Tag Archives: Frank Terranella

Baseball Hits Home Run for Bridging Gaps, Bonding Males, and Recollecting Past

22 Monday Jul 2013

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arial view of stadium

Photos by Frank Terranella.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

As we move past the half-century mark, it’s natural to be bit by the nostalgia bug. More and more of our sentences begin with, “Remember when …” and “Years ago …”

It occurred to me recently while at Yankee Stadium that baseball is the nostalgia sport. The lords of baseball go out of their way to try to make us remember that long-ago September when Bucky Dent shocked the Red Sox, or the October when Reggie hit three home runs in one game. In my family, we all remember the April opening day in 1996 when we sat in the cold, and watched Andy Pettitte pitch in a snowstorm. The team went on to win its first World Series in 18 years. Yankee stadium

Because baseball is a sport that worships its past, it’s a great generational gap-bridge. It’s not unusual for three generations of a family to go to the ballpark together. During the Vietnam War, baseball was often the only way that many fathers and sons could have conversations that didn’t end with, “You’re an idiot!” Or “Get a haircut!”

Baseball kept the lines of communication open just long enough for mature and cooler heads to prevail. Back then, fathers could take their families to the ballpark, and the entire day would cost less than $100 – including hot dogs and beers. Today, two tickets will usually put you over $100. Add $12 beers and $7 hot dogs, and a trip to a major league ballpark has been converted from a regular pastime to a special occasion.

family sign

They spelled our name right.

My family recently planned one of those special occasions to Yankee Stadium. We had 22 people with us, so we qualified to buy tickets from group sales. That also qualified us to have our name on the scoreboard for a few seconds as the Yankees welcomed the Terranella family and friends. It was neat. In keeping with baseball’s mission of glorifying its past, Yankee Stadium features a full-blown museum in addition to Monument Park. This is like a mini hall of fame where plaques commemorate the legendary players of Yankee history. Grandfathers walk through, and point to Joe DiMaggio’s plaque and say, “I remember seeing him play in the 1949 World Series when they beat the Dodgers.”

Fathers point to Mickey Mantle’s plaque and say, “There was nobody better. Ever.” Sons look at Don Mattingly’s plaque and say wistfully, “If only he had played a few years later, he’d be in the Hall of Fame today.”

Now please don’t get me wrong. I know that women love baseball as much as men. My mother has been a fan for as long as I can remember. But I mention fathers and sons because I think that baseball is a key component of male bonding. But more than that, it fosters family bonding. Oh sure, there’s always one contrary family member who refuses on principle to root for the home team, but the ribbing that ensues is all in good fun. Baseball itself takes a lot of ribbing over being so slow. But I prefer to look at it as leisurely. Along with golf, it’s age-appropriate for those of us old enough to remember when there were only 16 teams, and pitchers batted in the American League. But it’s also age-appropriate for a five year old, who comes for the Cracker Jack and cotton candy. Come to think of it, I can’t think of a better way to spend a summer’s day.

A Hail to the Chiefs: Lincoln Among Presidents Who Served in Their 50s

15 Monday Jul 2013

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P1170371There’s a Lot Right about Being in Your 50s. By Julie Seyler.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

It’s summer reading time, and this year my summer reading includes Doris Kearns Goodwin’s 2005 biography of Abraham Lincoln called, “Team of Rivals.” It’s all about how Lincoln stocked his administration with men who were his rivals for the Republican presidential nomination in 1860. It’s extremely detailed with lots of great material about Lincoln’s life and, more importantly, a glimpse into his mindset. A small part of it was the basis for the Spielberg film, “Lincoln” where the 16th president was portrayed by Daniel Day-Lewis.

This year, we’re commemorating the 150th anniversary of Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address. Lincoln was 54 when he delivered it. Less than two years later, he would be dead. So the Great Emancipator never made it out of his 50s. His entire presidency ran from less than a month after his 52nd birthday to a couple of months after his 56th birthday. It’s a bit unsettling to think that I have already lived longer than Lincoln ever did.

