of Reminiscences

City Style

City Style

A little ditty, a ditty-do
about a day in the city
The city, it’s style
how it used to be
what we used to do
the things we knew
our point of view
and when going to work
was red, white, and blue.

Men with brimmed hats,
a suit, a starched shirt
buttoned to the top
with tie to match
a Timex watch, a pin or a tack
polished shoes and matching slack
an overcoat, a blend or wool,
half or full and made to fit
don’t forget the matching grip
looking good, just the times?
The times we lived before the slip!

Women, thinner
in suits; not slacks
but in skirts to match
a cashmere sweater, even better
heels, a matching purse, perhaps a Coach
they wore make-up, a do, a pin or broach
and a hint of Channel Number Five.
They left the elevator and the stares,
their charm and essence left behind
for those whose eyes that they would capture
and compliments of those enraptured.

Been a while, such city style.


of Reminiscences

In Time

In Time

Time for remembrance
Time for elation
Time for forgiveness
and great exaltation
No time to journey
into the depths,
for I have awakened

Forty years since then
Now delighting in my old friends
My thoughts of them, often
Here again, at last,
and me, without a coffin

Like kids with allowance,
we run, jump
into each other’s arms
We grin, we laugh, as in the past
On weekends
we’re destined to have a blast

No sorrow, no pain
for I am now as I was then
To know that I was not abandoned
by time or distance or fork or bend
Alone and lonely, never again
Never again, a true godsend

Without a father, without a mother
You lift me up unlike no other
On our own in unison
we carry on just like we’re brothers
To know you now
to have known you then
My greatest joy is you, old friend

Fortunate to have come together
no matter what we all have weathered
Your story, mine, they’re meshed together
As one, we share our life’s endeavors
The joy, the laughter, not on our own
So let us travel, but not alone

To know that we’ve been friends forever
To cherish you without pretense
You thrill me like the best friend ever
Without you, joy is just past tense

But now you all stand before me
You cheer me on and don’t ignore me
The future holds a joyous end
Until that end, you’ll be my friend.


of Reminiscences

My Dad

Things I know about my dad.

He went to work at 6 every morning. He came home about 3:30. He took a nap. His waist size was incomprehensible to me. He was handsome. He was tall. He was kind. He was angry when he didn’t understand.

He drove me to all my things. He rooted for me in my endeavors. He cheered when I did well and when I just tried my best.

He let me know I was important. He never had to say “I love you” for it was so apparent.

He became kind and gentle over time and I loved his laugh and his smile. He included me and showed me so many things. How to fish. How to roof the house, how to fix the car. How to tear a dishwasher apart and not figure out how to fix it, for months.

He showed me how to treat a woman, though, at times, he would be angry and vent. I didn’t understand the pressure that the world put on each and every man. He taught me to love another above all.

He delighted in my being and made me feel worthwhile.

He left a Payday candy bar in his lunch box for me every Friday but never mentioned it. It was a thought, an action, a confirmation, a gift that I miss and I cherish.

He showed me a way to live which I abandoned that I now want to emulate.

He helped with my homework and my fears. He once said that you can’t go around beating up assholes, there are just too many of them, which taught me tolerance.

He was the most wonderful friend that I never knew. He was my hero and he is the man I wish I could be.


of Reminiscences



people with big hearts
people with real smarts
people with lots of cash
people, like white trash

people with no money
people who stay hungry
people who run scared
people who are impaired

people with no father
people who don’t bother
people that wonder why
people who don’t cry

people that get along
people who don’t belong
people who stand strong
people who do wrong

people of another color
people out in the cold
people without a cover
people bought and sold

people who do harm
people that strong-arm
people without a conscience
people full of nonsense

people who have to eat
people who walk the beat
people we vote to seat
people all in the street

people who get around
people all over town
people without a sound
people we’d like to pound

people with no retreat
people we’d like to meet
people that they’ll defeat
people so called the heat

people with no self-worth
people who hit the dirt
people with no understanding
people here, just demanding

people incapable of love
people unacceptable to gov
people with one white glove
people we’re afraid of

people getting shot
people throwing stones
people on the streets
people who don’t know

people with a gun
people on the run
people with a view
People… nothing new


of Reminiscences

Dragway 42

Dragway 42

Don’t know much ‘bout racin’
Seen just a few
They were a thrill my daddy liked.
I even met Paul Newman once.
The biggest deal, for me, wasn’t he
but was Dragway 42.

