Today's MOZEN: The Simple Things

F LoBuono

The only thing really special about the day was the weather. It was dry and mild - rare for late August. Otherwise, there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. Bored simply watching the boob-tube, I decided to take the dog for a walk into town. We usually make the "loop", walking on one side of the street into town and on the other for the return trip. I really wasn't expecting much but a simple walk on a beautiful afternoon.

The first part of our sojourn was as uneventful as the day itself. We made our rounds - down Broadway and up Main. We met a few friends, paid our respects, turned around and started making our way home.

We must have been just a few blocks from my apartment when I spotted her. I couldn't believe my luck. Circling just above me, no more than 50 feet or so in the sky, was a magnificent Peregrine Falcon! They are not wholly uncommon to the area (there is a nesting pair on the old TZ bridge) but not so readily observed. They are not large birds and they are fast - the fastest animals on the planet. So, it is indeed a rare treat to see one so close.

Then, a few blocks later and just before I reached my apartment, I spotted a woman walking with a double stroller. Obviously, she was either walking twins or 2 young ones of a similar age. When I got close enough to look inside the stroller I noticed that they were indeed twins - identical, as a matter of fact. They were SO much so that not only were they wearing the same clothes, they had the EXACT same smiling expression of their faces - and, I mean EXACT!! I couldn't help but smile.

It once again reminded me that, if you keep an mind and heart, and lower you expectations, you'll always find something to smile about.

Today's MOZEN: In The Eye of the Storm.

F LoBuono

In my 35 year career in television and TV News, I have covered my share of hurricanes. Katrina and Sandy certainly proved the most memorable. Here are my most vivid memories of those historic and destructive storms. I present them in honor of those risking their safety covering the disaster in Texas caused by Hurricane Harvey.

I received the assignment to cover Hurricane Katrina the afternoon after it initially made landfall. I was told to fly, alone, with my camera gear to Mobile, Alabama, rent a car, and then drive down Rte. 10 and join the crew the was already stationed in Biloxi, Mississippi. When I got to Mobile, it was late in the afternoon. I had to rent a car with just a half tank of gas because the pumps had stopped working after the storm. No matter. I was pretty sure that I would have enough to make it. I loaded the car with my camera gear and started heading south on Rte. 10 towards my final destination.

I had only heard of Biloxi, Mississippi because of the play by Neil Simon. Now, I would have to find it, alone, in the midst of one of the greatest natural disasters to ever hit this Country. I left the local roads and hit the highway to find my way. It was then that it struct me: I was driving completely alone to a place I had barely heard of with tens of thousands of dollars worth of equipment and virtually no directions! And, just to reinforce my trepidation, I noticed thousands of car headlights leaving the area and absolutely NO taillights going in. Indeed, I would have to make it there completely on my own.

When I finally reached Biloxi (I couldn't miss it, Rte. 10 runs right through it), it was pitch black and found that the city was smashed! People were like zombies, walking around in a complete daze. That small city was just devastated.  Nothing appeared unscathed by the maelstrom. Debris from the storm surge was everywhere. But, I could see lights in the distance which I knew would be both rescuers AND news crews - if I could only get there! It took hours, backing out of impassable street after street, but. with great difficulty, I eventually reached our crew. I spent weeks there covering the aftermath of Katrina. But, THOSE stories are for another day.

Hurricane Sandy was just as dramatic except that instead of traveling to put myself at risk, I could do so right here at home. I was assigned to go with reporter Vanita Niar to cover the storm from Battery Park on Manhattan's Lower West Side. We took up a position at the sea wall and near the ferry terminal to wait for the eye of the storm to arrive. Over the course of a few hours while we doing our "live" shots, the ferocity of the storm continually increased, threatening to breech the sea wall. Well, eventually the water of the Hudson River did its thing and came pouring over which sent us scrambling to get to higher ground.

With the water rapidly rising, we retreated to a higher point in the park and finished our shift around 2 a.m. The water had risen so much we were not sure how we would ever be able to leave our little, safe "island".  In fact, it had gotten so bad that the Westside Highway which separated us from greater Manhattan had turned from a road to a raging river! I had never seen anything like it. There must have been 3-4 feet of turbulent water coursing down the highway. It may have been more prudent to wait out the storm in the relatively safety of the park but circumstance dictated that we had to try to get back into the City - Vanita had recently given birth to a baby boy and it was essential that she get back to him at their apartment in midtown.

