Month: December 2020

December 25th,2020. We all know about what a year this has been! I drove myself to Abington hospital this morning to the ER. Last Sunday I felt a tremendous pop in my head akin to, but not as severe, as the Subarrachnoid Hemorrhage that almost killed me in 2017. Couldn’t go to the ER this past Sunday because I had five more days to get through the Santa season and deliver at the store. My head has been killing me, so here I am with time to kill. This leads me into my next planned blog of my Christmas present from Lor and the boys…1997. It was amazing!

After returning from Europe, I settled back into my work regime and life as normal as it could be. Everything was fantastic! Felt good, business was getting better and my visit to Dr. Dave went as well as could be expected. Platelets were still coming along slowly but making great progress. No more anti rejection drug and no sign of Leukemia. That was such a relief. We were heading into the summer of of 98 and some big changes were coming. My lease was up at the Roosevelt Mall and the management would not allow me to decrease my hours. I requested this in the new lease because seven days a week, 10 to 9 was very hard on my recuperation and family. In the latter part of summer, I decided that I would be moving the store across the street to a small strip center where I could make my own hours. Much better! About that present now.

Everyone who knows me, knows that I love cars. I’ve had so many. From my 75 Formula Firebird to my 82 Z-28 Camaro, my 85 Nissan 300ZX, my 87 Mazda Rx-7, my 00 Corvette…. it goes on and on. Porsche, Cadillac, Infiniti, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, etc… had them all. I Love cars. The gift? A gift certificate to the Nazareth Speedway and the Richard Petty Stock Car Experience! The Saturday was in early summer of 98 and beautiful. My friend Rob and I drove up together so that he could video the event and check out the scene. It was very cool! We began with an intro to the actual cars, safety precautions and driving devices. Each rider, there were about 15, had to show that they could get out of the vehicle quickly in case of fire or crash. We were fitted with driving suits like the ones that the Nascar drivers wear and of course the drivers helmets. Looked pretty good I must say! At that point we all made our way to the racetrack where we loaded into window vans and took a trip around the one mile oval where the instructor showed us where we needed to accelerate and decelerate as we went into the four turns. Nazareth Speedway was not like Pocono Speedway . Pocono was a 2.5 mile tri-oval where top speeds could reach 165 to 185 mph. At Nazareth, it was a four turn, one mile almost round oval where top professional drivers peaked at 125 to 130 mph. Meanwhile, Rob bought himself a ride-along with a pro race care driver. Top speed. He loved it.

It was soon to be my turn. The anticipation of jumping into the 650 horsepower race car was intense. The pro driver would pull into the pit in front of you and the instructor would slam on the roof for you to go! If you stalled out…you were screwed! Back in line. Not happening. It was so freaking loud you could barely hear the pit crew. Here he comes. I revved the engine to 2500 rpm, let off the clutch and BAM here we go! Five laps of Holy Shit! Had to come out of the pits in third gear and hit the track at 85 mph. The lead car had to be three lengths ahead and you better keep up. That was the rule. If not he took you off the track. If you were too aggressive he waved at you to back off. Fourth gear we were up to 105 mph and already heading into the third turn. Just like you can imagine or see when you watch NASCAR. Like five inches from the wall… flying along it at a blur…then diving down to the infield at the turn. Let up on the gas diving down and hitting it full throttle back up to the wall. This was fun! But wait, where the heck was he going? I was losing him at 115 mph! I was following directions…as usual…what was going on? The radio in my helmet went on….”You’re doing excellent come catch me!” Ok then. BAM! The next three laps we were cruising! 118 mph…121 mph…124 mph! What a rush! Just amazing…thanks Lor! The checkered flag waived me in after the last lap, let off the gas…put it in neutral…Cruise into the pit and into the slot for the next driver. The crew gave me a high five and you couldn’t wipe the smile off my face! Or the bruises on my ribs.