Somewhere south of me
Don’t remember quite
Perhaps New Philly,
Could be wrong, don’t care.
Memories are like that.

One sunny Saturday
in my bell bottoms and tank top
my dad’s head covered in Merthiolate and a ball cap
took me there for the thrill of a lifetime
a spectacle that no three-ring circus
could ever have provided.

We arrived after a bit of a drive and walked around.
We looked at cars and the trucks that hauled them in.
Don Garlits, perhaps the only name I remember
from the side of a truck except one.
One that I will never forget
It was red, on the side it said, “Evel Knievel”
I stared and wondered what the day would bring.

We eventually found our seats along a quarter-mile track.
There in the middle were 21 buses side by side, ready
for my hero, the real-life superman to take flight.
Lights changing from yellow to red, from red to green
the dragons breathing fire, leaving smoke
left their mark with a roar and scream.
Ten seconds later, a winner gleaned
as he emerged from the belly of a long slippery serpent.

We watched one after another
with no real sense of danger
‘till one jiggled, then wiggled out of control
flipped like an acrobat end over end
then skid to a halt as did my heart, beating.

It burst into a ring of fire.
Rails and wheels seemed
hundreds of feet in the air
bouncing like balls on a trampoline
down the track and into the stands
no safety net at all.
What a show!

The driver escaped but in flames,
extinguished by big red cans of white ice
carried in a stretcher to a white vehicle
with colored lights and winding sounds
like clowns, the crew piled in.
Twelve seconds and gone
was the dragon screaming.

Then came the stock and the funny-cars
the crowd standing, dots on the board marking time
the applause, the excitement, as the unseen ring master
announced each driver and each blazing-fast winner.

I saw a clown on top a V8
all engine, two wheels, and a seat
lay rubber, burn-out
for half a quarter-mile
smoke and rubber choking me
as handkerchiefs flew out and
covered the noses and mouths of every
man, woman, and child
coughing and gasping for more.

Then a man and woman, naked as jaybirds,
running from the stands to across the track,
around the buses and into the back
Yellow, then red, then green, again,
but this time, on a bike, another just like
naked and tan, made it down the track in no time flat
when suddenly the place exploded in streakers, galore.
So much more fun was this racing than any animal act I’d ever seen
I just kept looking at my dad as he smiled that smile
then laughed that laugh and I knew everything was all right.

I saw a man in the distance
dressed in white, wearing a cape, walk to a bike
and mount its leather, its steel, its oily guts
he rose and dropped with a stomp
so to start its cold heart to pump and its tail to gurgle
a plume of smoke and a snort of its throttle,
a shift and off he rode, wheels on the ground
he circled around, rode through the gate,
stood up on his seat, pulled the bike back
and rode the entire length of the track
on one wheel, a one-man act, a devil,
duly known as Evel Knievel.

He waved as he rode back, still standing on his seat
then a repeat, not one but several and the crowd,
ten thousand if one, cheered aloud
with thunderous approval and anticipation
never mind the other acts, the amusement, or occasion
The show had just begun!

I watched his every move, every glance,
every expression that I could make-out
he was a man determined
he set out to do what had to be done
what no one should have ever expected
known as a “man’s man” and well respected,
daring, brave, fearless, true, and principled
his duty to show the rest his best
He seemed much like the man in the stands
sitting next to me.

He rode a distance from the ramp and took off
only to stop just before the top and surveil his fate
I sat and wondered what he saw and what he thought
He looked straight ahead and was still,
he took this moment (and mine)
before the chance of death, before the chance of glory,
before the result of his decision and its consequences
Was he afraid? Was this just part of the show?
It was eerie and for a moment I was scared
scared, not for him, but by any eventual consequences
In this case, my own.

