave).

Cropped data art screen shot

But my suburban Philadelphia milieu limited my exposure to the propulsive immediacy of this music (I was a hair too young to hang out on South Street) until MTV started playing nearly non-stop in my bedroom.

A few months later, my favorite Top 40 station (WIFI-92) transformed into “I-92 Rock of the 80s” …

…and it was as though my musical existence came fully into focus for the first time (I would have much the same experience listening to Miles Davis’ Kind of Blue for the first time some 15 years later—it remains my favorite album while “Blue in Green” remains my favorite song).

Among all the music by artists I was hearing for the first time (Simple Minds, New Order, B-Movie, Thomas Dolby, The Fixx, Shriekback, Ministry, Tears for Fears, Wall of Voodoo, Spandau Ballet, Freur, Falco, Talk Talk, Kajagoogoo, Burning Sensations, etc.) was a relentlessly hypnotic earworm by Shelley called “Telephone Operator.” The video released for this track features perhaps the best mens’ shirt ever.

Early that spring (1983) I learned how to drive, and I began to spend hours driving back and forth to Northeast Philadelphia to hang out with a maternal 2nd cousin who had become my best friend, listening to this station the entire drive. At home, my stereo was permanently tuned to 92.5 FM. And one day I began to tape (illegally, I know) tracks from the station onto a 90-minute Maxell cassette.

The resulting mix—cleverly (and mistakenly) labeled “I-92 All Rock of the 80s”—included both “Homosapien” (which I actually taped from MTV, along with Devo’s “Peek-A-Boo”) and “Telephone Operator,” as well as two tracks[3] by an Irish band named U2 I had only been vaguely aware previously,[4] plus two other Devo tracks[5]. They are all on Side 1.

Side 2, meanwhile, is particularly excellent:

Stand or Fall” by The Fixx

Red Skies” by The Fixx

Too Shy” by Kajagoogoo

Jimmy Jimmy” by Ric Ocasek

Talk Talk” by Talk Talk

I Confess” by English Beat

(Keep Feeling) Fascination” by The Human League

All Roads Lead to Rome” by The Stranglers

Der Kommissar” by Falco

Love on Your Side” by The Thompson Twins

Reap the Wild Wind” by Ultravox

Change” by Tears for Fears

That was in April 1983. Two months later, I taped Shelley’s “(Millions of People) No One Like You” onto the cassette mix Stuff Vol. XI, along with tracks by XTC, A Flock of Seagulls, Chris DeBurgh, Planet P, Ministry, Spandau Ballet, Fun Boy Three, Yello, Shriekback, U2, The Fixx, Duran Duran and Tears for Fears, along with “Modern Love” by David Bowie.

Unfortunately, the format change only lasted until August 1; by March 1984 92.5 FM had switched to country music (WXTU), which it remains. Even though the “rock of the 80s” format only lasted six months, however, its influence on me was such that I created not one, but two, “in honor of” mix tapes.

The first was a single-cassette mix in July 1994; note the last track on Side 1:

Side 1
Let Me Go Heaven 17
Promised You a Miracle Simple Minds
The Fanatic Felony
All Roads Lead to Rome Stranglers, The
Red Skies Fixx, The
Blind Vision Blancmange
Love on Your Side Thompson Twins
Nightmares Flock of Seagulls, A
Let’s Go to Bed Cure, The
Nowhere Girl B-Movie
Sex (I’m A…) Berlin
Telephone Operator Shelley, Pete
 
Side 2
Eyes of a Stranger Payola$, The
Mexican Radio Wall of Voodoo
Communication Spandau Ballet
Lined Up Shriekback
(It’s Not Me) Talking Flock of Seagulls, A
Reap the Wild Wind Ultravox
Work For Love Ministry
I Melt With You Modern English
Blue Monday New Order
Images of Heaven Godwin, Peter
Change Tears for Fears
Accretions Shriekback

The second mix I prepared in July 1997 for a three-week road trip my then-girlfriend (let’s call her “AC”) and I took through New York (Cooperstown), Pennsylvania (Gettysburg, Hershey, Lancaster), Maryland (Eastern Shore) and New Jersey (Wildwood). Essentially, I interspersed new tracks between every consecutive pair of tracks on the earlier mix (adding another Shelley track in the process):