When I got home that night and got undressed, I knew that I was sore but OMG! Each side of my rib cage was completely black and blue. The race car seats, literally all aluminum sides, were so tight to your body that the vibrations from the 650 horses and the pressure from the G forces flying around the track did a nasty number on my body. I guess my platelet count was still too low. Completely purple and black from my hips to my armpits…both sides. But boy was it worth it!!

Next up: Time to Move

It was a valiant effort. Our sixth game of the tournament. We made it to the semifinals. Italy, Holland, France, England, Germany and now the Swiss. Every game was a battle. If we didn’t know it when we went in, we knew it now. Nobody likes Americans. Really. Especially while playing against us in hockey. Like we are the perennial Broad Street Bullies. The Europeans play a wide out open skating style in a huge rink. We play a hard hitting, kind of nasty style, dump and chase, in a small rink. Tough to adjust too that big surface, but we did our best. Our best wasn’t good enough as we bowed out to a slick skating Swiss squad that showed us the locker room and an end to our week. No worries, it was a great time and a good showing from the boys from the USA. We had four days to kill now. We’re going to London!

A three day, two night trip across the Channel would be our move. Four tired puck players from the states. Should be good times. Our first task was to secure hotel rooms which we completed with the help of our hotel concierge in Holland. Next, we packed up a small bag and headed to the train station in Amsterdam. A huge facility bustling with a massive flow of travelers headed out to various locations throughout Europe. At the ticket counter we spoke with a Danish teller. Her broken English was less than capable as was her attitude. It would be $120 US dollars for a round trip through Belgium and then the Chunnel train into London and back. Non refundable. We purchased our fares and asked her for directions to the terminal. We were on our way. NOT! Wrong directions, wrong platform and wrong time. We missed our train. The beginning of a crazy three days. Back at the teller window, our ticket girl told us sorry, no refunds. Was she kidding! Our wild man Chris took the lead. That led to our almost being in a brawl with a few KAL Dutch Airlines pilots standing up for their countrymen. Chris got right in the lead pilots face, nose to nose, and told him how it was going to end up. Pretty funny. Top Gun backed down while I took over and averted our first international incident. Requesting the manager, I politely excused my friend and was able to restore our passes and head on our way. The trains we started on were like Septa commuter trains. Plastic seats, Aluminum bodies, swaying back and forth. We crossed into Belgium in about an hour, passing through many brick and stone neighborhoods adjacent to the railway. Pretty sad though, almost every home had graffiti sprayed all over them. Not what I had envisioned. In about another hour, we pulled into the Chunnel terminal for our high speed, underwater ride under the English Channel into the city of London. And the famous Tube. The Underground.

The Tube was awesome! The underground subway train that ran all throughout the city stopping in every neighborhood and historic district. You had to master it. The timing, the entrances, the maps inside the trains, how to stand on the platform amongst the masses. The platforms were very thin too. Same as they were since World War 2. Pretty cool. Just needed a pass for the three days to get us around. Our first stop was to check into our hotel. It was literally right near where they filmed that movie Notting Hill. Cool area, lots of brick paved streets and pubs. First problem though, English food sucks. Literally inedible. The Chinese and Thai and Indian places were the go to eateries. We made the usual trips to Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Tower, etc. Then back to the hotel to rest. It was a long day.

The next day we planned to check out another part of the city, Piccadilly Circus. A lively part of town with entertainment, restaurants, arcades, shops and shows. It was a lot of fun…but pretty cold and rainy. I saw a sporting goods store with young Pakistani teens playing soccer in the doorway. I went in and grabbed a really cool lime green Fila jacket that was perfect for my trip. I hadn’t planned on the English rainy weather. I still have that jacket! Wish I could still fit in it! We ventured into a side neighborhood to check out how the real folk lived. Nice clean tightly knit homes. All brown brick and cobblestone streets. Fancy cars that traverse the wrong side of the road. I still don’t get it. We came upon a class of about twenty Kindergarten age kids walking with there teachers in a single file line, all holding hands, and dressed in very professional looking uniforms. I struck up a conversation with their teachers and told the kids that we came from America on a very special quest. With that, I asked them if they could point us in the right direction to where the Teletubbies lived. That we wanted a picture with them to take back to our kids. The looks on their faces was priceless! They laughed and laughed and told us good luck…we were crazy! It was great. Now, back to the tube again to get back to the hotel. Got lost and had to ask a BFI garbage man how to get to our destination. He drove slow and said follow me. Worked for us!