I have done some research and found that Lincoln was not unusual in being in his 50s while president. According to Wikipedia, the median age when our U.S. presidents took office is 54 years and 11 months. Most of our presidents served at least part of their term while in their 50s. The list of presidents who served their entire term while in their 50s includes (in addition to Lincoln), Martin Van Buren, John Tyler, Millard Fillmore, Rutherford B. Hayes, Chester Arthur, Benjamin Harrison, William McKinley, William Taft, Warren Harding, Calvin Coolidge, Herbert Hoover, Jimmy Carter and George W. Bush.

What I glean from this is that our society feels that people in their 50s can be trusted with the reins of government. They have enough experience through more than a half-century of living so that their judgment is sound, and yet they are not so old that they no longer have the energy to do the job. Looked at this way, being in your 50s is the sweet spot in life. You’re at the precipice of ability. Oh sure, there’s a long slope to senility ahead. But for now, for many in their 50s, it’s the top of the world.

It’s July 4th. I’ll Be Watching “1776”

03 Wednesday Jul 2013

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1776

By FRANK TERRANELLA

I was a history major in college, and I still read more books in the history genre than any other genre. I think that knowledge of history provides the same sort of long-view perspective that age does. I also have been a lifelong lover of theater. And so it is not surprising that one of my favorite musicals, “1776,” combined my love of history and theater. The musical concentrates on the days prior to the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

Writer Peter Stone did a masterful job of crafting an enjoyable show without sacrificing historical accuracy. Oh sure, he combined some characters, and took some liberties with the timing of events, but he managed to preserve the essence of the story, and got all the major details right. Sherman Edwards wrote the great score.

The show was on Broadway in 1969-1972, in anticipation of the approaching bicentennial in 1976. William Daniels played John Adams, Ken Howard was Thomas Jefferson and Howard DaSilva was Ben Franklin. The trio reprised their roles in the 1972 movie.

I wish I could say that I saw it on Broadway, but I didn’t. My first contact with the show was a production at my college. I was briefly the theater critic on my college paper, and “1776” was one of the shows I reviewed. Needless to say, I gave it a rave review, and then enjoyed the film version as well.

I bring all this up because there is July 4th tradition at my house. Every year since the DVD of “1776” was released more than a decade ago, I play the movie on the morning of July 4th. It serves to remind me, and my family, why we have the day off. It also serves to remind me what is good about this country. It is so easy to lose sight of the founders’ dream in a world where Democrats and Republicans cannot agree on anything. It shows that people from disparate backgrounds can, when they try hard, reach a compromise that furthers the public good.

In the case of “1776,” the compromise was over whether slavery would continue in the new nation being formed. Despite the wishes of Adams, Franklin and Jefferson that slavery be phased out, Southern insistence on preserving their “peculiar institution” threatened to sink the new ship of state before it could be launched. The three founders saw that they could not stand on the principle that “all men are created equal,” but instead had to essentially “kick the can down the road” by maintaining the slavery status-quo in the interest of giving birth to a new nation. It was left to men of Abraham Lincoln’s generation to deal with the issue, four score and seven years later.

Watching “1776” each year provides some perspective on the turbulent political time we have been experiencing since 2001. It provides a reminder that statesmen (and women) who put the good of the country over partisan principle are the people who will be revered by later generations. Give it a watch this year. It’s usually on television around the 4th. Your Independence Day experience will be all the richer for it.

Memories of a Golf Caddy

20 Thursday Jun 2013

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Frank Terranella caddies.

Frank Terranella: Caddy. Art by Julie Seyler.

By FRANK TERRANELLA

I’ve always found that June is the prime golf month in the New York area. In May, courses are still not done recovering from the winter. In July, the grass begins to burn out, and the tees and greens begin to show the wear and tear of hordes of weekend golfers.

I grew up with golf. In fact, I spent every summer from when I was 14 until I was 22 caddying at a New Jersey country club. I was never a good golfer, but I enjoyed caddying.  You got to accompany people out having a good time. I can assure you it beats the hell out of accompanying them to court as I did later in life as a lawyer. Sure, the work was sometimes hard when the mercury hit 90, and the golf bags you were carrying were the size of a Buick, but you really can’t beat a job where you are paid for essentially taking a walk in the country.