Cassette 1

Side 1
Let Me Go Heaven 17
That’s Good Devo
Promised You a Miracle Simple Minds
Effigy (I’m Not an) Ministry
The Fanatic Felony
Europa and the Pirate Twins Dolby, Thomas
All Roads Lead to Rome Stranglers, The
Too Shy Kajagoogoo
Red Skies Fixx, The
Torch Soft Cell
Blind Vision Blancmange
Lifeline Spandau Ballet
Love on Your Side Thompson Twins
 
Side 2
I Love You Yello
Nightmares Flock of Seagulls, A
Saved By Zero Fixx, The
Let’s Go to Bed Cure, The
Sign of the Times Belle Starrs, The
Nowhere Girl B-Movie
Pale Shelter Tears for Fears
Sex (I’m A…) Berlin
It’s You, Only You (Mein Schmertz) Lovich, Lene
Telephone Operator Shelley, Pete
Revenge Ministry
Escalator of Life Hazard, Robert and the Heroes
My Spine (Is the Bassline) Shriekback

Cassette 2

Side 1
Eyes of a Stranger Payola$, The
Living on the Ceiling Blancmange
Mexican Radio Wall of Voodoo
Angst in My Pants Sparks
Communication Spandau Ballet
Metro Berlin
Lined Up Shriekback
Save It For Later English Beat, The
(It’s Not Me) Talking Flock of Seagulls, A
Da Da Da Trio
Reap the Wild Wind Ultravox
He Was Really Sayin’ Somethin’ Bananarama
Work For Love Ministry
(Millions of People) No One Like You Shelley, Pete
 
Side 2
I Melt With You Modern English
She Blinded Me With Science Dolby, Thomas
Blue Monday New Order
Whirly Girl Oxo
Images of Heaven Godwin, Peter
Wishing Flock of Seagulls, A
Change Tears for Fears
Don’t Change INXS
Accretions Shriekback
Doot-Doot Freur
Overkill Men At Work
Cool Places Sparks with Jane Wiedlin

Happily, when I lived in Washington DC from September 1988 to June 1989, I discovered modern rock station WHFS (99.1 FM); a handful of tracks they played appear on Washington Vol. I-III. And in 1991, I was introduced to legendary Boston alternative rock station WFNX (101.7 FM). This was my station of choice for the next six or so years, though by then I had stopped taping tracks from the radio.

And it was on WFNX I heard Buzzcocks tunes for the first time: the ebullient “Everybody’s Happy Nowadays,” the frenetic “Ever Fallen in Love?” and the looping “Something’s Gone Wrong Again.” In fact, I so loved these tunes, in which I heard punk evolving into new wave, that in January or February 1994, I purchased a CD copy of Singles Going Steady, the superlative 16-track Buzzcocks compilation first released in September 1979.

April 1994’s Stuff and Such Vol XXXIX, intended for a road trip to visit a friend in Iowa that never happened, marks the first “Stuff and Such” appearance of the three Buzzcocks tracks listed above; they are the 2nd, 12th and 9th tracks, respectively, on Side 1. “Why Can’t I Touch It?” first appears as the 9th track on Side 2 of March 2000’s Stuff and Such LXXIII (the third of three mix cassettes I prepared for the sixth—and final—trip I made with AC[6] to watch the Phillies play Spring Training games in Clearwater, FL). And the final Buzzcocks track to make one a “Stuff and Such” mix is the aforementioned “Orgasm Addict.”

And therein lies a tale.

**********

I have yet to stop dressing up as something for Halloween, even if this year I essentially just wore my new MSNBC t-shirt with a lot of “blue wave” blue.

IMG_3981.JPG

In the fall of 1995, I decided to abandon Phillies-related attire and create the more conceptual “punk becoming new wave.” I was trying to replicate the two-tone black-and-white style of, say, Joe Jackson or the Cars on their album covers. What I came up with—after scouring Goodwill and other used clothing stores—was a black button-down shirt (over a white t-shirt), an old pair of black jeans, a thin black-and-white belt held together with a safety pin, a skinny white tie, a faded black suit jacket, “new wave” black sunglasses, a motley collection of pins with band names on my jacket lapels, and one white dress shoe (with a black dress sock) and one black dress shoe (with a white sock).

