Binghamton, My Battered Hometown

It was a year ago today when my hometown became the latest victim of seemingly random violence. I usually steer away from the phrase "senseless violence", because it gives the impression that violence is sensible. One can argue that it is necessary, such as in self-defense, but not that it's sensible.

In any case, I wrote this piece last year, and posted it elsewhere but I never actually posted it in THIS blog, to my surprise. So on the anniversary of the event here's what I wrote. The * is to an article link that no longer works.
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I grew up on Gaines Street in Binghamton, NY's First Ward (or The Ward, as it was commonly referred to.) Gaines is a one-block street between Oak and Front Streets. When I walked to high school, I'd pass one house before heading south on Front Street. I'd go by the houses that were on my newspaper route a couple years earlier - the Evening and Sunday Press, back in the days when the city of 70,000 had two newspapers six days a week. Invariably, I'd look up Dickinson Street so see in the distance my elementary/junior high school, Daniel S. Dickinson. Then I'd go by the place I used to attend Bible study, followed closely by the American Civic Association, then turn right onto Main Street to get to Binghamton Central high School.

The ACA was not just a place I went by, though. My late father, Les Green, was active in the civil rights front and the Association was active in trying to bring different people together, so he had some relationship with the place, the specifics of which unfortunately escape me.

What I do remember, though, is the fact that my father, sister Leslie and I performed there at least once as the Green Family Singers, with a repertoire of folk, gospel and popular songs. More ingrained in my mind is the fact that in March of 1969, I had my 16th birthday party there. This was an extravagant act on the part of my parents, I thought, renting out the hall for my friends and me. (I specifically recall my father catching one couple making out in a closet.) I still remember some of the presents I received, including Judy Collins' Who Knows Where the Time Goes.

Then on April 3, 2009, the place of some very pleasant memories became the location of yet another batch of senseless violence. Reading the coverage was not an act of disengaged voyeurism; I walked those streets shown on the television, probably a thousand times or more. And my hometown, now a city of 45,000, with but one public high school that was for a time in lockdown that day, became, most awfully, the lead story on the evening news.

Reading the reports, I couldn't help noting that there are those who will always comment on a story to drive home their agenda. In the city's now single local paper's website*, along with expressions of sympathy, distress about the human condition, requests for more help for the mentally ill, and people on both sides of the gun control issue were xenophobic rants about immigration, as though that were the lesson to be learned. I happened across this list of recent mass killings - which I did not even have to look for - makes such a conclusion just bizarre to my mind.

I will save the whys for later. Right now, all I can do is grieve for my hometown in a way that words fail.
ROG

Reasons to Be Cheerful, Part 2

Sunday Stealing: One Long Meme (Part Two)

27. Do you prefer to sleep or eat?

Depends on how tired I am. I NEED that first burst of sleep in order to function. Other than that, I'd probably pick eating.

28. Do you look like your mom or dad?

There are pictures of Carol's and my wedding when I look extraordinarily like my father. Carol, BTW, is still getting used to how much she looks like her mother.

29. How long does it take you in the shower?

Ten minutes, max, unless I'm in there for the massage function of the shower, rather than to clean. The other factors are 1) I'm usually at the Y on the way to work, so I need to hustle and 2) at home, I have to wait out my wife, who takes a bit longer.

30. Can you do the splits?

I could never do a split, even as a kid.

31. What movie do you want to see right now?

Still haven't seen Ponyo, but there are a bunch of them.

32. What did you do for New Year’s?

We probably went to sleep before midnight. Or Carol did and I crawled into bed at 12:01.

33. Do you think The Grudge was scary?

I have no idea what this is.

34. Do you own a camera phone?

There's a photo function on my cellphone, but I don't know how it works.

35. Was your mom a cheerleader?

Seriously doubt it.

36. What’s the last letter of your middle name?

N, as in Owen.

37. How many hours of sleep do you get a night?

Six, almost never in one continous shot.

38. Do you like Care Bears?

Not really, but I haven't done an in-depth analysis as to whether I should.

39. What do you buy at the movies?

Butter, with popcorn. Or the other way around, I think.

40. Do you know how to play poker?

Define "know". I've played for pennies or matchsticks; haven't ever played for real money in decades, and that was for a dollar ante.

41. Do you wear your seat belt?

Oh, heavens yes. Seat belt almost certainly saved my life at least once, and probably thrice.

42. What do you wear to sleep?

Depends on the season. Summer is T-shirt and pajama botttoms. In cooler weather, pajamas; the top and the bottom don't alwasys match.

43. Anything big ever happen in your hometown?

Rod Serling grew up there. There was that dreadful murderous rampage back in April of 2009. Actually, the first big thing I remember happening in Binghamton was the "salt babies" incident.

44. How many meals do you eat a day?

Generally, three.

45. Is your tongue pierced?

No, and don't forsee me doing it.

46. Do you always read MySpace bulletins?

It's been so long since I've dealt with my MySpace page. Hard enough to do Facebook and Twitter.