Caddies came in two varieties – the schoolboys and the adults. The adult caddies, many of whom were on the right side of 50, ranged from family men who caddied on their days off, to winos who often tried to win enough at the caddyshack card game so they didn’t have to walk the course at all. More often than not, we would see these guys out on the course in late afternoon sun struggling to climb the 14th hole.

Golf carts have been around for decades, and they were in full use back when I was caddying. But the country club where I worked had a rule that was typical of the time – they required members to hire a caddy, even if they rented a cart. The caddy would just carry putters, advise the golfer on distances, and keep track of hit golf balls. This bit of featherbedding had the salutary effect of providing many jobs, not just for teens, but also for men who caddied to supplement their incomes. Notice I say “men,” because women, even if they could physically handle the job (and many could), would not be hired as caddies at most country clubs back then.

In addition to not hiring women caddies, back in the “Mad Men” days, many country clubs also restricted when women could play golf. The club would usually designate one or two days a week as ladies days. Women could also play on Sunday afternoons, but only if they were accompanied by their husbands. So there were large periods of time when only men were on the course. And of course, all the caddies were male. The members justified this segregation by saying that they wanted to be able to swear without having to worry about offending ladies. The thing was, when we caddied for women, they used just as much foul language when they missed a shot. I think the real reason why men wanted to play without women was because they seemed to take perverse pleasure in unzipping their fly and relieving themselves anywhere along the course. As a caddy, it was my job sometimes to act as lookout and a shield for a shy golfer who didn’t want to be seen heeding the call of nature.

But there was an art to being a good caddy. You had to be out of sight until just the moment when the golfer needed you. You had to offer encouragement after a bad shot. You had to share, with the golfer, your expert knowledge of the course you walked every day. And like all personal service jobs, you had to do it with a smile, even when the golfer cursed you out because a club clattered while he was putting.

After my caddying days ended, I lost touch with golf. Perhaps one of the joys of retirement one day may be to rediscover the game.  But certainly at this time of year, when I smell dew-covered grass on a summer morning, I think back to my youthful days on the links.

A Father’s Day Toast to My Father Figure: Americo

14 Friday Jun 2013

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Decades past the right side of 50, Americo remains an enduring testament to a life well-lived.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

As someone whose father died more than 45 years ago, I have not really celebrated Father’s Day for a long time. I have celebrated my grandfathers and my father-in-law on that day, but none of these people were my father, and it’s not the same.

There’s one person who’s often mistaken for my father, and that’s my mother’s husband. My mother remarried in 1984, and has been married to a man with the improbable name of Americo for nearly 30 years now – far longer than she was married to my father. Americo, who goes by the nicknames of Rick and Merc, is a great guy who was an avid golfer into his late 70s. But he’s been off the links for a while now. You see, he turned 90 on June 1, the same day my son was married.

In fact, we continually embarrassed him that day when hundreds of wedding guests, many of whom he did not know, came up to him and congratulated him on the milestone. And of course, we had a cake, and my nieces sang “Happy Birthday.” It was very gracious of my son and his bride to share their day with him.

So Americo has been on the right side of 50 since 1973, and although he’s slowed down a bit with age, he’s still very much living and loving life. I’d say he has a good shot at making it to 100. Seeing Americo still enjoy watching golf and baseball, his beloved gelato and the occasional martini, is an inspiration to those of us more recently arrived at 50 plus. He provides the kind of perspective on life that only longevity can bring.

The thing about living a very long time is that you have to watch everyone your age – friends and family – die before you. That’s sometimes almost too much to bear. Americo still gets choked up sometimes talking about his beloved first wife, whom he lost to cancer more than 30 years ago.

Speaking of hurt, Americo suffers from chronic back pain from his golfing days. But he didn’t let it stop him from making the five-hour car ride to Vermont recently for the wedding. He couldn’t miss that. You see, he’s been a true grandfather to my children from the day they were born. And here’s the kicker – he never had any children of his own. Yet as soon as my wife and I had kids, he took on babysitting chores right along with my mother. He took them to parks to play, and on trips to pick strawberries. He was responsible for their learning how to swim.