So, we devised a plan: Vanita would take my hand and together we would wade across the river/highway, moving slowly and cautiously. We stepped off from the relatively safety our "live" position and began to make our way across. It was pitch black (the storm had whiped out the power) as we felt our way through the dark water and fierce current. Vanita would occasionally touch something with her feet and cry out in distress. But, she never let go of my hand and we made steady progress. After what felt like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes, we had made it across.

It was then that we realized that only half the battle had been won. We still needed to find our way uptown, a distance of about 3 or 4 miles. And, because that part of the City had been mostly evacuated and the power was out, there was no transportation going ANYWHERE. At that hour, after a VERY long and trying day, the thought of walking 3 or 4 miles just didn't seem to be a viable option. But, what were we to do?

I felt that our only chance might be to find a police car and beg for mercy!! Unfortunately, the few that we found could not leave their posts to aid a couple of pathetic, wet, and miserable news people. We were just about to give up hope when we spotted a police van. I ran up to the police officer who was driving and asked if he could help us. He said, "sure, hop in". You should have seen the smile on my face! Vanita and I climbed in to find that we were not alone. Apparently, the van was assigned to drive through lower Manhattan and find homeless people who might be in distress. Perfect! So, we joined a van load of vagrants for our trip back uptown. But, the van was warm and dry and the company, under the circumstances, was just fine.

Vanita made it back to her son and me to a hotel room for a meal and some much needed sleep. The next day, we were at it again - this time I was assigned another reporter and off to Atlantic City we went to continue our coverage. I wound up traveling over 1300 miles covering the storm and its aftermath before it was all over. Again, that's a story for another day.

I don't cover hurricanes like I used. Lately, I do so from the comfort of the studio. And, you know what? That's just fine. I'll always have my memories.

WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT: Columbus Must Go

F LoBuono

I'm pretty much as Italian-American as they come - all of my ancestors come from there (Sicily mostly). And, I damned proud of it, too. But, I'm not blind or stupid. So, despite the stern objections by many Italian-American organizations who see him as a great hero, I still support the logic behind the current efforts to remove statues dedicated to Christopher Columbus.

Please follow my logic.

BACK STORY: In light of the violence that surrounded the proposed removal of memorial statues dedicated to Confederate Civil War heroes in Charlottesville, Va., awareness has been raised as to exactly WHOM we choose to honor with these statues. Many argue that those who supported slavery and oppression are certainly not worthy. Columbus, a hero to many, is also acknowledged as a slaver and oppressor of the indigenous people he encountered on his journeys of discovery and would fall into this category. Others claim that we cannot erase history and his accomplishments.

First, for those Italian-American organizations who see Columbus as intrepid navigator and the discoverer of the Americas. Well, he may have been born in (or, near) Genoa, Italy, as Cristoforo Colombo, but that, in a sense, was simply an accident of birth. At that time, there was no Italy as we know it today. It was a series of independent city statues or republics, of which Genoa was one. AND, it was controlled by the Kingdom of Spain. When Columbus attempted to secure funding, he originally went to the Kingdom of Portugal. When he failed there, he then successfully petitioned Spain. So, he sailed under a SPANISH FLAG with the majority of his crew being SPANISH sailors. In fact, judged his writings, scholars believe that Columbus probably spoke Spanish more than Italian (or, even its Genovese dialect)! He was even given a Spanish name; Cristobal Colon. Why do you think most of South and Central America speaks Spanish?! Columbus' descendants have served with distinction in the Spanish navy ever since. Well, there goes your Italian pride.

Second, Columbus NEVER set foot in what we know call North America. He landed on the island of modern Haiti and they called Hispaniola. He never made landfall anywhere near what is now America (which, by the way, is named after the cartographer Amerigo Vespucci - NOT Columbus). So, it really is a stretch to say that Columbus actually discovered America. In fact, it is believed that the Vikings actually reached NORTH America hundreds of years before Columbus.

