The Old and The New

It's always interesting to go back to my original home town.  I lived in Havre de Grace, Maryland for the majority of my first forty years.  I moved seventeen years ago.  There have been a lot of changes in those seventeen years and each time I return I become more aware of them. When I see my two adult daughters I do not really see two adult young ladies.  I still see the two little girls that changed my life.  It's much the same when I return home to Havre de Grace.  I don't see the condo's on the water front, or the antique shops on the main street.  I still see the old Five and Ten Store and the clothing stores on Washington Street.  And when I drive down to the water front I see the old gravel road and the shade trees behind the Seneca Cannery instead of the three story high condo's cluttering the view.

I am sure the folks who live in the condo's have a wonderful view of the Susquehanna River.  And I am sure they have lovely homes.  But I am also sure they have no idea of the memories and the history that is attached to the area their homes are now built on.

The old Seneca Cannery is now an antiques mall.  It lends its name to the housing development just behind it on the water front - Seneca Pointe Condominiums.  My mother worked at the cannery when she was a teenager during the World War II years.  They canned tomatoes here.  She only worked there a short period of time but she loved to tell stories about it.  In the basement area in the back of the cannery German prisoners of war were held.  I doubt very much the folks at Seneca Point Condo's have any idea of this history.  And in reality the entire story might be an exaggeration.  But my mother talked about it from time to time so it became a reality to me.  My mother wanted to write and probably should have.  This all may have been part of a creative novel in her head that never got written on paper.  Today with the internet and blogs some of her stories can now finally be put into words.  So rest assured residents of Seneca Pointe, there might not have actually been German prisoners of war historically at your door step.  But then again maybe there were.

My father's sister Louise was one of my favorite Aunts.  She was a very excitable woman who tended to talk to fast, stutter a little if she got excited, and was full of life.  I loved her.  She and her daughter Peggy were the only two people I knew who talked as fast as I do.  When I would spend time with the two of them we all talked even faster.  We seemed to bring that out in each other. The only time I ever knew Aunt Louise to be calm was when she was fishing.  She could sit for hours on the bank of the river and calmly wait for the fish to bite.  Right at the point here where the cars are parked by the condo's I remember Aunt Louise sitting one afternoon.  There were a couple of shade trees here and she was relaxing under them with her fishing pole in hand.  In her other hand she had a large stick that she would shake at the ground from time to time.  I asked her what she was doing with the stick. She told me ssshhh!   Then she whispered to me there is a big black snake over in that bush, but there is also a big bass jumping out there just off the point.  I'm not letting that snake run me off until I catch that bass.  Aunt Louise won the battle.  She caught the bass and the snake finally crawled away in fear of the stick.  No one at Seneca Pointe Condominiums will ever know the story. Sadly no one's excitable Aunt will ever be able to relax under the trees and fish here any longer either.  My Aunt was the first of several in my family to be diagnosed with alzheimer's disease.  Her stories were lost forever buried deep in her brain somewhere.  But if the folks in the condo's want to here some of her stories I still have them.

There was an old cement wall along the cove behind the cannery. You could sit on the wall and let your feet cool in the water or you could fish from the wall.  It was almost at water level so it was not very tall.    At one time there was a very old and weather beaten picnic table next to the wall  that my family used for a Saturday afternoon family reunion.  My fathers family were a fun but a wild bunch at times.  They were Irish.  They liked to drink and they liked to fight.  They were a true stereotype.  My father had a small runabout boat with an Evinrude motor behind it.  He brought the boat around, from Jeff Baldwin's old docks just around the bend from Seneca Pointe, to take a couple of his sisters out for a ride on the river.  The rest of us waited on the bank by the picnic table waiting to see what would happen.  Something always happened when the family got together.  While they were out on the river another boat came speeding buy and hit them with the wake from his engine causing my Dad's boat to rock very hard.  My one  aunt could not swim and it terrified her.  She raised her fist and shook it at other boat and screamed some words that I need not repeat here.  Not knowing what he was getting himself into the man shook his fist and yelled back and proceeded to follow my fathers boat back to the shore.  My father was a short man being only five foot seven inches.  His two sisters were even shorter.  So I am sure this man was not afraid to argue with this crew.  But they were fighting Irish.  When my Aunt Anna Mary, all five foot three of her, got out of my father's boat and stepped on the shore she was shaking with anger.  The other man still wanted to argue.  Aunt Mary reached down and grabbed him by his hair and tried to drag him out of his boat.  It took three people to restrain her.  She had a hold of his shirt and his arm when they pulled her off.  Two other Aunts came down to join in the "fun" along with my Dad and two of his brothers.  The poor man in the other boat luckily got his engine started and pulled away with his boat with all but his dignity still intact.