By the time Americo married my mother, I had already been married for five years. So he never had to play father to me as might have been the case had I been 15 or 16. But he always represented to me the prime example of the American Dream. He was born in the United States to Italian immigrants, who were so proud of their new country that they named their only son after it. He spoke only Italian until he entered kindergarten. But then he assimilated and worked his way to middle-class security with a house, and a yard, that was the envy of his neighbors for many years.

So as he enters his 10th decade on this planet, I think it’s about time I recognized this father figure who continues to show everyone who knows him that life after 50 can be very sweet indeed.

Love, Sweat, Tears, and a Little Déja`Vu at My Son’s Wedding

10 Monday Jun 2013

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BY FRANK TERRANELLA

frank wedding 2

frank wedding

One of the joys of life after 50 is seeing your children get married and start families of their own. It provides the prospect of continuity of the family name, and I guess on some fundamental level, it signals that the biological imperative to pass down your genes has been fulfilled. My doctor once told me that once you fulfill your reproductive obligations, Mother Nature does her best to kill you off because you’re no longer of any value to the herd. Thankfully, modern medicine usually frustrates Mother Nature’s murderous ways.

Anyway, my son was married on June 1, and I found it to be a marvelous experience. The wedding was in Vermont, the home state of his new wife. Vermont is a lovely place, and its rolling, green lushness was particularly evident after a wet spring. The weather was a bit peculiar, as it is wont to be in this era of climate change. The weekend before the wedding, it was in the low 40s, and there was spring skiing at Killington. However, June 1 was quite a different story. The thermometer hit 90 degrees, an all-time record for Burlington, Vermont on that day. While a 90-degree day in New York is just another summer day, northern Vermonters are not used to that kind of heat. They usually don’t need air conditioning, and so we found that the reception hall was cooled only by fans. Needless to say, fans are not up to the job of cooling a barn full of people in fancy clothes, particularly when they start dancing. My daughter’s boyfriend perspired so profusely that he had to throw the shirt away, as nothing could remove the perspiration stains. Fortunately, the cathedral where the wedding ceremony occurred was fully air conditioned. As I watched from the front row (there are some benefits to being father of the groom), I was struck by a sense of déjà vu.

I looked at my son and saw myself 35 years ago. It was very strange. And very right. But then the priest pronounced them married, they kissed, and the crowd applauded. Suddenly, an involuntary sound burst out from deep in my chest. It was a sob of joy. It was just one short outburst, but I immediately thought back to the last time I could remember reacting in that way. It was 27 years ago, and the nurse in the delivery room handed my son to me. This same primal sob of joy blared out of me then. Now the little boy was a man, and taking a wife. I think that probably the best thing about getting older is having the joy of seeing the fruits of your parenting labors. Being a parent is not an easy job, and when it goes right, it’s cause for celebration. So here’s to a son well-done, and his lovely bride.

When My Spouse Cheats, It’s “On” Video

04 Tuesday Jun 2013

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Darling, I have a confession. Me and the DVR are dating.

Darling, I have a confession. Me and the DVR are dating. By Julie Seyler.

By FRANK TERRANELLA

Modern video technology has revolutionized the way we watch television. The digital video recorder (DVR) has made it so easy to record television that many people no longer watch anything “live.” It’s easier to watch later (even just 20 minutes later), and then zip through the commercials.

This has had two unanticipated social repercussions. First, since most people do not watch television when it is broadcast, it’s no longer possible to have water-cooler discussions at work of the previous night’s programs because many people have not yet watched them. And a related phenomenon is the new form of marital infidelity called “video cheating.”

What is video cheating and how serious a problem is it? Video cheating is watching a show alone rather than waiting to watch it later with your significant other. How serious a problem is it? Oh, it’s very serious. It’s a sign of pure selfishness, like finishing the last of the chocolate ice cream without offering to share it.