That outfit debuted at a Halloween party thrown by some of AC’s fellow MIT doctoral students on October 28, 1995. I am certain of the date because we watched the Atlanta Braves beat the Cleveland Indians 1-0 (a Fred McGriff solo home run) in the sixth and final game of the 1995 World Series.

Unfortunately, I do not seem to have a photograph of me in this outfit.

I was still wearing it on Halloween five years later. Halloween fell on a weekday in 2000, so the company where I worked held a party with prizes for various categories of costume. I am still quite proud of my award:

IMG_4015 (2)

That year, I decided to prepare an accompanying Punk Becomes New Wave, 1975-80 mix cassette. The mix is roughly in chronological order and consists of key tracks and artists. Not only does “Orgasm Addict” debut as the 7th track on Side 1, two other Buzzcocks tracks return as well.

Side 1
Roadrunner Richman, Jonathan and the Modern Lovers
Pissing In a River Smith, Patti Group, The
Anarchy in the U.K. Sex Pistols, The
Career Opportunities Clash, The
Beat On the Brat Ramones
No More Heroes Stranglers, The
Orgasm Addict Buzzcocks, The
Warsaw Joy Division
Psycho Killer Talking Heads
Watching the Detectives Costello, Elvis & the Attractions
I Wanna Be Sedated Ramones
Hanging On the Telephone Blondie
Ever Fallen In Love? Buzzcocks, The
Take Me I’m Yours Squeeze
Pump It Up Costello, Elvis & the Attractions
Public Image Public Image Ltd.
Jocko Homo Devo
Hey, St. Peter Flash and the Pan
Artists Only Talking Heads
 
Side 2
Is She Really Going Out With Him? Jackson, Joe
Everybody’s Happy Nowadays Buzzcocks, The
Next To You Police, The
One Way or Another Blondie
Zerox Adam and the Ants
Gangsters Specials, The
Are ‘Friends’ Electric? Numan, Gary
London Calling Clash, The
Life During Wartime Talking Heads
Lucky Number Lovich, Lene
It’s Different For Girls Jackson, Joe
Discovering Japan Parker, Graham
Stop Your Sobbing Pretenders, The
Rock Lobster B-52’s, The
Love Will Tear Us Apart Joy Division
Pop Muzik M

I wore the outfit a few more Halloweens, but it was never quite that exciting again.

**********

AC and I spent Thanksgiving 1994 with my mother and assorted family members in the Philadelphia suburb of Penn Valley. One (relatively) warm afternoon, we ended up on a local elementary school baseball/softball diamond with a married couple. The husband (let’s call him “UP”), a close friend from Yale, and I had been playing a kind of modified game of baseball (alternating hitting and pitching with consensus on what balls put in play fair signify) since the spring of 1990. We had traditionally pretended to be some combination of Phillies or Boston Red Sox players.

This day, however, UP decided that he was going to be a team of 17th-century Anglican bishops, who did not so much run the bases as move in a stately manner about them.

Thus was born a years-long tradition of inventing bizarre and unusual “teams” when we played. In fact, I so loved the idea that I bought a special notebook in 2002 (after AC and I had split up, and I had temporarily moved back to the Philadelphia area in February 2001) in which I would create various teams.

IMG_4023 (2).JPG

Sitting at night at the counter of Minella’s, my favorite 24-hour diner, I would create a team in three pages. On the first page, I would brainstorm possible players (say, musical artists I have seen live). On the second page, I would work out the positions (eight starters, a starting pitcher, six-person bench, six-person bullpen) and batting order. And on the third page, I would write out the final team as neatly as my poor graphomotor skills allow.

IMG_4021

The single best team I ever created, however, does not appear in this book (which still lives in my car, even though I have not created a new team in 15 or so years).

Knowing that AC and I would be traveling to Philadelphia in August 2000, and that UP and I would be playing our version of baseball one afternoon, I decided to create an epic punk/new wave All Star team (clearly those genres were on my mind that year). It consisted of four lineups: pre-punk (“Leading off, playing second base, Lou Reed of the Velvet Underground!”), punk, new wave and early alternative. The starting pitchers for these teams were Andy Warhol, Malcolm McLaren, Martha Quinn and WFNX, respectively, while the pinch hitters assigned to hit for these pitchers were Johnny Rotten (John Lydon), Ian Curtis, Bono and Kurt Cobain, respectively. And each position represented a kind of sub-movement within each genre. Thus, I divided the “new wave” lineup into a “batting order” of Los Angeles (and other American), ska/reggae, gothic/moody, new romantic, synth gods, Australia, “other” and one-hit wonders.

