Airports

If I never get on another airplane, that will be okay with me.  I am not afraid of flying, but simply have had enough of 30,000 feet in the air. Been there, done that so many, many times. No doubt part of my negativism has to do with today's airport scene, best described as serial aggravation.

When I do have to go to an airport nowadays, it's because I have to drop off or pick up family members or close friends. That said, all is not lost for it IS possible to have bright moments when waiting for arrivals. This is especially true if you are a “people-watcher” as I am.  It is both a learning lesson in civic behavior and an indictment of our manners. 

My colleague, David M, says I actually watched Wilbur and Orville run up and down the sandy hills of Kitty Hawk launching that slight bird they flew into the history books. Not quite, but I was airborne the day of the 50^th Anniversary of Air Canada; how many decades ago was that? Glamour in flying is long gone of course. “Sardines in the Sky” is more like it as we get jammed into our silver cans ready for the wild blue yonder.

As for observing the Great American Public in airports, the first thing you notice is how fashion has become so unfashionable. It is light years different from the days when going up in an airplane was a combination of adventure and social event. People dressed if not in their “Sunday Best” something akin to that. (Hats and gloves were de rigeuer for the ladies back then.) Of course Sunday Best today means Less Grunge than the other days of the week.  “Dressing up” is of interest solely to historians.

Today's traveler places comfort above all. Sweat suits are in, even as showering is passe for many. Smiles are few. Best to put on your game face and be prepared for the frustrations coming your way. Seats are shrinking in size even as we ourselves expand. Knowing full well that there are no complimentary meals aloft, chow down before you board a plane. A sizable number of fliers prefer copious onions & garlic on their pre-boarding pizza. And hey, that's one reason why sweat suits are so in. Who would take the time to notice a tomato streak or barbecue splash on sweats when your very survival depends on getting away from that breath?

One of the true joys of flying in yesterday's skies had to do with the professionalism of stewardesses who were well trained, attractive and highly courteous. Today's “flight attendants” are underpaid, overworked and put-upon at every level. If you can do one positive thing to make up for all this, it would be to save one of your few smiles for them. You might even add “it's nice to see you” if you are pretty sure she won't faint from hearing a good word coming her way.

We can't change the whole messed up system with one smile, but it's a start and will surely brighten her day.

Another Look at Television

The late broadcaster Bill McCarter had a knack for spotting emerging talent.  In the early 1970s McCarter called me to identify one such named Brent Musburger, who was relatively unknown outside of Chicago and a few points west.

The other night I watched Musburger, nowadays very well known, calling his last basketball game. As usual he was a comfortable pal to be around, near or far. Brent loves sports, and because he usually knows what he's talking about, he enriched whatever game we were watching. There are some very positive things about TV. Brent Musburger was one of them.

Still the negatives about television are staggering.  Violence on the tube is overwhelming. Take another look yourself at the near-endless killings, explosions and mayhem that abounds. What can this possibly be worse for our minds, young minds especially? Some programs that purport to be “discussions” of issues are just more of the same.  Did you ever take a peek at the garbage that Maury Povich, Jerry Springer and their ilk serve up day by day?  Add to the mix Hollywood movies dominated by car chases, computer generated destruction, explicit sex, vulgarity beyond vulgarity. To the damage that television mayhem does to our own most precious resource, our children, add the fact that our product is exported all around the world. No wonder the image of our culture is so dismal overseas. You don't have to torture yourself, but please be aware of the extent of the damage being done.

Television is the primary influence in our time. TV, all by itself, is responsible for social change, more than all the legislation ever written.  You really can't change minds by writing laws. People will do what they want to do, one way or the other. Case in point are the advertising commercials depicting the races. It started with white men and women being socially linked with those of other races – usually a Hispanic, Hawaiian or other lighter skinned individuals, then as couples, then as parts of a mixed family. Gradually, and in a relatively short span of time, black and whites jointly filled roles previously restricted to the members of the same race.  So too with same sex couples. You are certainly entitled to your own opinion on whether this is good or bad, but the fact is changes in society have been caused by television. Again, the point is to be aware of this powerful impact.   