Back before video recording, we all had to watch the shows live or not at all. We all found out together who shot JR. You either were in front of a television set on Tuesday, August 29, 1967, or you missed the series finale of “The Fugitive,” and probably still don’t know the fate of the one-armed man. The VCR brought some freedom from the network schedule, but the DVR made recoding shows to watch later (so-called “time shifting”) a way of life. And so today, we rarely ever watch live television except for sports and news.

But with great power over the television viewing experience came great responsibility. The shows you formerly watched together with your spouse now could be watched without him or her. This led to a silent pact wherein each partner agreed to wait for the other before viewing so that the former live TV sharing experience could be replicated. While the rest of the world was on week five of “Mad Men,” in our house, we could be on week four, or even week three. But as long as we watched it together, it didn’t matter.

Breaking the pact could be as simple as watching the show live while your spouse is out. The absent spouse comes home, and the following scene is played out:

Spouse 1:  “You missed a great episode of ‘Burn Notice.’”

Spouse 2 (voice rising): “What do you mean I missed it? We’re supposed to watch that together. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

Spouse 1 (apologetic): “I’m sorry, the DVR changed the channel I was watching and started recording ‘Burn Notice.’ What did you want me to do, shut off the TV?”

Spouse 2 (outraged): “Yes!!! That’s OUR show. You can’t watch it without me. What’s wrong with you?”

(Spouse 2 storms out of the room to pout.)

Video cheating – it’s a terrible thing that technology has wrought. And don’t get me started about spouses hijacking the Netflix queue and refusing a friend request from their spouse on Facebook. It’s a miracle the divorce rate isn’t 80%.

On Memorial Day: Some Memories. And a Thank-You

27 Monday May 2013

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mem day frank

All photos by Frank Terranella.

By FRANK TERRANELLA

I always have mixed emotions about Memorial Day. When I was a kid, my town had a Memorial Day parade, and Little League baseball players, like me, always marched in it with our uniforms. We would gather in a parking lot, and the ancient World War I veterans would congregate with the middle-aged World War II and Korean War vets. Then the World War I vets would get to ride on a float while the rest would walk.

My father, who was a World War II veteran, never marched. Like many guys who saw things that no one should ever have to see, he came back from the war with only one thought – to forget he was ever in the army. He instilled in me a hatred of war, and a distrust of things military that survives to this day. And yet, I was enthralled by the smiling veterans on Memorial Day. These paunchy patriots were the guys who saved the world from fascism. I remember that some of the old veterans were so overweight by this time that I thought they were called doughboys because they looked like the Pillsbury character.
mem day frank 2

Like most boys, I had seen lots of war movies and the idea that these guys had fought for the country was a romantic one. Seeing that I was a little bit too much in awe of my Uncle Angelo, who was a World War I veteran, my grandfather was quick to point out,

“He never saw combat. He was a cook at Fort Dix. He never left New Jersey.”

I should mention that neither of my grandfathers served in World War I. They were both extremely good businessmen who managed to work the system and get out of the draft. I think there was also a pragmatic reason I was interested in these veterans and their stories. At the time, there was another war going on. And a draft that was just waiting for me to turn 18 so it could snatch me up into the army. So my interest was not purely academic. I really wondered what life in the army was like, and whether I would survive it like my father, and have psychic scars for the rest of my life, or would I try to work the system like my grandfathers? Or perhaps I could swing a safe job like my Uncle Angelo.

These were the thoughts going through my young brain as I watched the flags and the guns and the military vehicles roll through the streets of my town on Memorial Day in 1965. “Freedom is Not Free,” and “Thank a Veteran Today,” the banners read. And as I grew older, and the draft was abolished, I was very thankful that it was them rather than me who had to do the dirty work of defending the country.

mem day vet photo Frank

So every Memorial Day I would seek out the veterans who sold poppies in public places to benefit those who had been braver than me. Every Memorial Day I flew the American flag that was draped over my father’s casket when he died. And every year attending Memorial Day festivities would choke me up when the bugler played, “Taps.”

My father instilled in me the idea that war is hell. But I also think it’s often unavoidable. So it’s important to take one day a year and honor those who have served, and especially those who made the ultimate sacrifice for their country. That’s why I will be in the cemetery on Memorial Day weekend paying my respect to the veterans in my family rather than heading for the beach.