47. Do you like funny or serious people better?

Depends. There are people who think they are funny but who I don't. Conversely, there are some folks who are so damn serious, they are unrelentingly boring. I'll say funny people, but they actually have to BE funny.

48. Ever been to L.A.?

No; the closest I've been is the Angels stadium in Anaheim.

49. Did you eat a cookie today?

No, but the day is young.

50. Do you use cuss words in other languages?

Only mild invectives.

51. Do you steal or pay for your music downloads?

Actually neither. Amazon has free downloads sometimes as do some artists. I have contributed to the latter.

52. Do you hate chocolate?

No, but I prefer strawberry.

53. What do you and your parents fight about the most?

In the day, it had to do with curfew; I hasd a lousy sense of time when I was a kid.

54. Are you a gullible person?

A useful quote from Ronald Reagan: "Trust but verify." And I never even voted for him.

55. Do you need a girlfriend to be happy?

No, my wife would object.

56. If you could have any job (assuming you have the skills) what what would it be?

A syndicated columnist.

57. Are you easy to get along with?

You mean you don't think I am? Honestly, I'm very mellow about things when I don't have a strong opinion, but I can draw a line in the sand on things important to me. All in all, I'D say yes, but you'd need to ask others, wouldn't you?

58. What is your favorite time of day?

If I'm awake, 5 a.m. It's my alone time.
ROG

A Meme of Firsts

Via SamuraiFrog:

1. Who was your FIRST date?
Difficult to say. I don't recall dating Martha as much as hanging out with her with my friends, then with her more than my other friends. Eventually we kissed a lot.

2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
Yeah, but not often. I went to her wedding. I'm reasonably sure that her husband doesn't know we dated. I used to think that was weird. Then there was this other woman I dated considerably later on; I was going to mention her in this blog actually, but she preferred that I didn't. She's comfortable with the fiction that her husband is the "only one", despite the fact that she was married before. HER husband knows we dated, and in fact recognized me from a drawing of me as a duck that the late Raoul Vezina drew. So maintaining a fiction about the past I've learned to recognize as important to some people. I suppose that includes me.

3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
I don't remember what, but I remember where: it was in a bar on Clinton Street in Binghamton. I was 18, the legal age. My sister was singing there, if I recall correctly and I don't think I had to pay for the drink. It was almost certainly a mixed drink; I want to say Tom Collins.

4. What was your FIRST job?
I've answered this before (newspaper deliverer or library page). The first job I had where I was making any real money was working at IBM in Endicott, near Binghamton. I had graduated from high school in January 1971, and I worked there from March through August. My job was to do these three processes. First was to put this coating over these circuit boards. The second (and the most difficult) was to bake them in these ovens, making sure not to bend the pins or have the coating get on the pins. The third task was to bake this plastic holder onto the circuit boards.

Irritatingly, the first shift did a lot of the first task, leaving the second task to me. And I really had to do it, because the coating would start riding up the pins if they weren't baked within 10 or 12 hours. They didn't like me because I would do the first task so fast that the company raised the rate for that job, something like from 60 to 80 boards per hour. That WAS a tactical error on my part.

I was on the second shift, which ostensibly was 5:12 p.m. to 2 a.m ., with a 48-minute lunch. But I hardly ever worked that shift. It was usually 5:12 p.m. to 4 a.m., and then from 12 noon to 6 p.m. on Saturday. Not only did I save lots of money for college because of the 16 hours of overtime per week - and because I was generally too tired to go out - I managed to lose 30 pounds because I was too tired to eat.

In the summer, there was a guy - I wish I remembered his name - who was a son of an IBM bigwig; he was quite intelligent and as bored as I was. So we would get into his Aston Martin and drive as far away as we could for 20 minutes, then reluctantly drive back.

First time I ever gave blood was while I worked there because I could get paid at work while taking of the hour to donate.

5. What was your FIRST car?
No idea. It was the S.O.'s and it was red and had push button transmission. I once knocked over a Dumpster while driving it; I wanted to go forward but went into reverse.

6. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
I had gotten chosen for this Governor's Conference on Children and Youth when I was in high school, and there were seven of us from the Binghamton area who flew to Albany in a plane with perhaps a dozen seats. It was during a lightning and thunderstorm on the way up. Met Nelson Rockefeller for the first time.

7. Who was your FIRST best friend & do you still talk?
My first best friend was probably Ray Lia from second grade. We were in Cub Scouts together; his mom was our den mother. I didn't see him much in high school; he went to North High instead of Central, because it offered some technical courses he wanted. I pretty much lost track of him until 1976, five years after high school, when he invited me to be in his wedding. I escorted his mom to her seat, which as nice. I caught the garter, which wasn't. We exchange Christmas cards, though most of the writing is by his wife Pam. He is, as of about a month ago, one of my Facebook friends.