Third, Columbus was a brilliant navigator but a shitty leader. No one can question his skills as a sailor. In fact, they are legendary. However, his lack of leadership qualities haunted him. His crews were almost always on the verge of mutiny. And, his brutal treatment of indigenous people was abhorrent. He used and abused them, solely for the advancement of his own fame and fortune. He was personally responsible for the deaths and enslavement of tens of thousands. This is hardly laudatory behavior!

So, When You Think About It, what's to memorialize - a man credited with discovering a country that he did not - an Italian who was more Spanish than Italian - and, a man who, for his own fame and fortune, caused immeasurable suffering among millions?

No, my friends, I would have no problem with the statues gone and Columbus relegated to where he belongs - in museums and history books. In this way, we can preserve history and still the honor the truth of what really happened.

Today's MOZEN: A Confession

F LoBuono

There are certainly days when I feel like I'm simply wasting my time doing this. No one really reads anymore. Or, more accurately, they don't seem to be reading MY stuff anyway. And, for some who actually do participate in this forum, there are those who simply don't like me - not just my writing but, me, personally! I've been called an arrogant dick on more than one occasion. I'm suppose that there is at least some validity to that statement.

Be that as it may, the question remains: WHY BOTHER?

Well, I guess it's because I've had FAR more people tell me to "not give up" and "we need your voice" than those who say "you're such and arrogant dick".

So, as long as I can make a difference in someone's life, I'm here to stay.

WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT: US Grant was Right

US Grant/ Words by F LoBuono

It's an understatement to claim that the removal of Confederate memorial statues from public spaces, primarily in the South, has become a devisive issue. And, it's understandable. Many Southerns have ancestors that fought in the war and died for what they believed was a just cause. Again, remember, most Southern soldiers were NOT slave holders. So, it's hard to tell someone that not only did their ancestor die in vain, they did so for a cause not worth memorializing.

It's also reasonable for the rest of America to want them gone. To the majority of Americans, especially those who do not live in the South, the statues are symbols of not only hate and bigotry, but treason, as well.

While I do see both points of view, I cannot support the former. Although I sympathize with the South's sense of history, their is NO place in contemporary America to memorialize such a flawed sense of duty. In other words, its damned difficult for Southerners to rap their heads around the idea that the fought so valiently against such difficult odds only to have their sacrifice wind up on the trash heap of history.

Many people consider General Ulysses S. Grant the savior of the Union. Working with President Lincoln, they devised a brilliant plan that, with GREAT sacrifice, would bring the South to its knees and preserve the Union. And, it worked. The South was defeated and reflecting Grant's terms of surrender, he became know as Unconditional Surrender Grant.

Near the end of his life, Mark Twain encouraged Grant to write his memiors and wound up publishing them - to great critical success. Within the memoir, he wrote this about his Southern opponents. WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT, he couldn't have been more right!

“As time passes, people, even of the South, will begin to wonder how it was possible that their ancestors ever fought for or justified institutions which acknowledged the right of property in man.” 
― Ulysses S. Grant, Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant: All Volumes

Kind of says it all, don't you think? We're just waiting for the day it finally happens.

Today's MOZEN: Surprised?????

F LoBuono

Please don't tell me that you are surprised or shocked by what just transpired in Charlottesville, Va. Appalled, perhaps. Disgusted, certainly. But, surprised? Really?

I, for one, was certainly not.

I said from the very beginning of Donald J. Trump's candidacy that, if elected, he would fundamentally change what it means to be an American.

Well, he has - with every word and deed.

And, certainly NOT for the better.

The base that elected him are the same people who committed the hate-filled atrocities in Virginia. They are the same people who laughed when he mocked a disabled reporter. They are the same people who chanted "LOCK HER UP" whenever Mr. Trump mentioned Hillary Clinton. They are the same people who cheered when the future President emboldened them to attack reporters. Like a dormant fungus, they waited for just the right conditions to resurface and infect their host. They have always been there - waiting for the right time, place, and leader.

And, the man himself does nothing to discourage such abhorrent behavior. In fact, he encourages it.

His tweets are mean-spirited, poorly written, lack focus and cohesion.

He bullies and insults anyone who has the audacity (or HONESTY) to challenge him.

When he's not flat out lying, he's exaggerating.

He's broken virtually every promise he has ever made to the American people.

His version of making America Great Again is rioting in the streets.