As far as I can tell, I only kept the sheets I used to organize my thoughts and not a record of the final teams/positions. If memory serves, I simply memorized it for my game. However, I do recall that in the second lineup, one Pete Shelley batted third, playing third base.

Pete Shelley on 2000 Punk to New Wave Team

As for the game itself…

UP and I dropped AC at the Lord & Taylor in the Bala Cynwyd Shopping Center (corner of Belmont and City Avenues) then drove less than a mile north on Belmont Avenue to the baseball diamonds in Bala Cynwyd Park (directly across from West Laurel Hill Cemetery).

Whatever team UP put together is long-since forgotten, but they did not score in the top of the first. With two outs and nobody on in the bottom of the first, Brian Eno and David Bowie both walked, bringing up Kraftwerk’s Ralf Hutter. His double to left center brought home both Eno and Bowie to make it 2-0 in favor of my team.

Eight innings later, WFNX nailed down the save in a 2-0 victory for Andy Warhol.

I do not remember what Pete Shelley did in his lone at bat.

The game took some two hours to play, and I envisioned AC waiting impatiently for us. However, when we found her in Lord & Taylor, it was though we had never left. Holding up two pairs of black dress slacks, she asked,

“Which pair do you like better?”

I hope she is well, wherever she is.

And rest in peace, Mr. Shelley.

Until next time…

[1] Songwriters: Howard Devoto / Peter Shelley; Orgasm Addict lyrics © Universal Music Publishing Group, BMG Rights Management

[2] Morse, Eric. 2015. What Is Punk? Brooklyn, NY: Akashic Books.

[3] “Sunday Bloody Sunday” and “New Year’s Day”

[4] Basically, “I Will Follow” and “Gloria”

[5] “That’s Good” and “Theme from Doctor Detroit

[6] We dated for over seven years, living together for over five years, so my wife Nell calls AC my “first wife.”

Rest in peace, George Herbert Walker Bush

Late on the night of January 20, 1989, I walked out of Dan’s Cafe—a dive bar in the Adams Morgan section of Washington, DC[1]—after imbibing a few or five or six bottles of Rolling Rock. Clutching my long black overcoat around me, I started to cross 18th street (likely to get a bite to eat, as my apartment on 16th, just south of Columbia, was a few blocks to the east). The headphones of my Walkman covered my ears; I think I was listening to Depeche Mode.

I did not see the car until it was practically upon me. Helpful witnesses later said it was black—or maybe blue or perhaps green. Whatever color it was, it knocked me to the ground without stopping; perhaps because I had no time to stiffen in panic, I only separated my right shoulder.

Earlier that day, I had watched the sitting Vice President sworn in as the 41st president of the United States. In his acceptance speech the previous August, the then-Vice-President had called for a “kinder and gentler nation.”

So naturally, as I lay on the street unable to move, convinced cars would start knocking me between lanes like a human pinball, my first thought was, “So much for kinder and gentler.”

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George Herbert Walker Bush, who died Friday night at the age of 94, exemplified a vanishing strain of self-effacing, self-sacrificing American patriotism: son of a United States Senator, heroic Navy pilot in World War II, Yale baseball team captain (light-hitting, solid defensive left-handed first baseman), successful Texas oilman, two-term member of the United States House of Representatives (“House”) before losing the 1970 United States Senate election in Texas to Lloyd Bentsen (who would resurface as an opponent 18 years later), Ambassador to the United Nations, Chairman of the Republican National Committee, envoy to China, and Director of the Central Intelligence Agency (where, unbeknownst to his family, my late father-in-law worked). Bush then served as Vice President of the United States from January 20, 1981 to January 20, 1989—at which point he ascended to the Presidency, the first sitting Vice President to do so since Martin Van Buren in 1837. He was also father to two sons who served a combined 22 years as Florida governor, Texas governor and president. With few exceptions, he tackled these activities with grace, dignity and the desire to serve his country to the best of his considerable abilities.

Because it is one of my primary passions, I write a great deal about American politics on this site, mostly through a data-analytic lens. Inevitably, I referred to President Bush 41 in a number of posts. To honor the memory of this American hero—with whom I rarely agreed, but whom I came greatly to respect—I will tell his story through those posts.