8. Whose wedding did you attend the FIRST time?
I have no idea. When I grew up in the church, most of the weddings were open to all the parishoners. So I went to a lot of weddings as a kid. I even sang at a few, notably I Love You Truly, a truly horrific piece of claptrap. I know I attended my sister's godfather Elmer's wedding to Barbara in that period.

As for which of my friends married first whose wedding I actually attended, I'm not at all sure. My sister got married on Halloween 1975; a definite contender.

9. Tell us about your FIRST roommate.
That would be Ron Fields. At New Paltz in 1971-72, there were only two black males in Scudder Hall, a grad student in biology (Ron) and a freshman poli sci major (me), and somehow we ended up as roommates. I'm pretty sure it was no accident. Ron was fine. He did have one great idiosyncrasy that amused me and others; he recorded every cent he spent in a notebook. "Soda, 50 cents," etc. One day, he bought a used car. "Car, $1000." It cracked both of us up.

One day in March 1972, the phone rang fairly early in the morning. It was my father, but Ron didn't let on. He did prompt us to clean the room, then conspired with a friend of mine to get me out of my room so that my family and friends could surprise me that weekend for my 19th birthday. Kentucky Fried Chicken, as I recall.

10. If you had one wish, what would it be (other than more wishes)?
Either the ability to fly or to transport.

11. What is something you would learn if you had the chance?
If I had time, I'd become more computer savvy; I just muddle through.

12. Did you marry the FIRST person you were in love with?
No, and we tried to make it work more than once.

13. What were the first lessons you ever took and why?
Piano lessons when I was eight with Mrs. Hamlin. I was not at all good, but I still remember a lot of those intro lessons by heart. It was also useful in singing, so it wasn't a total waste.

14. What is the first thing you do when you get home?
Take off my shoes. Keep the carpet clean.

ROG

B is for Binghamton

Binghamton is a city located on the Southern Tier of New York State. It is the county seat of Broome County. It was named after a rich guy named William Bingham, how owned the land in the 1790s. Yet, the place has often been misspelled as Binghampton, as though it were part of the Hamptons of Long Island. Google "Binghampton" and you'll find some references to Binghamptons in Illinois and Tennessee, among others, but also many erroneously referring to a place in in New York State, such as this one. The most egregious error I ever saw was on a road map book. The New York State map actually was accurate, but the Pennsylvania map - Binghamton is less than 20 miles from the PA border - spelled it Binghampton. It's BINGHAMton, town of Bingham.

Why am I obsessing on this? Because it's my hometown.

You can read about Binghamton in its Wikipedia posting, and it seems accurate as far as it goes. It is at the confluence of two rivers; I was almost arrested for swimming in one once, a long time ago. It WAS called the Parlor City, and I recall a Parlor City Shoe Store when I was lived there in the 1960s.

I grew up in the First Ward of Binghamton, or "The Ward", a melting pot of largely people of southern and eastern European stock (Italian, Czech, Ukrainian, Russian, and especially Polish). I remember halupki and pierogies, plus the regional favorite, the spiedie.

Binghamton's school district used to do something quite interesting when I was growing up. Instead of starting school only in September, kids could start in September or February. the kids that started in the winter had birthdays in December through March, generally. While my sisters (born in May and July) went to school in September, I started in February because my birthday was in March. Of course, our class sizer was smaller because it was taken from a different calendar pool. One of the things I recall is that, while we had the same teacher for kindergarten (Miss Cady) all year, we had eight different teachers for Grades 1 through 4. At least two of the teachers left because they were "in the family way", as they used to call pregnancy.

What was particularly important in my growing up was that our school, Daniel S. Dickinson, was a K-9 school, with the younger kids on the lowest floor and the junior high kids on the third floor. There were 16 kids in my sixth grade class, nine (including me) who had gone to kindergarten together. Seventh grade meant an infusion from other elementary schools including the Catholic parochial school nearby. Yet by the end of ninth grade, we still only had 16 kids, including the same none from K. Dickinson was razed a couple decades ago for a housing development.

I went to Binghamton Central High School back in the day when there were two public schools, Central and North. The declining city population, from over 80,000 in 1950 to under 50,000 in 2000 meant that the blue and white of the Central HS Bulldogs and the red and blue of the North HS Indians gave way in 1982 to the red, white and blue of the Binghamton HS Patriots.

For many years, the area used to have a baseball team called the Triplets, named for Triple Cities of Binghamton, Johnson City and Endicott, though the latter two were actually villages rather than cities. It was never called, in my hearing/reading, Binghamton Triplets except in out-of-town box scores. It was primarily a farm team of the New York Yankees, though other teams had brief affiliations. Johnson Field, in Johnson City, was razed in the late 1960s that Route 17, the major east/west corridor from the northern suburbs of New York City to western New York State, could be rerouted through the area. Binghamton was without a minor league baseball team (or stadium for same) until the early 1990s, when the Binghamton Mets, a farm team of the New York Mets, came to town.