With our country being in such turmoil, real news versus fake news and countless opinions bombarding us day and night, each of us has to take personal responsibility for sorting it all out. Our own ethical compass and common sense are just about all we have. Not an easy task, for sure.  But we can't farm it out to any others, can we?     

Challenges

Each of us will be facing challenges in this new year.  Some great, some small.  But a challenge is still a challenge.

I have one challenge right before my eyes. It calls for immediate action.  Simply put: How do I arrange the remaining pieces of Bridge Mix in the glass container so that they appear untouched by human hand? Joan has a eagle eye for detail.  A small thing you say, but it still represents a domestic hurdle. Worse, the unfailing lie-detector, our bathroom scale, is right nearby to betray me.

Nothing so motivates an erring husband than a weight-conscious wife reacting in horror when that damn scale indicated she has gained a pound over the Christmas holidays. Hell hath no fury like a woman facing an upward number. While one pound is not a make or break deal in my eyes, my eyes are not her eyes. I'll try not to beat this to death, but a spouse provides a ready-made target for venting. Especially when he has been repeatedly warned to cut down on the suds and cookies that magically appear with Christmas. Not for nothing is it called “comfort food.”  And Yes, I am very comfortable.

Alas, in the real world, bridge mix and cookies can only take me (and you) so far. There are crushing sights and sounds all around us. Sadness and despair everywhere. And since “this world” happens to be our world, we are all in one big lifeboat together. Of course we can simply give up, but that option doesn't appeal to me, nor I suspect, does it work for most people. So now I have a game plan and it's much more than another soon-to-be-forgotten New Year's Resolution. Every morning I will thank God for the blessings that have been showered on me and mine.  At the end of the day, I'll review the ups and downs to see how things went since breakfast.  A report card of sorts.  Where should I have done better?  And especially, did I do anything to help another person in facing his or her challenges?

As I'm reading over what I've just written to you, I understand my words do not appear profound. On the other hand if each of us did something like this, perhaps we could meet challenges more effectively. At a minimum we'll know we have been challenging challenges.       

The Passing Parade of 2016

At the end of a year the media traditionally lists notable deaths from the preceding 12 months. 2016 was no exception. Most of us feel a connection of some sort – usually from afar - to many of the deceased. My own memories of the departed were a subjective bag of near and far. 

Ali – Muhammud was a passer-by when we were changing planes. He liked people. Maybe he understood that a short Irishmen deserved a nod and a big smile to brighten his day. In any event that's just what he gave me. Muhammud disappointed by refusing to serve his country in uniform, still, let's credit The Champ for being loyal to his beliefs.                                

Jim Clements – a near-legend in the publishing industry and lover of all sports, he played many of them with excellence. Clements lived in Darien, Connecticut, but his heart was always in Manhattan. No one loved The Big Apple more than Big Jim.

Bud Collins, for decades we showed up at the big tennis tournaments, he dressed in outfits that blistered our eyeballs. Bud brought tennis out of the private clubs to be viewed by the masses via TV. He was a great reporter and actually a pretty good tennis player.

Bob Elliott had an office with Ray Goulding in the Graybar building during my days at J. Walter Thompson. Radio was the perfect medium for that duo, a highlight for me were reports from that peerless correspondent, Wally Ballou.

Joe Garagiola was one of the first professional athletes who switched seamlessly from sports to broadcasting.  In those days he was with NBC while I was flacking for TV Guide magazine so we walked the same corridors.

Zsa Zsa Gabor reigned over a half century that included Mae West, Dagmar, Jayne Mansfield and Dolly Parton. Zsa Zsa was a trifecta with perennial sex appeal, humor and a delightful accent that became more pronounced with the passing years even as she amassed a record-breaking number of husbands.