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The first inkling I had that someone named George Bush existed came when I was in 8th grade:

In March 1980, a woman named Barbara Bush, whose husband George I vaguely knew was running for the Republican presidential nomination, addressed the student body at Bala Cynwyd Middle School (see Philadelphia Inquirer story below). I remember little of what she said (other than being impressed this engaging woman was speaking to us at all), though I understood she was trying to get us to convince our parents to vote for her husband. That appearance may have helped, because on April 22, former Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) Director George Herbert Walker Bush beat former California governor Ronald Reagan in the Pennsylvania Republican presidential primary, 50 to 43%. Despite that victory, Bush lost the nomination to Reagan, becoming the latter’s vice-presidential running mate.

The_Philadelphia_Inquirer_Sat__Apr_19__1980_

Bush fit my home state’s Republican Party well in 1980:

Back home, Pennsylvania was narrowly electing a series of liberal-to-moderate Republicans who, again, I admired without always agreeing with them: Senator John Heinz in 1976 (even as [Jimmy] Carter won Pennsylvania by 2.7 percentage points), Governor Richard Thornburgh in 1978, and Senator Arlen Specter in 1980. Heinz easily won reelection twice before dying in a plane crash in 1991 at the age of 52. Like most Pennsylvanians, I was deeply saddened by the loss of this good man. […]  In 1986, I voted for pro-choice Republican Bill Scranton for governor.

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I followed the 1988 presidential election in three places. First, I watched the primaries and caucuses in the living room of the off-campus apartment I shared with two other Yale seniors in New Haven, CT. I touched briefly on Bush’s nomination here:

Since 1980, Republicans have tended to nominate the runner-up from the previous contested nomination (Ronald Reagan 1980, G.H.W. Bush 1988, Bob Dole 1996, [John] McCain 2008, Mitt Romney 2012), implying McCain would have been the prohibitive front-runner had he run in 2004 [in an alternate history in which Vice President Al Gore wins the 2000 presidential election].

Next, I watched the Democratic and Republican National Conventions in my mother’s condominium in the Philadelphia suburb of Penn Valley, where I was spending the summer; driving home along Hagys Ford Road one day that August, I heard on the radio that Bush had selected Indiana Senator Dan Quayle to be his running mate.

Finally, I watched the fall election in that Adams Morgan apartment. At an event at the Brookings Institute, where I worked, a few days before the election, I was one of only two people in the audience to raise a hand to the question, “Who here thinks [Massachusetts Governor Michael] Dukakis will win the election?”

Had I listened to my future self, I would have better seen what was coming:

From 1968 through 1988 it was the Republicans who had an even-more-impregnable “red wall,” with 22 states voting for the Republican presidential nominee in six consecutive presidential elections and 13 other states doing so in five of them. The Republicans won the White House in five of these six elections, averaging 417 EV [electoral votes].

Despite not wanting Bush to win, however, I was pleasantly surprised just one day later:

The 1988 presidential campaign was so banal that the Washington Post did not endorse either Bush or Michael Dukakis. Bush’s campaign sank to some particularly ugly depths (Willie Horton, flag-burning, demonizing liberals). The afternoon after Bush won, however, I watched President-elect Bush introduced James Baker as his nominee for Secretary of State. My surprised reaction was “wow, the governing Bush looks like an entirely different cat.” Other Bush Administration picks like Jack Kemp (HUD), Dick Darman (OMB), Thornburgh (Justice), Liddy Dole (Labor), and Brent Scowcroft (National Security Advisor) signaled to me a mature, less-ideological approach to governing.

I watched Bush introduce Baker on a television set just outside my Brookings office, and I followed the Cabinet selections in the New York Times and Washington Post, which I would read each morning over my coffee and bowl of Nut’n’Honey cereal. As for the morning I read excitedly about Kemp’s nomination…well, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.

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I have written about the results of the 1988 presidential election in multiple contexts. First, there was the simple—and unusual—fact that Bush’s win marked a third consecutive Republican presidential victory.

Still, it is important to keep in mind that the 2016 U.S. presidential election took place after eight years with one party (Democrats) occupying the White House and no incumbent running. Voters often look to change White House control in these elections: prior to 2016, of the six such elections starting with 1960, the party not occupying the White House had won five of them (1960, 1968, 1976, 2000, 2008). The exception was 1988, when Republican nominee George H. W. Bush beat Democratic nominee Michael Dukakis by 7.7 percentage points and 315 EV.