My mother also had a sister named Louise.  This Aunt Louise was as different from my father's sister as possible.  She worked very hard all of her life.  For twenty nine years she worked on an assembly line at a shoe factory making combat boots for a government contract.  She had one week of vacation each year.  For many years she never traveled any where and spent most of her vacation at home.  She and her cousin Mary, who also worked at the shoe factory, liked to spend some of the vacation time fishing right here where the Seneca Pointe condominiums are located today.  If a black snake crawled by, she would have left the bass in the river, and fled the area along with Mary.  If some boat would speed by and splash her with it's wake she would either blame herself for setting to close to the river bank, or would have just laughed and waved.  She and Mary would relax by the shore and talk for hours because they knew they had to return to the factory the next week.

Today the condominiums cover the river bank behind the old Seneca Cannery.  There are many families living there now and I am sure each family has it's own share of stories.  They are bringing a new history to the shore line.  I will probably never know their stories nor will they ever know my families stories.  It doesn't really matter.  I really dislike the condominiums.  The block the view of the river and change the appearance of the area.  They will be gone one day also and someone will have stories of grandparents and aunts who lived there to share.  For me, when I return to Havre de Grace and drive down past them my mind flashes back to family and friends who played there and relaxed there.  The condo's may change the view but they can't change the memories.

This is my Aunt Jenny and my Aunt Louise, two of my Dad's sisters at my high school graduation.   Black snakes and boaters beware!  But who could really be afraid of these two beautiful ladies.

This is my other Aunt Louise, my mother's sister.  She would avoid an argument at almost any cost and blame herself for any conflicts that might occur.  She worked hard and had a heart as big as the heavens.

Fell's Point, Man Boobs, and my Grandmother. Or Musing on a perfect spring afternoon

I stepped on the scales at the beginning of this week and screamed.  My weight is way out of control.  I have also not been feeling well.  Lots of weird but not serious symptoms for someone my age, so I am not too concerned about them.  But I also know that I have to take them seriously.  Healthier foods were my first thought.  Then as I was drinking my third Diet Dr.Pepper of the day I started to think about all of the health warning about artificial sweeteners.  So I started out the week with some positive plans.  I was going to eat healthier foods and cut out the diet soda's.  So far the diet soda's are not bothering me too much.  Yes, the absence of caffeine has been noticed but I can handle it.  And eating more fish and chicken is not a bad thing.  Fish and chicken are good.  So it's been all positive so far.  I have woken up each morning feeling a little better.  No headaches, and a little more energy are good things.  I have also been limiting my alcohol intake. Once again this is a good thing.  I know this.  I have allowed myself a glass of wine in the evening.  I do have a love affair with wine.  Anyone who knows me already knows this.  After a few days I decided today to get out of the house and enjoy this wonderful spring weather.  My grandmother would have called this glorious weather.  She loved that word.  She used it often.  When she would be sitting in her little apartment with no air conditioning, we did not have air conditioning when I was young, she would open her window in the afternoon and let the air blow through.  She would call it a glorious breeze.  Feel that glorious breeze.  I can hear her saying that right now.   So I took one glorious afternoon away from the house and headed out for some adventures.