John Glenn whom we admired from very, very, far away was the former Marine Corps fighter pilot who made us all proud by his pioneering adventures in space.

Kitty Kallen an ex-Big Band singer from Philly who staged a career comeback with a top selling recording of “Little Things Mean a Lot”. Her uncle was a medical doctor I admired very much. She dated a pal of mine who was some years her junior.

Julius LaRosa – I remember when this young sailor came on the scene singing for Arthur Godfrey.  And certainly recall Godfrey firing him because “he lacked humility.” What an irony coming from a master egomaniac. Julie had the last laugh however as he was still rolling along singing his songs decades after Godfrey had passed on.

John McLaughlin long before his years as a controversial talk show moderator, John-John was a rebellious Jesuit priest in Manhattan driving the Archbishop nuts.  He valued my counsel (!) as to the proper angle he should wear his homburg.

Gardner Mulloy a tennis idol of mine who remained 39 years of age almost forever. When Mulloy passed on he was well over 100 but still under 40.

Hugh O'Brian former Marine turned television hero who made a wholesome star out of Wyatt Earp who in real life was no paragon of virtue.

Arnold Palmer – even if you are not a golfer (that's my group) you knew his name and admired this man. Way beyond his accomplishments on the links, he left a legacy of personal graciousness for everyone who came in contact with him.

Nancy Reagan  when Joan and I met her at The White House she was far from the cool and distant image so often portrayed in the media. She endured years of negativism and ultimately triumphed as a charming, courageous and caring lady.

Debbie Reynolds – you can like a screen personality for that alone. We never met her, but Debbie played that likable girl next door for more than 60 years after “Singing in the Rain.” It worked for us.

Grant Tinker – I suspected his marriage was on the rocks when I spotted him in Grand Central night after night scarfing Uneeda hot dogs when the rest of us were going home to Connecticut. Grant was that rare bird who actually changed television programming for the better.

Morley Safer  chatting with him between airline departures, I wondered about that bassett hound look which masked his charm, finally deciding he was overworked and dead tired.

Kay Starr – a long time Big Band singer who took another turn in the spotlight with her recording of “Wheel of Fortune”. That song was played endlessly in tribute to two of her relatives who were in my Army detachment serving in blistering hot Texas.

Pat Summit – The all-time winning basketball coach, male or female, and role model for her personal fight against disease even as she led her teams on the court. Never met the coach, but watched her on TV time and again. She was truly inspirational.

William H. “Bill” Wilson – with his dashing good looks and outgoing personality, Wilson was the epitome of the gentleman/sports figure. A national squash champion many times over, he was a class act in victory or defeat.

P.S. To read more of my columns on “View from the Observation Deck”, please click on: http://in-personcommunications.com/our-team/charles-reilly/

ME and HIM

Returning to drawing on cave walls may well be the best way for us to communicate with each other. Since we have made such gigantic strides in brutalizing the English language in just about every other forum, it certainly can't hurt.

There was a time in the Good Ole USA that “reading, writing and arithmetic” were cornerstones of our basic education.  But that was long ago and far away. Nowadays some people with college degrees are just as likely to butcher a sentence as little boys and girls in the first grade of elementary school.  Allow me a bit of leeway here, dear reader. In my own family struggles abound. Some of us are successful in meeting these challenges, some not so.

Just short years ago, my middle daughter mastered consistent use of “y'know”. She used it before, after, and sometimes in the middle of sentences. At some point she abruptly abandoned the field leaving it to Chris Evert (aka” Chrissie”) to continue as undisputed champion in the use of this non-word. One of my sons-in-law cringes at the use of “at” at the end of a sentence, as in “where's it at?”. This leads to all hands using it at every opportunity to test the level of his blood pressure.                