He's a braggart and a phony. Even his hair is fake.

So, what do you expect from those who unabashedly express their dedication to and admiration of this Man Who Would Be King? You get moronic behavior modeled after their mentor - A REALITY TV SHOW HOST.

As I have also said from the very beginning: you get what you pay for. And, we got robbed!!

If you are too blind to see that, it's YOUR problem. I am simply determined not to make it MINE.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: Walking in the Rain

Words and photos by F LoBuono

It was pouring out. I mean, man, it was pissing! It was late, too - approaching 2 a.m. And, it had been a long day. I had just finished a 12 hour shift, 12p-12a. But, I didn't care. I was restless and needed to move. Besides, one never knows what a stormy night might bring with each subsequent downpour.

I have a really good umbrella and waterproof shoes. So, after I swallowed a bourbon (or 2), I slid into those shoes, grabbed that umbrella, and stepped out into the tempestuous night.

The rain was pounding and, I'm sure, most sane individuals were comfortably ensconced in their warm beds. It's about three or four blocks down Broadway from my apartment to the outskirts of the village "downtown".  It was virtually deserted. And, I loved it. The storm was being caused by a sudden cold front invading the warm, most air creating a most refreshing breeze of fresh, cool air. Occasionally, a strong gust would blow cold rainwater into my face, causing a most pleasant sensation. But, besides that, my sturdy umbrella and sensible shoes kept me dry.

As I approached the corner of Broadway and Main streets, I noticed a handsome, young couple walking towads me on the opposite side of the street. They appeared to be in their early 30's and had no umbrella or rain gear. But, still, they were in no hurry. They were strolling, side by side, at a leisurely pace. They weren't even "cringing" like must of us do when we are being pelted by heavy rain. They were having a civil conversation and, obviously, only seemed interested in one another. The rain was irrelevant. In fact, if anything, they seemed to be enjoying the good soaking! They were young, together, and care free.

It made me smile.

They continued on their way and, me, mine.

I walked through the mostly empty village for a few more minutes before turning around to make my way home. The rain never stopped. In fact, I don't think it even let up.

And, it was perfect.

I had another bourbon and went to sleep.

Today's Lesson in Sarcasm

F loBuono

I find him pretentious. It doesn't matter that I'm nobody. I can still have an opinion. You can take it. You can leave it. Doesn't change a thing. Because, I own that opinion. It is mine. And, I find him pretentious. That is all.

Today's MOSTLY TRUE SHORT STORY: My Summer Vacation

F LoBuono

Growing up in Fort Lee, NJ, my family was like most residing there at that time: first or second generation immigrants living the American dream. Most of us had moved from city environs to buy their first homes in the heart of suburbia - or, at least what our parents saw as the suburbs. Fort Lee was more of a transition between the two. But, one way or the other, it certainly was a step-up from where we had lived before.

This was certainly true of my family. We moved in 1958 from a small, cramped apartment in Cliffside Park, NJ to the home my parents purchased in Fort Lee. It had three bedrooms (my parents would take one. my sister another, and my brother and I would share the 3rd), a dinning room, a living room, kitchen, and even a small yard to romp in!

It was like heaven to us.

My brother, sister, and I lived an almost idyllic life there (at least in hindsight). We had a roof over our heads, good parent-providers, food in our bellies, and a neighborhood with good friends. It was a rich existence in almost every way except one; my parents had no money beyond what was absolutely necessary to maintain our presence there. We called it Fort Lee poor. We never went "without" but had to forsake most of the so-called luxury items. For example, my parents never owned a new car until my grandmother bought them one. We used my aunt's recycled carpet for our living room, and we NEVER went away for vacation. Ever. Those things were luxuries we simply could not afford. Instead of going somewhere like Lake George or even the Jersey Shore, as most of my friends did, my mother took us to her childhood home - Coney Island. My grandmother still lived in the house where they grew up and we went EVERY summer to stay with her for a week. When we complained that our friends went down the shore, my mother's response was always consistent: "same ocean".

But, this year was to be different. We were going on vacation - a REAL vacation. Well, sort of . . .

It was the summer of '67. I was 12 and just entering young adulthood - yes, puberty. Unlike most of my friends, I was maturing early - at least physically! I already had the makings of a fuzzy, thin, but VERY black and noticeable mustache on my upper lip. So, I'd rather have been hanging with my friends, acting like a "big man" and flirting with girls at the beach than going with my family to the Catskills.