It's been a very long cold winter this year.  Spring is finally here.  It was 92 degrees today, which is more like summer in reality.  We had snow just three weeks ago.  But today was "glorious".  I left the house with my two constant companions, my cell phone and my camera.  I had no plans.  I was just going where the moment led me.   I ended up in Fell's Point, a wonderful area of restaurants and bars in Baltimore.  The tourists go to the Inner Harbor, but people from Baltimore head to Fell's Point.  Keeping with my plan of being healthier I decided to not over indulge in a fatty lunch of bacon cheeseburgers and fries with a beer on the side.  I ended up at one of my favorite places, Woody's Rum Bar.  I have been here many times, but have never tried the rum.  I always save that for another day.  Today I sat on the third story balcony overlooking the harbor, ordered fish taco's from menu and a glass of Pinot Grigio, and took in the sights all around me.  Woody's is a great spot for people watching.  The people on the street below have no idea you are watching them so why not take advantage of the it.

I saw this young girl today just below me on Thames Street.  She was with her boyfriend, fiancee, whatever. He was busy taking many photos of her and she was loving the attention.  For each photo she would stop, swing her hair over one shoulder, then tip her head sideways in the direction of her hair swing and pose for the photo.  It was the same smile, the same hair swing, and same head pose for each photo.  He walked around her and got her from every angle with different backgrounds, but in the end it was the same smile, same pose, same hair swing.  As I watched them a man closer to my age started to cross the street.  He was older, had his shirt opened due the heat, and was exposing his man boobs,or moobs as I like to call them,  as he walked.   He walked directly behind a car pulling out of a parking place.  He kept walking refusing to move out of the cars way.  It was obvious the driver could not see him.  As the car came within inches of hitting him he pounded on the trunk of the car and started to scream at the driver.  The driver pulled out of the space and the man hit the passenger window with his fist and offered some words I will not repeat here.   I looked back at the girl and the young man who were still taking photos of her same pose.  I am sure in the back ground of one of their photos is the man with moobs screaming at a car

So what did I learn from all of this?  First of all I am glad I am not young and vacuous thinking I am original and making the perfect pose for a photo, over and over and over.  I am also glad that I am not old with moobs.  I am glad I have the memory of my grandmother having a glorious day sitting in her apartment enjoying the breeze.  She sat behind her window many days watching the people come and go. And she talked about it everyday.  It's kind of like me writing a blog I guess.  She would have shaken her head at the girl posing for photos, and she would have laughed at the man with moobs yelling at the car.  She would have passed on the glass of wine, but I know she would have loved being with me on the balcony today watching the people below.

Fantasy Travel with Bond, James Bond

Guincho Beach, Portugal near Cascais - Location of the James Bond film "On Her Majesty's Secret Service" a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

The first James Bond movie came to the little theater in my home town in 1962.  I remember seeing the previews while at a Saturday matinee.  I had never heard of James Bond before.  But the preview made the film look very exciting.  The announcer said in a very excited voice that Dr. No was the first in a new series of James Bond films.  I think the words "first in a new series" created some sort ovief thrill to this ten year old boy.  There was something exciting about being able to experience the first in a new series.  So the next Saturday I lined up at the State Theater in Havre de Grace, Maryland with my twenty five cents for admission and entered a new world of excitement that continues to fascinate me to this day 50 years later.  

 I know that my love and my desire to travel has it origins in these movies.   Growing up, I would sit in the dark in that little movie house and James Bond would whisk me away to exotic locations that I knew I would never be able to experience on my own.  To my family traveling meant a two hour drive to Ocean City, Maryland once a year for a long weekend at the beach.  Every year, the same beach, the same hotel, the same boardwalk, the same amusement pier.  But as I sat on the benches on the boardwalk and gazed out at the ocean, in my mind I saw places like Gincho Beach.  Gincho Beach where James Bond met the Countessa Teresa Del Vicenzo in the opening sequence to On Her Majesty's Secret Service.  Gincho Beach where Bond fought with the villain out in the waves of the ocean just off the coast of Portugal.  Yes, my mother was probably sitting next to me arguing with my father.  My father was probably looking off into the horizon, ignoring my mother,  with his own fantasy that had nothing to do with any of us.  And my sister was probably there wanting to move on to something more exciting and not just sit here staring at the shore line.  So reality would set in and we would move on  to the smell of Thrashers french fries, cotton candy, and the noise of the carnival like boardwalk.  