Second, I wrote this passage in the context of validating my measure (3W-RDM) of how Democratic or Republican state is, relative to the nation:

And had Mondale lost by “only” 7.7 percentage points—as Democrat Michael Dukakis would to Republican George H. W. Bush in 1988—he would also have theoretically won the combined 53 EV of New York (36), Wisconsin (11) and West Virginia (6), boosting his total to 126 EV (better, but still 144 EV shy of the 270 needed to win the White House).

1988 Presidential map

Still, that is close to the 112 EV Dukakis won in 1988. As the purple-inked states on this beautiful hand-drawn map show, Dukakis lost seven states (Illinois, Pennsylvania, Maryland, California, Vermont, Missouri, New Mexico) totaling 125 EV by smaller margins (2.1-5.0 percentage points; mean=3.3) than he did nationally. Had Dukakis lost the election by just 2.7 points, he would theoretically have won 237 EV, only 33 shy of the necessary 270.

What I did not know then, however, was that Bush’s 1988 victory would mark the beginning of the end of a singular American political era:

Four years earlier, however, G. H. W. Bush had won 53.4% of the popular vote against Democrat Michael Dukakis (45.6%), winning 40 states and 426 EV; Bush beat Dukakis 53.9 to 46.1% in the two-party vote. Bush’s near-landslide victory (in the Electoral College, anyway) meant that Republicans would control the White House for a third consecutive four-year term.

In the six presidential elections from 1968 through 1988 (Table 1), Republicans won the presidency five times, four times by landslides (1972, 1980, 1984) or near-landslides (1988). The one Democratic victor was Jimmy Carter in 1976, in the wake of Republican President Richard Nixon’s Watergate-related resignation in August 1974, Nixon’s pardon by his successor (Gerald Ford) and various Ford gaffes. Still, Carter only managed to beat Ford by 2.1 percentage points (50.1 to 48.0%) and 57 EV (297-240); Ford actually won more states: 27 to 23 (plus DC). In fact, had Ford flipped 5,559 votes in Ohio (25 EV) and 7,232 votes in Mississippi (7 EV)—just 12,791 votes out of 81,540,780 cast, he would have won 272 EV and held on to the presidency.

Overall in those six presidential elections, the Democratic candidates averaged 42.9% of the popular vote (45.1% of the two-party vote), victories in nine states (plus DC) and 113.0 EV. The White House essentially “belonged” to the Republicans during this period.

During the same time period, however, Democrats controlled the House and held a majority of governorships. They controlled the Senate for 18 of 24 years, excepting only 1981-87. Following the 13 even-numbered elections from 1968 through 1992, Democrats averaged majorities of all votes cast for Senate, House and governor, for an average of 54.5 Senate seats, 262.1 House seats and 31.0 governor’s mansions.

In other words, from 1968 through 1992, while Republicans held a near lock on the White House, Democrats controlled Congress (both Houses for 20 years) and a majority of governor’s mansions. One interpretation is that voters preferred Republicans in the White House to conduct foreign policy (i.e., fight the Cold War) and preferred Democrats to manage domestic affairs (i.e., protect entitlements).

As for the single Bush (41) Administration, I wrote little beyond this:

Clearly, history is not always predictive. The president’s party lost an average of 13.8 House seats in the four qualifying midterm elections from 1962-1982, yet President George H.W. Bush’s Republicans only lost 8 House seats in 1990, while President Bush was still receiving plaudits for the first Gulf War and the end of the Cold War. [emphasis added]

I also obliquely referenced the event that continues to define that Administration more than any other.

In a subsequent post, I will examine the defining events of 1998 through 1994 in more detail, moving from then-Vice-President G. H. W. Bush’s acceptance speech at the 1988 Republican National Convention through the wildly successful (for Republicans) 1994 midterm elections.

In his August 1988 acceptance speech, Bush presented a scenario in which the Democratic-majority Congress would keep asking him to raise taxes, and he would refuse each time, finally insisting, “Read my lips: no new taxes!” However, facing a ballooning budget deficit, Bush was forced to relent (a decision that likely cost him reelection, even as it paved the way for the budget surpluses of the late 1990s); on November 5, 1990, he signed the Omnibus Budget Reconciliation Act of 1990. This compromise budget bill included a modest tax increase on the incomes of the wealthiest Americans, leading conservative commentator Pat Buchanan to challenge Bush in the 1992 New Hampshire Primary.