When I was a teenager many of us living in the leafy suburbs of Philadelphia attended Lower Merion High School which was, and still is, a highly regarded institution of secondary education.  Within those hallowed halls diminutive Mrs. Margaret Hay ruled English language territory with a firm hand.  Mrs. Hay has since ascended to the Great Schoolhouse in the Sky but her influence rolls along through the loyalty of her disciples.  My pal David is one such.  He was the fiercely competitive captain of the football team. Nowadays he guards the flame of proper English in the same passionate way.  Whenever or wherever friend or foe misspeaks, David quickly pounces, invoking the battle cry “Remember Mrs. Hay”! It is intimidating and we always promise to reform.

None of us is grammar-proper all the time.  When I struggle with these periodic communiques to you, I can turn to my eldest daughter who is an editor.  Most times she is an effective life preserver.

Another bump on the English Highway is the misuse of  the Plural versus the Possessive.  With the holidays coming on, you might as well gird your loins, or whatever, to face versions of “Happy Holidays from your friends the Smith's” in place of “Happy Holidays from your friends the Smiths.”

Still, it may be the thought that counts.......

How I Became a Jewish Mother

If you think of Mel Brooks and his routines about “Jewish Mothers”, you'll get the picture in a heartbeat. Mistresses of the guilt trip, JMs are capable of putting sons (especially) and daughters into mental dungeons for supposedly failing to appreciate a Mother's Love. Several Jewish mothers are among my intimate friends. But they are far afield from the portrait that Brooks paints of their concern about every single thing that touches the lives of their offspring. Along with large dollops of “don't worry about me, your mother, it's YOU that I cry over.”

Skipping from Ireland to Israel is not an easy trip but I did it recently while worrying about our brand new great-granddaughter, Huntley, who caught a cold. She is a Manhattanite, albeit a very young version of that species, and as yet unaware of Bloomingdale's, Grand Central and Central Park. Huntley caught a cold somewhere, we suspect from her wonderful working mother who insisted on balancing business and imminent delivery right up to the moment when  contractions kicked in. (The courage of young women who manage such feats is surely the topic for another column, but for the moment Baby Huntley is the focus.)

Many a parent or grandparent takes comfort in the “out of sight, out of mind” philosophy – as in what you don't see or know allows you to stay in a sea of serenity. Not so for me in Florida.  I worry about every one of these 1358 miles between our house and Huntley's crib. My Wasp wife, no Shamrock she, as well as the Jewish (and all other) mothers in our gang, take a pragmatic view of situations generally. And specifically in the case of my attempts to micro-manage health concerns when her mother and grandmother are right there in the NYC scene watching Huntley like the two Mother Hens they are. Ah, well. Such is life.

I also wondered if Mel Brooks has a routine centered on the plight of males who are parents, grandparents, great-grandparents whose sole role in the miracle of birth seems to be limited to one-liners during Happy Hour.

BYE BYE TO 2016

Guys, it's time for the compulsory year-end review.  Buckle up.

                        

The big story of course is Donald Trump.  Which is pretty much the way he would like it.

To a point that is. Almost all of us, I suspect, are much more interested in what goes on in our immediate worlds. Joan and I have a brand new great-granddaughter, Huntley Alden. She is immeasurably more important to us than Mr. Trump. You can throw in Hillary and Bill too. I like Melania Trump. Not just because she is a gorgeous lady, although she is that, but because she is forthright and deserves a break from all of us. Where is it written that Melania should not be “acceptable” because she posed near-naked, or naked, during her modeling days? As I pass the mirror after showering even a casual peek assures me that I should call 911.

There is a larger lesson here.  Much of what goes on is beyond our control. Absolutely.  The network news and the newspapers guarantee heartburn. Why torture ourselves? Take it all in once and then move on to those positive things in life – like children, grandchildren, and if you are really lucky, great-grandchildren. By the way, these young ones don't have to be your own – just enjoy the miracles of young boys and girls.  And pray that they will live long happy lives.  That's all you can do now that 2016 is in the history books.

And not so by the way, thank you for reading my columns and blogs during this year now past.