Back to the hotel area for more Chinese and some rest as tomorrow would be our last day to explore. We would only have a few hours before heading back to the train station. Our destination was the World Famous Harrods Department store to experience it’s so called majesty and grab some souvenirs to take home to our families. We packed up or backpacks, checked out of the hotel and headed to the store. It was not far, walking distance, and I had my nice new Fila jacket to keep me warm. We entered Harrods and were immediately taken by the huge size. Ten floors at least full of luxury clothes, furniture, shoes, electronics, jewelry, you name it. Some items were millions of dollars! So Expensive!! I picked up a few knick knacks for the boys and Lor, some t-shirts and snacks for the ride back. The department clerk was a beautiful young lady dressed like a bell hop Barbie Doll. Knee length skirt, white tailored shirt and blue matching jacket with a fancy hat. She was very proper and a bit snobbish. After all she could probably spot an American tourist a mile away. I payed for my gifts, like two hundred dollars of nothing with nary a thank you. I asked her for a favor though. Bad move. Here comes another International incident. The clerk in Piccadilly Circus had forgotten to take the security tag off from the inside of the jacket. I asked her if she could help me out. She had the removal device right on her counter. She called security. In a moment, a huge British mate in a police style uniform came and asked me for a receipt for the jacket. I told him that I bought it the night before and that I had thrown the receipt away at the hotel. Can you help me? Hard no. Treated me like I was a thief and were going to escort me out! Chris to the rescue. “Are you calling my fine friend a thief??” They then called the main head honcho, Chief of Security of Harrods! Now we’re scared! Here comes this Heavy, short, really short dumpy guy with round rim glasses and bald head and his sidekick Ultra Girl. OMG! I said to the guy that we were gonna have a real issue if he couldn’t simply and courteously just take the freaking tag off of my jacket! They finally said, after a cold stare down, “Certainly Sir”… with that condescending British accent and escorted us to the main entrance. I gave them the jacket and these two monster guards struggled with it before Ultra girl stepped in, finished the job and handled it to me. “Your jacket sir”. Humpty Dumpty said to me. USA-2/ HOLLAND/GREAT BRITIAN-0.

We made it to the Chunnel train for our high speed ride back to Belgium. The boys were wiped including me. It was early afternoon and hardly anyone on the train. Chris and I sat caddy corner across from one another. The seats faced each other like booths, four to a section. He put his feet up on the opposing seat, tilted his hat over his eyes and handed me his ticket and ID for the conductor. Goodnight. Other passengers on the train, mostly locals, assumed the same position. About thirty minutes later, this long haired, skinny, Conductor hat wearing French guy around our age came to collect our tickets. I handed Chris’s ticket and mine to him. He looked at me and said “Please ask your friend to remove his feet from the chair.” I said that he was sleeping, we were very tired, and there were many others in the train that were in the same position. He began to tell me how rude and disgusting we Americans are. That we think we can come to his country and do as we please. Chris’s eyes started to open. Here we go. I told the guy to apologize for his rude remarks and ask Chris politely to remove his feet. At that point my boy got up and in true fashion, got nose to nose with him and of course, the guy took off with a huff and some French expletives…we assumed. Great trip. USA 3/ EUROPE 0.

We made it home to the states in one piece, a little banged up, but proud of our accomplishments nonetheless. I couldn’t wait to see Lor and the boys! It was a trip of a lifetime. I’m very sad to say though, Chris, Tom and Steve, have all passed away since our trip together. I am the sole survivor. The guy with Leukemia. Unbelievable. Tom passed in the forest near his home in Minnesota. He had gone out alone in the woods to cut down trees for firewood in the winter when a tree inadvertently fell on his leg. Breaking it and trapping him. He died of exposure. Steve, I heard from Chris…died of a heart attack a few years after. And Chris, well Chris found his dream job out West for years in hospitality. Working for ski resorts from Sun Valley to Tahoe. I got a call one day from his brother that they found him dead in his bed with his two Pugs guarding him. Otherwise, he was alone in his apartment and to this day I never found out what happened to him. Chris and I were great friends and hockey teammates for many years. Very sad. All were great men. And great hockey players too.