Incidentally, the events I was going to examine in that never-written post are thoroughly examined in this engaging new book by the indefatigable Steve Kornacki.

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History shows that President Bush might have a tough time winning reelection even if he had not broken his “no new taxes” pledge”:

The 1856 US presidential election was the first in which a Democratic nominee (James Buchanan) faced a Republican nominee (John C. Fremont); Buchanan won. Since then there have been nine elections (1880, 1884, 1908, 1912, 1932, 1944, 1948, 1952, 1992) in which the party controlling the White House sought a fourth, fifth or sixth consecutive term; that party won only four (44%) of those elections.

And, in fact:

On Tuesday, November 3, 1992, [Arkansas Governor Bill] Clinton captured 43.0% of the popular vote cast for president, 5.6 percentage points more than G. H. W. Bush (37.4%) and 24.0 percentage points more than Independent H. Ross Perot (19.0%). Considering only votes cast for the Democratic and Republican presidential candidates (“two-party vote”), Clinton beat Bush 53.5 to 46.5%.

Clinton also won 32 states, plus the District of Columbia (DC), for a total of 370 electoral votes (EV); Bush received only 168 EV.

In other words, in just four years, Democrats had increased their share of the two-party popular vote by 7.4 percentage points, flipped 22 states from Democratic to Republican, and increased their EV total from 112 to 370.

That is an astonishing turnaround.

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Republicans blamed Bill Clinton for breaking their iron grip on the White House, and they have been punishing him (and his wife) for it ever since.

Just like that, a new American political era emerged:

With the elections of 1992 and 1994, the Democratic and Republican Parties switched governing roles. The Democratic Party went from being primarily a Congressional and state-house party to primarily a national (i.e., White House) party, while the Republican Party went in the opposite direction.

In the seven presidential elections from 1992 through 2016, Democrats won the presidential popular vote six of seven times (despite only winning the Electoral College—and thus the White House—four times), the exception being 2004, when Republican George W. Bush won reelection by 2.4 percentage points (50.7 to 48.3%) over Democrat John Kerry, capturing 286 EV to Kerry’s 251. […] Overall in those seven presidential elections, the Democratic candidates averaged 48.7% of the popular vote (52.0% of the two-party vote), victories in 23.7 states (plus DC) and 313.4 EV.

Meanwhile, since January 1995, Democrats have only controlled the House and held a majority of governorships for four years (2007-11), while controlling the Senate for only nine-plus years (May 2001[5]-January 2003, 2007-15). Following the 12 even-numbered elections from 1994 through 2016, while Democrats managed rough parity in Senate votes, they lost the overall vote for House and governor, earning an average 48.3 Senate seats, 208.7 House seats and 20.7 governor’s mansions.

This switch was accompanied by a drastic makeover of the Republican Party.

I plan to argue in a later post that something began to go haywire with the Republican Party right around Bush’s failed reelection campaign in 1992 and the subsequent Republican takeover of the House and Senate in 1994. I now feel that the party—with a few possible exceptions like Massachusetts Governor Charlie Baker—has become completely unhinged.

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That President George Herbert Walker Bush really was a different kind of cat is best illustrated by the fact he pointedly invited President Donald J. Trump to his funeral, despite no love being lost between the two Republican presidents. Bush simply believed this is how things are supposed to be done.

And finally:

What so fascinates me about the 1948 presidential election is that while Harry Truman is my favorite president, the more I learn about Tom Dewey, particularly his prosecutorial efforts in the mid-1930s, the more intrigued I am. Love Truman though I do, I think Dewey would have been a solid president, not dissimilar to Eisenhower or the underrated first George Bush. 

Just as Truman’s presidency has been dramatically positively reassessed in the 66 years since he left office (to the point where he was recently ranked 6th-best), I firmly believe that of Bush 41 will also be.

Rest in peace, Mr. President. Your mission is complete.

Until next time…

[1] It was the sort of place where the men’s room, which locked from the outside, had a sign on its door reading “Please do not use drugs in the bathroom.”