I recall vividly Christmas Eve 1971 when downtown Binghamton was bustling with activity at McLean's and Fowler's department stores, plus a variety of other shops. The decline in downtown was easily visible to anyone who had been there over time, with one department store, Boscov's in the old Fowler's building now a primary guardian against a massive collapse of the downtown business district.

I know it's a story not unusual in the so-called Rust Belt of the Northeast and Midwest United States, where formerly thriving industrial towns are now struggling. I myself thought of Binghamton like the Simon & Garfunkel song My Little Town; Billy Joel's Allentown also comes to mind. It is, though, http://www.streetsblog.org/2006/09/11/binghamton-revitalizing-around-livable-downtown/ trying to make a comeback.

Still, it was where I was rooted. It is a comfortable place to return from time to time. I mean, it's the carousel capital of America; the one in Recreation Park inspired Rod Serling, who grew up in Binghamton in the late 1930s, to write an episode of his television series, the Twilight Zone in the 1960s. So it was with no small bit of surreal horror when I discovered on April 3 of this year, that my little town was the site of another case of mass violence. I don't have much more to say on it than I said here, except to reiterate that it wasn't just an assault on the city, but of the specific location, one with which I had more than passing familiarity.

Binghamton was incorporated as a village in 1834, so this year marks 175 years since that event, though it wasn't incorporated as a city until 1867. I wish my hometown hope and healing.

The map is c. 1920. The high school noted was my high school, the cemetery south of Prospect Street is Spring Forest Cemetery, where my material grandmother and many of her relatives are buried, and very close to where she lived. I lived just off Front Street, north of the railroad tracks. The First Ward is north of the tracks and west of the north/south running Chenango River.


ROG

Sweet Hitchhiker

Something Jacquandor cited reminded me of this: my primary form of transportation during my college days in New Paltz in the Mid-Hudson Valley of NYS was hitchhiking. I lived in Binghamton in the Southern Tier of NYS my first year in college, 150 miles and at least three highways away (Route 17, and then there were options). Even when I moved to New Paltz, there were friends to visit back in my hometown.

The easiest hitch I ever had involved me trying to get from New Paltz to Binghamton. Somehow, I found a large metal orange and white sign, perhaps cast off from a gas station. It said 17. I put it out on the outskirts of town and got picked up by a guy from the CIA who dropped me off at the Binghamton exit maybe a half mile from my grandmother's house. Oh, the CIA is the Culinary Institute of America.

I lived briefly in Kingston, maybe a dozen miles away from New Paltz, and hitched back and forth on Route 32 as well.

But my regular hitch in my freshman year was with my buddy Jay Rose. It was exceedingly easy to thumb a ride to New York City; just stand at the Thruway entrance. What was more difficult was hitching back to New Paltz. I discovered that the best way was to take the subway #4 line as far north as possible, take a commuter bus as far north as it would go on 90 cents, and THEN start seeking rides.

For four months in 1977, I lived in Charlotte, NC, a place that I did not much enjoy. It had lousy mass transit and I was broke. Ultimately, I hitched out of Charlotte to Binghamton; it took about 24 hours. Hitching in the South in 1977 might not have been the wisest move, but it was an incident-free trip, though I was stuck outside of Harrisburg, PA seemingly forever.

I stopped hitching in 1979, not out of any sense of real danger, but because it just took too long. A 150-mile trip from Binghamton to Schenectady took over six hours on old Route 7, pre I-88.

The trip I remember best I did with my friend Alice. Friends of ours were in a terrible car accident; a couple died and the rest were in a hospital in Hornell, NY, pretty much in the middle of the state. We got through Binghamton OK, but had slow going past there. Then one guy finally picked us up. He wanted to save our souls, and surely our souls needed saving, for we appeared to be a mixed race couple, and miscegenation was a sin according to his interpretation of the Word. (His basis for this theory was the OT prohibition against Jews intermarrying, I'm guessing.) However, he was otherwise harmless and let us out when he got to where he was going.

Alice and I never did get to Hornell, since this involved traveling on a rural road, Route 34, and we may not have met the appropriate demographic profile to get picked up. Instead, we went back to New Paltz, in record time, considering it was the middle of the night by then.

We always wondered what that guy would have said if he had found out that Alice was a lesbian.
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In honor of John Fogerty's birthday late last month, Sweet Hitchhiker - Creedence Clearwater Revival



ROG

April Ramblin'

I briefly attended that vigil for Binghamton yesterday. Would have stayed longer but for the fact that it was cold, occasionally rainy, and I had the child, who has been sick recently, in tow. She may not have understood the point of the gathering, attended by about 45, including Albany's mayor (who, not incidentally is, running for re-election), but I still wanted her to be there. That event, along with the story in question, probably prompted this response from me.

THE best television newsperson to come out of the Capital District of New York State, Ed Dague, is in chronic pain. Touching story. I met him at least twice, which I should write about sometime, I reckon.

Greg finds legislation he just can't get behind.

Gordon touts Robert Johnson, as well he should.