He glided back down the ramp and out of sight
I could hear the throttle turn and the engine rev
the motor whined as he appeared, this time, all out
up the ramp, he and his bike accelerated
suddenly, the bottom fell out where he had stopped before
then time slowed.
the silent crowd, the silent flight
he and his bike, without wings, soared and leveled.
the sound of shutters zeroed-in on his fate
he looked all right but as he dropped
his wheel in back looked slight home plate.

thump and the wheel landed barely on its mark
the man, his bike as if fired from a rocket
gasps and awe’s abounded
hit his target and settled down to earth
a short silence, then mayhem
as the crowd went absolutely wild.

Triumphantly, he let go
to throw his hands in the air.
He made his way back, over to the track
where he stood up, again,
on his seat and rode that back wheel
the wheel that saved him
thousands were stunned in utter amazement
astonished fans, wild, and jumping fences
jumping for joy without containment
they reached for the man as he rode just out of sight.

As the roar of the crowd began to subside
I heard the throttle turn and the engine rev
the motor whined as he appeared again
and repeated the jump six more times
each time, riding over to the track and to the stands
where I stood with my dad, astonished!
As we left the track, my dad, while holding my hand and smiling that smile,
made me marvel again as only he could and as only a boy, that age, can
Dragway 42, the circus I most remember because of a superman, flying,
named Evel Knievel and another just holding my hand.


of Reminiscences

Sister Lil’

Sister Lil’

Let me tell ya ‘bout my sister Lil’
A darn good story, some would say
Happened over Ohio way
perhaps as good as ‘Jack and Jill’
Listen, while I tell you ‘bout a boy,
his sis, Friday night, and her drill
the skill, the thrill my sister Lil’ gave
and the thing that she made of me
forever, and for real!

1964, our daddy had a wagon
Seats in front, seats everywhere
seats facing backwards
so many seats and I was little
I rode in the middle where I felt best
brothers looking freakishly out the back
and Lil’, by herself, with her purse and her will,
lipstick and sweater, white make-up, painted brows,
and my daddy’s frown.

Lilly, sixteen, went by ‘Marlene’
with her up-do and flats
her frilly blouse and skinny pants
brought me down, down to the basement
to the rec-room where she’d have a clown
a Freddie, a Phil, or a Eugene
and set me outside the door
with a record player and a box
a box filled, filled with records.

You see, I was the youngest,
considerably younger, perhaps a mistake
fortunate to have siblings much older
able to spend and collect
They had no idea what they had
Boxes of my memories, given to me
before my memories ever existed
A lifetime of memories at four years old,
the beginning of my development and of my Achilles heel.

Back to Lil’, my sis
a pretty, sweet thing, stubborn
starved for attention and affection
would’ve won a beauty-contest if she ever smiled
growed-up on the wrong side of the tracks
fashionable, sometimes funny, loved to laugh
pursued at school, by the wheat and the chaff
confused but extraordinary, driven to succeed
in love, the thing she wanted most
in life, the most elusive and difficult thing
as I have found.

Yet, in the basement, there was Lil’
with her date, just behind the recreation room door,
I spun for them just beyond
Record after record after record
as she explored, then exploded,
and danced
the Freddie, the Mashed Potato,
the Shimmy, the Watusi,
and Hitch-hiked across the entire universe
of that room and its checkered floor.

I peeked as I did my own thing.
I danced and sang
to Smokey, Marvin Gaye
to the Temps and more
to the Beatles and the Stones
and even Tom Jones.

The melodies rang out from inside the room
They sent me somewhere, somewhere else
I was intoxicated
Only now, do I realize that it was my future
I rocketed to during those minutes and hours.

Now, still listening.
I must have done well
for I have lived each song
that I loved in ’64
when I was four
and my sister, Lil’, danced the Watusi.


of Reminiscences



Past my old house I drove
that town, now sold
left to ones who stuck around
I draw so near to my old town

the works, on Main, shutdown
lofty plans
a mall, apartments
not off the ground
forty years since graduation
forty years of maturation
big smiles, cold shoulders
the same, just older

faces, warm embraces
flood my senses with elation and sadness
some homesickness settles in
then it begins…
we remember
and dance once more.