The Selfies Phenomenon: “Look at Me!” (Be My Friend)

22 Wednesday May 2013

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Selfie photo

My selfie.

BY FRANK TERRANELLA

You know you’re getting old when you are bemused by new catchwords that creep into the pop culture. I recently overheard a young man tell a friend on a bus to work, “Wow, you should see her selfies online. She’s hot! But watch out, they’re NSFW.” I will admit that I had no idea what a selfie was, or what this NSFW was all about. So I consulted the online oracle, Yahoo, and found out that a selfie is a picture that people take of themselves. The pictures usually show the subject with a phone in his or hands. I also discovered that NSFW means “Not Suitable For Work.”

I find this selfie phenomenon to be absolutely fascinating from a sociological and psychological point of view. First, it appears that women take most of the selfies. Second, it appears that a good portion of the selfies are, shall we say, risqué. Women have been posing nude since long before Alexandros of Antioch got some beautiful Greek girl to pose for his Venus de Milo. There were probably prehistoric cave women who posed for cave artists. And the ability to take a photograph of yourself goes back to the dawn of photography. After all, all you need is a camera and a mirror. Yet I don’t remember seeing a single selfie back in the ‘60s and ‘70s. So why is it that there are so many women taking provocative pictures of themselves now that we even have Web sites that are devoted to this phenomenon?

I think the answer may lie in the fact that feminism, smartphones and the Internet came together to create a “perfect storm” that opened the floodgates. Feminism, beginning in the 1960s, freed women to be in touch with their bodies and their sexuality. Smartphones made it easy to take pictures that do not need to be developed. And the Internet made it easy to disseminate the pictures to create a phenomenon that spurs more pictures by more women (and sadly, girls).

But the selfie phenomenon goes far beyond photos that are not suitable for work. It seems to be part of this broad trend toward navel gazing of which Facebook and Twitter are the most visible signs. The same people who need to tell us that they are getting a latte at Starbucks also seem to need to take pictures of themselves and distribute them online. If Baby Boomers were the “me” generation, Millennials are the “look at me” generation.

So are women today more immodest than their mothers were? I don’t think so. I think that everyone (and especially all young people) makes poor decisions at times. The difference is that the technology now has made it so easy to take racy pictures of yourself that many more women are doing it. And that makes it socially acceptable. Back when we were young, you had to actually ask someone to take your picture. Can you imagine 40 years ago trying to hold a Polaroid camera in one hand while you took a picture of yourself in a mirror? No, it required the development of phone cameras that you can hold in your hand to make this activity do-able.

The Urban Dictionary gives one of the definitions of selfie as, “A strange phenomenon in which the photographer is also the subject of the photograph, in a subversive twist on the traditional understanding of the photograph. Usually conducted because the subject cannot locate a suitable photographer to take the photo, like a friend.”

The fact that people today would rather do it themselves shows a more individualistic time, where people have fewer close friends to ask to take a picture of them. The level of loneliness this projects is a bit sad. Paul Simon talked about this phenomenon more than 40 years ago in his song,” I Am a Rock” where he wrote: “I have my books and my poetry to protect me I am shielded in my armor, hiding in my room, safe within my womb I touch no one and no one touches me I am a rock, I am an island.”

Today, some people hide in their rooms and take pictures of themselves and then disseminate the pictures in an attempt to make a connection with another person. Rather than risk having a real in-person relationship in which they might get hurt, they are shielded by the armor of anonymity. Because “a rock can feel no pain. And an island never cries.”
Let’s hope this is just a passing fad.

The Saturday Blog: A Toast

18 Saturday May 2013

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bottles and a glass. photo by Julie Seyler

The stuff of celebration. Photo by Julie Seyler.

Tomorrow, The Write Side of 50 turns six months old. Since November 19, we have posted, without fail, six days a week, every week. We could not have done this without the consistency of our contributors. So we raise a glass to Bob and Frank (they’ve been with us from the get-go), Margo, and Jeannette. And a clink to our readers, for your continued comments, support, inspiration, and for giving us a reason to bring out the good glasses. Salud!