As the "new series" of James Bond films continued to explore more exotic locations and the story lines grew more and more fantastic I grew into adulthood still nursing the fantasy to see some of these places in reality.  Travel was an extravagance in the 1960's.  It was much too expensive for a family with a modest income to even think about world travel.  I grew up.   I got married.  I had the American dream of the house, the yard, two children, the dog and the mortgage.  And James Bond continued to travel and to entice me.   This year I am turning sixty.  Its the fiftieth anniversary of the first James Bond film this year also.  There is a new Bond and new adventures.  This year the new Bond film is filming in locations in Turkey.  Of course Turkey is one of those fantasy sites for me.  So although I have been able to travel as an adult and I have been able to see some of the exotic locations I experienced in the Bond movies, once more Bond is giving me the beckon call to another place I have never seen.  In November I will once again enter a dark theater and like that ten year old boy in 1962, I will be transported to a world beyond my imagination.  The bullet title sequence will appear.  The familiar guitar strum of the James Bond theme will be heard.  I guess some things never change.  And I like it that way.

   

Photo memory of the day - 2004 -Having fun with some of the street art in Aker Brugge Oslo Norway

Having fun with some of the street art in Aker Brugge Oslo Norway a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I had a very dear friend named Berni.  She was a friend from the internet.  We met on a travel web site.  We talked on line for hours on end. She was a very funny lady and kept me laughing late into the night on many occasions.  She loved to collect shoes.  She had closets full of shoes.  She also loved to travel.   We laughed together, we shared secrets, we cried together.  We had a perfect online friendship.  Suddenly one day as we were talking she said to me "Larry I have just been diagnosed with cancer."   I was speechless.  I felt like the wind had been knocked out of me.   When Berni lost her hair from her chemotherapy treatments I sent her a giant Maryland crab hat. I told her to wear it out in public so she would not attract attention.   She loved it. Everyone who came to visit her had to wear the crab hat and she would send me photos of them wearing the hat.  I went to England to meet her and she was no longer able to wear her beloved high heeled shoes.  She was in a wheel chair.  But we laughed and had some wonderful party moments in London.  Two years later she was near the end and I traveled to England to see her one last time.  She was still so full of life.  She and her husband had sold their home and possessions and traveled the last two years of her life.  This last visit in London was not sad.   We laughed and talked and enjoyed our time together.  My last memory of her is seeing her husband Carl wheel her through the British museum in London.  Even near death she still wanted to see and experience life.  

When I was in Oslo Norway I saw this wonderful statue of a nude lady with red high heels.  I took a picture and sent a copy to Berni.  I labeled it Berni and Larry in Oslo.  She replied back to me "Get your hands off my ass.  Its cold back there."  Oh how she made me laugh.  I learned more about living from her last few years than I had in a lifetime.   I miss you Berni.  But I know your still near wearing those high heels where ever you are and thinking about that still makes me me laugh.  

My Novel

Restored life saving station circa WWII - Corolla North Carolina (3) a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I am not a photographer.  But I love to take photographs.  I am an amateur photographer at best.   I always jokingly say give me a four gig chip for my camera and somewhere on that chip I will take a photo that is good.  I took this photo in September while visiting the Outer Banks in North Carolina.  This location is very isolated.  It’s on the northern end of the Outer Banks north of Corolla.  There are no roads  to reach the location.  We took a four wheel drive sand dune tour to reach this location.  The ride was very bumpy.  Sand was blowing all around us.   We were on a tour to see wild horses on the Outer Banks.  Our guide stopped our vehicle at this restored historic life saving station.    The location spoke to me.  I took a quick photo hoping for the best.  When I uploaded the photo I was so pleased.   For me,  the photo had captured the experience.