Yes, THE Catskill Mountains.

The Catskills had become famous for being a get-a-way for mostly Jewish New Yorkers. About 90-100 miles north of the City, its bucolic setting provided a perfect summer escape from the cramped environs of New York. It was such a popular vacation destination for New York Jews that it was affectionately nicknamed The Jewish Alps.

However, what most people don't know is that deep within the Catskills there were very strong Italian/Sicilian enclaves, too. And, we were heading for one.

It was near South Fallsburg, NY and called Villa Paragoni.

Apparently, my grandmother went to the same Sicilian social club in Brooklyn as the matriarch who owned the place. So, she worked out a deal with her and then paid for most, if not all, of our stay.

Despite my desire to be with my friends rather than going away with my family, I still remember being excited for the trip. After all, at least it was some place DIFFERENT than ol' Coney Island! We packed our bags, loaded up my old man's beat up Buick and left to pick up my grandmother in Brooklyn before the long ride up the country: my mother, father, and grandmother in the front seat. My brother, sister, and I rode in the back.

Once we cleared the City traffic, we were on the open road of the New York State Thruway to the mythical place known simply as Upstate. The whole trip would take a little more than 2 hours. During that time, the roads turned from clogged and congested to open and airy. The very air itself changed with each passing mile. I could smell the country! From endless cityscapes, the view changed to small, verdant mountains beckoning in the distance. The brilliant sun showered the distant meadows in a golden light. It was all so surreal. As we left the highway and began taking the back roads to our final destination, we passed farm fields filled with the summer crop of apples and peaches as well as swift running, fresh water streams. I envisioned myself wading in one of the streams catching fresh trout and other fish. The city ethos was quickly being replaced by a country one.

While on one of these country roads, it was not unusual for my grandmother to call for my father to stop the car. She had recognized something growing wild on the side of the road - an Italian delicacy - cardoones. After my father stopped the car, she would jump out, produce a small pocket knife, cut the plant at the stem and place them in a plastic bag to be cooked later. It was all part of the adventure.

After driving for what seemed to be half the day, we finally arrived at our destination: Villa Paragoni. At first impression, it was not much to look out. In fact, it appeared pretty run-down. There was a large, white building that was in the center of the property. Surrounding it were a few bungalow type structures, a swimming pool, some tennis and basketball courts, and playing fields. None of them looked terribly well maintained.

My father pulled up to the white building where the resort's office was located. After making the final arrangements, we were giving a tour of the place. The main building contained the dining room and also a ball room or casino for large parties. Most of the rest of the building was abandoned. The swimming pool was very old and NOT heated. In fact, it was filled with well water so cold that it made your bones hurt just to wade in it. The fields were far from manicured but they were playable. We were eventually led to the bungalows where we would stay for the week. They were rustic to say the least - no AC and few amenities. But, the upside was that we would each have our own bungalow to share; my parents and grandmother in theirs and my brother, sister, and I, ours.

The place was virtually deserted. In addition to our family, I can only remember two or three others there at the same time. We had the place virtually to ourselves. But, still, there were enough young people present to make friends and play volleyball or softball together. Only the hardiest of us were able to swim in the pool - even on the hottest days. We also hiked together and explored the abundant wildlife that surrounded us. But, it was the evenings' dinners that really made the place special. My grandmother's friend, the matriarch, was in charge of the kitchen and EVERY meal was prepared with the freshest, local ingredients EVERY day and night. The meals alone were worth the price of the stay! We had the best, most wholesome Italian food found just about anywhere.

After dinner, the resort's handyman prepared a bonfire for all the guests to enjoy. He was called Hirsch and he layed somewhere on the austism spectrum. He may not have been the brighest but there was virtually nothing he couldn't do around the place. And, he was friendly and fun. In addition to making the fires, he played a little guitar and led us in song.