They are remastering the whole Beatles catalog. Given the fact that I've already bought it all about thrice (US LP, UK LP, CD), do I want to buy this AGAIN? No, yet the Past Masters package sounds annoyingly intriguing.

Ken Levine talks about Point of View, one of my favorite episodes of M*A*S*H. Did the TV show House steal it? Didn't see the House ep, but I have my doubts.

15 free downloads to pep up your old PC, which I haven't tried yet, but I figure if I post it, it'll remind me.

I'm getting fairly obsessed with getting the Denver mint state quarters. All I need are Hawaii, Washington state, Missouri and, most problematic, Pennsylvania, the eldest. Oh, and the District of Columbia; just got the Philly mint version this week. Haven't seen the Puerto Rico quarter yet.

My good buddy Steve Bissette discusses, in great deal, including 27 8 by 10 color glossies, Saga of the Swamp Thing #20, the transitional first issue by Alan Moore, John Totleman, and himself that starts off the neat book I just received.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6

Speaking of Swamp Thing, the co-creator of, and later Steve's editor on, the title, coping as well as one can, given the circumstances, but there's a movement afoot to replace the comics he wrote or edited and, to that end, for people to contribute to a Len Wein comics checklist. I always liked his work during my days of reading Marvel Comics.

So THAT'S what happened at the Albany Comic Show Sunday, before I got there.

ADD's Eisner picks. I'll take his word for it, since the only thing on the list I own is Mark Evanier's Kirby book, though Coraline has been on back order for about a month.

Evanier tells A Story You Won't Believe about Spike Jones.

I'm so pleased: Two weekends ago, we went to the in-laws for their 50th wedding anniversary. Last weekend was Lydia's 5th birthday party at the State Museum. Next weekend is something else again. This coming weekend, Easter, the wife and her mother were trying to come up with a plan to get together. The final resolution - we're all staying in our respective homes and resting; I mean we'll go to church and all, but no travel. I for one am exhausted, and so is my wife, so this is a good thing.

Nik from Spatula Forum celebrates five years of blogging by talking about...

Arthur from AmeriNZ celebrates both his 100th blogpost and two years of podcasting.

ROG

Vigil for Binghamton in Albany

ROG

F is for Fire

As I was growing up, I spent a great deal of time at my grandma's house, as she lived just a half dozen blocks from my house in Binghamton, NY and as close to my elementary school as my own house, so I'd often have lunch there. She had a coal stove and one my jobs was to to go down to the basement and shovel up a couple pails of coal to keep the fires burning.

After my grandmother moved south, and I stayed in her house in the winter of 1975, I realized how inept I was at keeping the fires going on my own. Obviously, I was doing something wrong, and the flames went out. So it's February, it's bitterly cold, I have a mountain of covers on and I'm using a space heater. A quilt comes off the bed and catches fire. Fortunately something woke me up, perhaps the acrid smell, but possibly some psychic connection to my mother who SWEARS she woke up in Charlotte, NC at that very time to warn me; I don't dismiss it out of hand.

When I was about nine, there was a massive fire on my grandma's one-block street, Maple Street. An apartment complex called the Rogers Block, four wooden structures as I recall, all caught fire and were utterly destroyed. I don't believe anyone was hurt, but naturally, many lives were disrupted. It took a while for the area to be razed, and for months, I'd walk by from across the street and smell that very distinct post-fire odor.

Every year, at Midwinter's, there's a bonfire where one can throw pieces of paper representing things to get rid of from the previous year, although one year, we threw in the chair of one of our founding members of the tribe, who had died the year before. Indeed, the fire that represents me on this blog comes from a photo of a Midwinter's wax magick burst.

Totally coincidentally, this week, my daughter had me read a book called A Chair for My Mother by Vera B. Williams, which is about a family who lost everything in a fire, got some stuff from their neighbors, but who were saving up for a nice plush chair to put into the new apartment. It's a Caldecott winner, and I'd recommend it.

My sister lives in southern California, not in a traditionally fire-prone area, yet a couple years ago, she could see the flames in her neighborhood. She was fortunately spared, but many were not. The photo above I believe she took.

I recall that there was this young woman on JEOPARDY! in the college tournament a few years back who had experienced a fire and was pleased that she was able to start over; Alex Trebek looked at her as though she were crazy, but at some level, I understood her point.

The dichotomy about fire fascinates me: useful tool, destructive force. Even theologically, that comes up, the notion of hellfire

vs. the idea of being "on fire for the Lord". Today is Ash Wednesday and it is with the remnants of fire with which some Christians will be marked.

Anyway, here's one of my favorite fire songs, by the OHIO PLAYERS:


ROG

A is for Alphabet

My wife went to Ukraine in the summer of 2002 - the preparation for which was complicated by a bat in our home. A couple years later, a friend of hers made the same teaching trip and gave our newborn daughter an alphabet book from there. The title appears to be AbETKA - it's the B-looking letter that's the second, rather than the third letter of the Cyrillic alphabet.