The photo seems to tell a story.  It has a romantic feel to it along with a historic perspective.    The photo could be a novel in my opinion.  There is a story waiting to be told.  For different reasons it reminds me of a John Ford western landscape, or I can imagine Jennifer O’Neal walking across the sand dunes in Summer of 42.   There is also the history of the shipwrecks and live saving that actually happened at this place many years ago.     Its easy for me to get lost on the Outer Banks.   It’s one of the few places that I visit where I can literally escape for a few days.   Each time I look back at this photo I can escape again for a few minutes.    Unfortunately the cell phone will ring, or the dog will bark to go outside and I am snapped back into reality. 

I have talked for some forty years of sitting down and writing my novel.    Looking at some of my photos I realize that I have my novel already written.  Its story is open to the imagination of the person viewing the photo, ever changing and ever evolving.   

Embracing Whimsy

Mark and I planned a trip with his parents to New England this summer.  Mark's parents had gone through a very difficult winter.  Mark's father had his second leg amputated this past winter.  He spent forty five days in the hospital for the surgery and recuperation.  Mark's mother spent many hours at the hospital and transporting his father to therapy after the surgery.  They both were in need of a vacation and some time to get away.  When we discussed the trip with them we talked about places we all wanted to see.  There were several different opinions and ideas of what to see and where to go.  One place we all agreed on wanting to see was Salem, Massachusetts.   Researching things to see in Salem we found many references to the horrific witch trials of the 1600's, the history of Nathaniel Hawthorne and his novel The House of the Seven Gables, and a statue to Elizabeth Montgomery and the television show Bewitched. 

The Bewitched Memorial was sponsored by the TVLand television network at a cost of $75,000.   Many residents of Salem were offended by the idea of honoring a fictitious witch character from television in a city infamous for putting to death innocent victims accused of witchcraft.   I can understand their feelings. 

''It's insensitive to what happened in 1692," said Jean Harrison, one of several Salem residents opposing the plan. ''She was a fictional witch, but the people who died were not witches."

Because of its history Salem holds a fascination.  I wanted to see the city, explore the streets where the horrific events happened much the same way I wanted to visit Auschwitz when I was in Poland.  Not to celebrate the events but to have a chance to experience the location where the historic events happened.   But I also wanted to see the Bewitched Memorial and celebrate something that was important to me growing up.  It was a difficult  to embrace whimsy in such a serious atmosphere.  However once I saw Elizabeth Montgomery's image as Samantha in the city square I was transported back to the 1960's.

My mother belonged to our churches ladies home group.  They had weekly meetings every Thursday evening at our church.  My father was never one to "babysit" my sister and I.  He would be at home on Thursday nights but he was not watching the children.  So my mothers sister came over to our house on Thursday nights and sat with us.  We all watched Bewitched together every Thursday.  It came on after That Girl which was another show I loved.  As a little gay boy I watched That Girl each week with the fantasy that one day I would grow up like Ann Marie, move to New York, become an actor, and meet Don Hollinger.    My father and my aunt thought I had a crush on Marlo Thomas and never realized I wanted to be Marlo Thomas.  And then Bewitched came on.  Here was a show with so many hidden meanings and secrets for me.  Samantha had to hide her true self from the world.  She was not allowed to openly admit that she had a secret.   She had a wonderful flamboyant Uncle Arthur who snarled sarcasm and swished around the house and then disappear if anyone threatened him.   How wonderful to be able disappear when you felt threatened that someone would figure out your secret.  I am sure I did not understand all of this at that age, but in hindsight its obvious to me now that there was a connection I was unaware of at the time.  Now knowing that Bewitched was one of the gayest shows ever on TV it all makes sense.  Uncle Arthur was played by Paul Lynde who was gay.  Endora was played by Agnes Moorehead who was a lesbian.   And even the second Darren, Dick Sargent,  was played by a gay man.

So please excuse me.  I understand and appreciate the terrible things that happened historically at Salem.  But I also understand it meant something to me to see a memorial to Samantha and Elizabeth Montgomery.  Allow me to embrace a memory and some whimsy from the past for a few moments. 