Next Up: I Get to Use My Christmas Gift!

We had plenty of down time while we weren’t playing games during the tournament. Chris and I became friends with two players from Minnesota that were also friends and played together in their home state. Tom was a scary looking guy. About 6 foot 4 inches tall with long hair and a long beard. He looked like Jesus Christ. One hell of a hockey player though, he was about 40 years old and fun to play with. Steve was about the same age and more of a dry Midwestern kind of guy with a nasty temper on the ice. Two guys you were glad that they were on your team. Chris and I hung out with them a lot during our down time and subsequently got into some really interesting situations. Our first trip, into Amsterdam, was very eventful. A mandatory visit to the Red Light District was crazy! Countless tiny streets of red neon trimmed windows, each with a different themed prostitute inside depending on which street you wandered down. We didn’t dare indulge in the festivities of course being the married men that we were, not Chris though. He was single and a bit of a wild child. He took up a conversation with a pretty young Russian girl who invited us into her “Domicile”. A scant room with a small bed, sitting area and a wash area. What a way to make a living. We would wander around and catch up with Chris a little later. We strolled past the multitudes of foreign sailors and soldiers that indulged themselves with the girls of their dreams. I guess. Our next stop was the Anne Frank house. Blew me away. What was so interesting was the fact that there was really nothing interesting about it. Aside from the way the house was disguised inside to hide Anne and her family from the Germans, there was nothing unique to the fact that a normal family was living in a normal house that was decorated like houses that I had been in back in the day. Like an old Frankford rowhouse. I couldn’t comprehend that the atrocities that happened to Anne and her family and millions of others at the hands of the Nazis, could happen only like 50 years prior. When I walked through, I felt like I could have been in my grandmothers house. Anne’s room had pictures of American celebrities I knew well of and newspaper clippings of current events thumbtacked to the walls. A normal teen bedroom. It sickened me to think about what happened there. A must visit and experience if you are ever in Amsterdam.

The next and final stop for the boys was a small bar in town. Marijuana is legal there and you just need to be inside the bars to partake. They literally bring over a tray with a selection of different strains to choose from. Not my cup of tea. After grabbing a Coke , I watched two young American guys next to us blabber incoherently figuring how they would be able to persuade their parents to let them remain in Holland, legally and constantly inebriated. Pretty funny. I excused myself. I made my way down a tiny side street, exploring the area. The streets were so narrow there. So old. Brick and stone paved, only bicycles could make there way through. And there were zillions of bikes everywhere! Just sitting parked everywhere. All along the canals of Amsterdam, on the bridges, lined up along the sidewalks, everywhere. I came upon a tiny shop on one of the streets near the bar. A beautiful blond Danish woman was behind a glass counter/ case. The place was maybe ten feet wide. The case held several trays of hot food and assorted salads. You picked what you wanted and she doled it out to go in plastic containers. There was no kitchen. That was upstairs. Her daughter would send down more food as she needed it on a dumbwaiter. Business was brisk. She spoke excellent English and we had a great conversation about her business, family and my trip there. There was one small table and I had a great lunch as well as three servings of the best Chocolate Mousse I ever had! And those guys just got drunk and high. Ha!