After sitting around the fire, we usually retreated to the so-called casino in the main building to have some soft drinks, talk, and listen to the jukebox that was there. I recall that the Beach Boys hit, Good Vibrations, was the main title in the jukebox and we listened it so many times I thought the vinyl would wear out. And, there was a girl, about the same age as I was, who I was crazy about. It's funny because I can picture her face so clearly but I can't remember her name. She looked like a young Valerie Bertinelli. I recall dancing with her in the casino and holding her so closely. It made me tingling and I wasn't even sure why! I'm sure that it must have been love. I wanted to kiss her so badly but could never muster the courage.

The week flew by and it seemed that just about as soon as we got there, it was time to leave. We all loved it but never made it back. I'm willing to specualte that the place didn't last much longer after we left. It was part of a bygone era that simply does not exist anymore. I'm sure that the land it was located on was simply to valuable to leave undeveloped. The place must have been sold. Many of the Catskill resorts were actually turned into Ashrmas during the back -to-earth movement of the late 70's. Perrhaps, the place exists in a new form - maybe even as a Buddhist retreat. But, the truth is that I have no idea what became of Villa Paragoni or of those who made it so much fun for us. It lives now only in my memory.

When You Think About It: Just a Chance

F LoBuono

A brief family history:

My mother's family, the Vitanzas, emigrated to this Country in the early 20th Century from a small village in northeastern Sicily called San Salvatore di Fitallia. My grandfather, for whom I am named, was a laborer - a stonemason to be exact. He spoke NO English when he left Sicily. My grandmother dreamt of being a singer on Broadway - a bold dream for a Sicilian girl who spoke NO English.

They came to the States with virtually nothing - no money, no position, no English. What they did have was a CHANCE to show the true value of what they could offer as HUMAN BEINGS! They also had some family already here to help guide them in the transition. But, that's it - just a chance.

They settled in Brooklyn where my grandfather found work doing the "fancy" plaster work that adorns many of Manhattan's great buildings. He worked so long and hard that my mother tells stories of him returning after a day's work with his undergarments in a bag because he had sweat through them. And, he was successful - VERY successful - enough to afford to buy a three-story town house where my mother and her brothers and sister grew up. My grandmother never made it to Broadway but did entertain her fellow Sicilian immigrants by signing at church socials.

It was so important to my grandfather that they all become Americans, he prohibited their native Italian to be spoken in the house. It was English first! Even as busy as he was, my grandfather went to night school to improve his own English! So, they assimilated. The consequence of all this is that we may have belonged but we lost our native tongue. Only years later would I take Italian language courses to regain my heritage.

My grandparents were not only successful, but so were their children and their children's children! All of my aunts and uncles are educated, successful people. All of my cousins are educated, successful people. The same is true of my father's family (also Sicilian immigrants). We are teachers, veterans, business people, journalists, doctors, artists, mothers, fathers, and more. We have lived the American dream.

So, When You Think About It, what is being proposed by the current Administration and GOP Congress makes the dream lived by my family virtually impossible for new immigrants. In fact, if the same standard - competency with English and a highly skilled profession - were applied then, my family simply would not be here!! Think about that. Think about what would have been lost. Take my father alone: he served with distinction in WWII having survived D-Day and the Battle of the Bulge. Had his father not been allowed to emigrate, no Joseph LoBuono - no WWII heroics. And, this scenario would be repeated over and over again to countless families.

No, Mr. President and minions, we will not allow this happen. We will not allow you to continue to dismantle the true meaning of what it means to Make America Great. And, please teach that living skull, Stephen Miller, a little about American history.

FALLEN GODS

                                                               

Words and photo F LoBuono

                                                                               fallen gods

How I love the rain in summer

the Thunder and Lightning

at night

when nature’s awesome power is displayed

for all to see

in a bolt

to pale even the brightest city.

How I love the rain in summer

its boastful roar

beckons a query:

“Must you bellow and exult in your fearsome power,

Old Man”?

How I love the rain in summer

to hear its gentle clatter -

a soft and peaceful music

played upon my bedroom roof

to ease a troubled mind into blissful sleep.

How I love the rain in summer

for the relief it brings

to a parched and thirsty land

Listen

you can hear the earth drink

after a day’s summer swelter.

How I love the rain in summer

filling the air with scent

Fresh, Clean, Renewed

an odor of union

between earth and sky.

How I love the rain in summer

for the gift it truly is

for the memories in my mind

Flowing

like streams of water

Tears

from some fallen god’s eye.