This alphabet was not entirely foreign to me. I grew up in a city called Binghamton, NY, an upstate New York locale with a number of eastern Europeans. The Russians and the Ukrainian churches, primarily Eastern Orthodox in faith, sometimes used both Cyrillic and Latin/Roman.

As for the latter, it has some variety among the many languages in which it appears, such as accented letters (á, è, î), extra letters, and ligatures (two or three letters joined together - æ, e.g). this page has links how to type special letters in Windows, MAC, and HTML,m plus much more.

A recent Final JEOPARDY!: 2009-01-09 ALPHABETS: In the phonetic alphabet used by the U.S. military, it's the only letter that has the same name as a warrior people.

Ending up with the Jack Kirby alphabet and a couple of Sesame Street pieces:

LINK


LINK

JEOPARDY! - What is Zulu?

Rod Serling's 1968 Binghamton Central High School Commencement Address

A January 28, 1968 address at his alma mater. (I started school there in February 1968 - nuts):

If conscience dictates that you disapprove of it—speak out that disapproval. Carry a sign, if you like. Or a placard or a banner. Yell out the slogan that comes to mind and that comes from heart. Too many wars are fought almost as if by rote. Too many wars are fought out of sloganry, out of battle hymns, out of aged, musty appeals to patriotism that went out with knighthood and moats. Love your country because it is eminently worthy of your affection. Respect it because it deserves your respect. Be loyal to it because it cannot survive without your loyalty. But do not accept the shedding of blood as a natural function or a prescribed way of history—even if history points this up by its repetition.

Find the whole speech here. It's a link on a Serling pathfinder.

An essay (or sermon) on Rod.

ROG

The Social Contract

Saturday, a couple friends of mine came over to our house. They didn't know each other, but they discovered that they had both spent time in the northern plains of the United States, particularly North Dakota, at different times. One had lived in Fargo (yeah, I hear you doing those Frances McDormand imitations), and noted that not only did people keep their houses and cars unlocked 20 to 30 years ago, they often left the keys in the car, in case one of their neighbors had a need to move it. Leave your keys in the ignition now, and someone is likely to to move the auto - to another state.

This reminded me of my childhood in Binghamton, NY. My hometown tended to be cloudy and rainy. When I was walking to school, especially the last three years of high school, I'd see cars with their lights left on. I'd open the car door and turn the lights off. I did this a LOT. One day alone, I did this 22 times. Of course, now I'd have neither the means (automatic locks hinder access), the need (automatic lights now go out) or the nerve (someone would assume I was stealing their vehicle, which actually happened in Jackson Heights, Queens, NYC in 1977).

No one told me to turn off car lights; I just figured that if I were in a similar situation, I'd rather someone turn off my lights rather than let the battery run down. A few people have at least told me that I had left my bike lights on, and perhaps some kind stranger has actually turned the light off.

Of course, one can disagree about what constitutes the social contract. My wife wanted me to not shovel the walk yesterday until the storm stopped so that the freezing rain would sit atop the snow. But my sense of the contract is that if I am able, and have the time, I should remove the four or five inches in the morning, then return to put down deicer as necessary. As we trudged through the snow to and from the bus stop yesterday, I think she appreciated more my point of view. Not only did I shovel our walk, but I also shoveled a pathway all the way to the street in case our newspaper delivery lady needed to use it, and she did.

As it turns out, some bloggers have designated today, December 17, as a day to post their stories about the acts of kindness they have performed recently. I was recalling a conversation on Anthony's page, especially the comments, as to whether we need to designate a day to give thanks. Well, theoretically no, but in actually, perhaps. In the same manner, we ought not need a day to be kind to others, but if it helps makes the world just a little less hostile, I'm in favor. Whether I've done anything recently that would qualify specifically as a kindness, I'm not sure, but I'll settle with trying to do so every day.

ROG

"The Place That God Forgot"

That's the pet name that one of my best friends has for our old hometown of Binghamton, NY. I think it's a bit harsh, but I do know where she's coming from.

My sister Leslie flew from San Diego to Albany on August 10, and my mother from Charlotte, NC to Albany on August 12. One doesn't fly into Binghamton from hardly anywhere; it cheaper to fly into Albany or Syracuse or New York City, then rent a car or take a bus.

Leslie, my mom and I drove down to Binghamton that weekend for my sister's XXth high school reunion; my mom and I saw friends. I was hanging out with another one of my friends from grade school when three very drunk people approached us about going somewhere on foot at 7 pm; there just isn't very much to do in downtown Binghamton most evenings, though there are pockets of improvements.

Binghamton is an odd place. Where I grew up in the 1960s, in the First Ward, the housing stock is much the same, and therefore deteriorating or vacant, mixed with these incongruous pockets of yuppie houses with Beemers in front.

But it's my hometown. More specifically, it's my mom's hometown, and she gets joy visiting our old church, her old friends. We've done that trip three or four years n a row now. Binghamton's only 150 miles from Albany, but it feels like a half a lifetime away; for my mom's sake, it's worth the trip.