Next up: One More Adventure

I was enjoying my re-entry into the hockey world and taking full advantage of the situation in this new league. The A division was actually pretty competitive and I had my challenges with some opposing players. Always handled it in a most diplomatic way….except for Lerch. Lerch stood about 7 feet tall on skates, a very imposing figure. He looked just like Lerch from the Addams Family. A really scary looking dude. And he hated me! I would chirp him incessantly and he was constantly trying to hurt me. I didnt blame him. On the last face off of our championship game, I was in our left defensive corner. The center pulled the puck back to me and with only 10 seconds left in the game I turned my body towards the boards and covered up the puck in my skates. The bodies started flying at me as I kept the puck secure and my teammates all tried to fend off the attack. Out of the corner of my eye, this huge animal of a man, full of rage and spitting nails, came flying at me. Lerch was trying to kill me. I ducked. He missed and slammed ferociously into the glass. I took off and the refs grabbed Lerch and escorted him, one ref each side, away from the fracas. At that point the celebration began, the Championship won. While the refs were holding Lerch I skated up to him and jumped up and punched him square in the face. I took off like a lightning bolt to my locker room and locked the door! Sorry but not sorry!

I was heading into my first full Holiday season at the store and now it was time to make the money. Hockey had gotten me in shape and ready for the grueling season. Twenty four straight working days until Xmas eve. Crazy but satisfying as we would always catch up so much on the debt. Never fully, but close. I always closed the 26th of December. A day of rest for my employees and a day for our family to be in New York with the In-laws. Christmas was so hectic being a Jeweler. The holiday turned out terrific. The boys loved their gifts and Joey at one and a half was finally feeling it. I was feeling great and life was good.

The New year brought an invitation to join the Team USA tournament in Holland, Europe that May. My great friend Chris Longo and I were chosen to represent the Philly area to play on the Team USA Mens Senior team in Europe. Players were chosen from all over the US to join together and play against similar teams from France, Italy, Germany, Holland, Belgium, England, Sweden, etc. It was a big deal. We arrived in Holland and traveled to an area just outside of Amsterdam. We settled in and met the other members of the team at the hotel and prepared for the next day. Two games. Italy first and then Germany. At the rink the next day we received our beautiful Team USA jerseys. It was a proud moment wearing the red white and blue jersey, listening to the Star Spangled Banner and getting ready to play against guys who didn’t speak your language. Well here goes.

First off, I never played on an Olympic surface. Absolutely huge! The first shift, an Italian winger came at me with the puck…no problem. I had him forced to the outside. Not. He just went so wide and blew past me. Way too much room on this wide rink. I adjusted for him the next time, poked the puck away from him and then immediately got a nasty elbow to my eye! Not easy being an American in Europe. We won though. We adjourned to the hotel to rest and get ready for our second game of the day. We had some lunch, rested, taped and iced my eye and then made our way back to the arena. Getting dressed, I realized that I forgot my jersey back at the hotel. The USA B team had just finished their second game so I ventured into their locker room to beg for a replacement. A nice guy threw me his jersey to use. Lifesaver! I put it on and jumped out on the ice. This game was against the local favorites. A Dutch/ German team comprised of area referees and named “the refs”. Good luck. We were in trouble. In the first 10 minutes we had 5 penalties called against us. It was fixed. To make things worse, a non check game became a slugfest, no holds barred war. Chris got the moniker of the “Hammer” by the fans for running the Dutch players and piling up the penalties. I just got a bloody ear! Standing next to this humongous Aryian assassin at a face off, the guy elbows me with all of his strength right in the side of the head. Like What! That freaking hurt. I took off into the play and kept my eye on him. The next face off, guess what? Slam! Elbow to my head! That was it. Slashed him across his wrist..that hurts, and got into a major tussle that “the Refs” gave me no help with this monster. Like a scene out of a WW2 movie. I said ” What the F is your problem!!! He looked at me and said “Juden”! What! I skated to the penalty box to join Chris in his new home and immediately asked him what the name was on my jersey? He started laughing and said …GOLD. I was Jewish! 1998 and being discriminated against for being Jewish but not being Jewish. I felt violated! When the Hammer and I got out of that box we ended up right back in. But not before teaching that big dude a lesson. By the end of the game we had won. It was a war. The Dutch fans knew how much the refs were screwing us all game and towards the end, were standing and chanting USA..USA..USA! AMAZING! I got my “Keenan” jersey back ASAP! Good times!

Next Up: Chris, Tom, Steve and Jeff Go Exploring.