The Motown Sound - Visiting Detroit

I visited Detroit, Michigan over a weekend in July 2011.  Detroit seems to get a bad rap these days.  When you read an article about Detroit you see worlds like "war zone", "deserted", "empty".  I was hoping to find a more positive image when I visited.  I know how the press and the media can sensationalize things and distort reality.  Growing up in the sixites Detroit was known as the Motor City because of the car industry.  But for me, a music loving teenager in the 1960's, Detroit meant the Motown Sound, or as Barry Gordy used to call it "The Sound of Young America".  I used to love listening and dancing to The Supremes, The Four Tops, The Temptations, and Martha and the Vandella's.  When I arrived at the very efficient  and modern airport I was impressed and was hoping for the best.  One of the first things I saw in the airport was a gift shop for Motown Records.  This was what I was hoping for, not what I had read about it.  But sad to say, Martha and the Vandella's hit "Nowhere to Run" is more the theme of what I found in Detroit. 

I visited the central business area and found the beautiful General Motors Renaissance Center the waterfront.  Walking through the Renaissance Center I saw huge food courts with vendors offering food like many tourist area's in many major cities.  But there were no customers.  There was no one there except for the people working in the food court.  There was a large display of the new General Motors cars for the public to view. 

They were all fantastic to see, but once again there was no one there looking at them.  This huge skyscraper on the water front was literally empty.  I could hear Martha Reeves in my head singing  "nowhere to run, nowhere to hide." 

We decided to ride on the People Mover, Detroit's elevated train systerm for visitors.  We were able to ride it less than five minutes when we had to exit because the cars breaks were failing.  I was beginning to fear that all that I had read about Detroit might be true. 

There are many beautiful skyscrapers with some fantastic architecture still to be found in Detroit, but many of these great buildings are vacant and will most likely be gone soon.  The streets of downtown Detroit we empty at lunchtime on a Friday afternoon.  And yet all around you can see the possibilities of a great city still hoping for chance.

Leaving the downtown area its gets even sadder.  All of the photos on the Internet, in the magazines, and on TV are all true.  It does look like a war zone.  And it does not look like it's a war that Detroit is winning.  Vacant houses, homeless on the streets, weeds growing in the sidewalks, and devastation all around.  There was no Motown sound to be heard in this neighborhood unless you want to listen to Edwin Starr's anthem from the 60's "War" and The Temptations "Ball of Confusion".

The only music to be heard in Detroit these days is the din of the slot machines and the computerized music buzzing through the speakers at the lounges in the casino's that have sprung up in downtown Detroit.  This is also the only place you will find people in downtown Detroit. 

Like any good tourist I tried to ignore the reality and look for something pleasing to make me feel good about my visit.  And I did find this.  Walking along the water front, viewing the Renaissance Center, and walking through monuments in Hart Plaza I had my tourist experience.  I smiled and posed for the camera.   I read the inscriptions on the monuments.  And then we left Detroit for the suburbs, like most of the citizens of Detroit have done themselves.

I returned home to Baltimore, which like Detroit, is a city in distress.  But Baltimore has been a little more fortunate and has had some opportunity to turn itself around, and it makes me wonder if Detroit has a chance.  I have also questioned how can great cities like Baltimore and Detroit go to ruin.  Who is to blame?  Do we blame the racial divides of the 1960's.  Do we blame the failure of the car industry?  Do we blame the unions, the Democrats, the Republicans, the immigrants?   As I was gassing up my Nissan Sentra this afternoon I realized that perhaps I have to take some of the blame.  I shop at WalMart and Target for convenience and for thrift and buy all of their imported goods.  I drive a Nissan.  My underwear have a tag inside them that says made in Columbia.  I have watched the factories close around me.  And yet there I am standing on the waterfront in Detroit playing the good tourist and taking photos. 

I spent last weekend in Detroit.  This weekend I will most likely be singing some Motown song at karaoke in my local bar.   Life goes on.