Happy 80th birthday, Mom.
ROG

Autumnal

There are people who really love the fall; I'm not one of them. I did notice, however, that when the family went pumpkin picking in Feura Bush, only abut 10 minutes from the Albany city line but most definitely rural, the colors were astonishingly more vibrant than any of the pale palate I've experienced in the city.

But the past week also had its own specific issues. Elizabeth Naismith, a member until the last couple years of the First Presbyterian choir died a couple weeks back, but her funeral wasn't until yesterday. Her mother and she had their own cheese shop in Edinburgh Scotland, until her mother died, then she came to the United States to take care of an ailing uncle in Vermont. She finally made her way to Albany, where at age 70, she joined a church, my church, for the first time. She was a lovely, caring woman with a slight brogue. We left an empty chair with a robe draped on it when we sang for her service yesterday. Her obit is here.

Two other First Pres choir members were in the hospital this week, and those two I knew from my previous church, Trinity, as well. After singing all weekend with a shortness of breath, he went into the hospital Monday with pulmonary embolisms (blood clots) of the lung; she had a less serious medical procedure on Friday.

I worried about my sister and niece in the California fires, though that ended up with a good outcome.

Finally, there were a bunch of kids at Binghamton Central High School in the late 1960s who were the anti-war, left of center crowd. But we were all friends as well, partying together, sometimes romancing each other. We dubbed ourselves "Holiday Unlimited", and our theme was "A splendid time is guaranteed for all", which we copped from some pop song.

George Hasbrouck was one those folks. He died Sunday, October 7 at his home in Morristown NJ. He was 55. No cause of death was given in the obit in The Binghamton Press a couple weeks ago. We had all lost touch with George, though many had tried; as one friend put it, "he eschewed contact." His obit is here.

The last time I saw him was probably 17 years ago at the BCHS Class of '70's 20th reunion. Yet I still feel quite sad about it.

So, it was a bit of a downer of a week. Sorry.
ROG

Interview by Dymowski

Gordon writes: As promised, here are my five interview questions for your blog.

1) You've discussed Rod Serling multiple times on your blog. My question - what are your favorite Serling-written pieces? (You can pull from anywhere - the Playhouse 90 stuff, Twilight Zone, Night Gallery, et al)

There were some pre-Twilight Zone pieces, and maybe a Night Gallery or two, but I think I'll stick with Twilight Zone, because there were so many:
"Time Enough at Last" with Burgess Meredith as a man after a nuclear war with time enough to read (finally!), but then who breaks his glasses.
"The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" with Claude Akins and Jack Weston. The power goes out. Is it the aliens? It turns out the monsters are ourselves. For some reason, in some ways, reminds me of an old EC comics story about the guy who is not saluting the flag, so the crowd beats him to death, figuring he's a Commie, when, in fact, he lost his sight fighting in the war on our side.
"It's a Good Life" with Billy Mumy as a very scary, and powerful, kid.
"A Game of Pool" with Jack Klugman, playing the game of, and for, his life.
"Nightmare at 20,000 Feet" with William Shatner. Is there something on the wing of the airplane, or is he crazy? This segment also appears in the Twilight Zone movie, perhaps to lesser effect.
I'm sure there are others: "The Dummy", "To Serve Man". There's one, Little Girl Lost, with a kid going under the bed and ending up in another dimension, that TERRIFIED me in the day. I must also mention "Walking Distance", that DOES have a carousel that reminds me of Rec Park in Binghamton. There was a segment, Nightmare as a Child, that was also in the Twilight Zone movie; I laughed out loud when I saw it at movie's world premiere in Binghamton, because it namechecked Helen Foley, his favorite teacher and one of mine, who was in the audience at the time.
BTW, Gordon sent me this link to a bunch of "The Twilight Zone" TV Bumpers; here's a definition of a bumper. Lots of them are for cigarette ads, especially early on; tobacco killed Rod Serling far too young. Oh, the picture above was purloined from here; when IS that museum going to open?

2) As a relatively new father, what aspect of parenting - or your daughter's future - are you a little concerned about? Any adjustments that you think you will have to make?

There is always a balancing act between letting her do as much as she wants and making sure she doesn't get hurt or frustrated or spoiled. She tends to be wary of strangers, which has its good and not-so-good elements. The world can be scary, and I want her to be cautious without being paranoid. It's a fine line, that.

3) Does your local public library have a summer reading program? And if so, do you participate?

Yes, and as a matter of fact, as a member of the Friends of the Albany Public Library has authorized money to subsidize the program. Do I participate myself? No, but I'm sure we will in the future.

4) What strange, hidden secret of Fred Hembeck do you think the comics-reading public should know?

Interesting. I saw Fred, his wife Lynn, and daughter Julie just yesterday. He is a piler. He has piles of stuff. Reference materials for his blog here, reference materials for his cover redoes there. His Superman DVDs under those for Gilmore Girls. It's not messy, exactly; it's rather organized chaos.

5) What is your all-time favorite book?

I once said the World Almanac, and it's probably true, or maybe one of those Billboard singles or album books. But if you're talking about books with actual paragraphs, O Albany! by William Kennedy. I know this is sacrilege, but I've never gotten through any of Bill Kennedy's Albany-based fiction, and I've tried. But I enjoyed his non-fiction piece. Favorite fiction, and I read very little these days: A Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood.

ROG

Walking Home, Minding My Own Business

I found the experience of being called for jury duty last week to be extremely affecting on me, despite the fact that I never even got to actually sit in the box. It forced me to think about a number of things. By the end of the week, all will be made clear. Maybe.

Part of it involves this story about my childhood, which I could have sworn I had told before. Maybe it's that I THOUGHT about telling it more than once.

Anyway, so I don't have to keep mentioning it throughout the story, all of the players in this tale, except for my father and me, are white.

As I've described previously, I lived in a predominately Slavic neighborhood in Binghamton, upstate New York, and there were only a handful of black kids in my school. Often, I would walk my friends home before going home myself. Often it included my friend Carol (not to be confused with my wife Carol).

One day, though, when I was 16, my classmates weren't around for some reason, and I ended walking a girl named Peggy, who lived across the street from Carol, home. We weren't great friends, but we went to the same elementary school, which was small, so we were friendly.

Just as I get to Peggy's house, this guy from next door to Peggy's house started yelling racial slurs at me, and quite possibly at us. He was under the mistaken impression that she and I were dating. Having been trained in the method,of Martin Luther King, Jr., I ignored him. I said nothing, and I did not look at him.

Suddenly, the guy, who has been getting closer and closer, attacks me. I'm not sure that I saw him coming. He was, it turned out, a 23-year-old Marine from Florida who was visiting his father. Don't remember much except that my glasses flew off. I found them, and retreated to Peggy's porch. By this time, Peggy's mother, who must have heard the commotion, was on the porch in a shouting match with the Marine and his family.

Someone had called the police. I explained to the officer what happened; I presume the Marine gave his version, too. The policeman said that I could press charges if I wanted to.

I went home, talked with my folks, and decided to go downtown the next day. The judge, whose name I've forgotten, took my paperwork, but made it clear that he thought my actions were silly. He believed - perhaps from the police report - that it was just "some spat over a girl."

I went home and I was livid. LIVID. I could use a half dozen exclamation marks to express my near rage at being dismissed in that way. So I wrote a letter, a long, angry, nasty letter to the judge, commenting on his lack of listening skills. It wasn't "some spat over a girl"; this jerk attacked me, and him making light of it was not helpful. Having composed it, I did not feel compelled to mail it. And I didn't.

Instead, my father hand-delivered my letter to the judge. Obviously, I didn't ASK him to do it, and now I've a bit peeved with him, too.

The judge then called and asked to see me. I complied, and he apologized to me.

There was a trial, with that same judge on the bench. I testified, Peggy and, I think, her mother testified. I'm not sure because I didn't hear it. They kept me out of the room, to see if our testimonies jibed; my father, who was in the courtroom, assured me that they did.

Then the Marine, his father, and I think his mother and/or his wife or girlfriend testified. This testimony I did hear, and the details were wildly inconsistent.

Anyway, I suppose you'd like to know the results of the trial. So would I. I never got word from the judge or his office as to the outcome. Since I don't remember the name of the Marine, perhaps I never will. To this day, I appreciate the actions of Peggy and her mother, neither of whom I've seen in decades.

First time I ever voted, in 1971, the judge was up for re-election on my absentee ballot. I didn't vote for him, though; I wrote in my father.

Mushroom cloud

I had this great teacher in sixth grade named Paul Peca. Among other things, he had us write in our journals about our thoughts. We also discussed the issues of the day, such as the 1964 general election between Lyndon Johnson (the peace candidate, in retrospect, ironically) and Barry Goldwater (who was depicted in one very effective commercial which ran but one time as the guy who would lead the world to a nuclear holocaust.) We held a mock election in which LBJ beat AuH2O 13-3. It was clear that Mr. Peca preferred Goldwater.

We had this great debate about the dropping of the atomic bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. His position was that the dropping of those bombs (and the threat to drop others, even though we didn't HAVE any more) ended the war sooner than continuing to fight a conventional war. He also noted that there were greater deaths in battles such as Dresden, Germany (130,000) than in either of the Japanese cities (120,000), which was the conventional wisdom of the time. (Dresden's deaths in February 1945 are now estimated to have been 25,000 to 60,000.)

What we argued was that the effect of the atomic bombs was not just limited to its immediate destructive force but the anguish that was suffered by future generations. How well that was understood at the time the bomb was dropped versus what was learned subsequently about the devastating effects of nuclear radiation was also discussed.

I don't remember if we talked about the fact that the only uses of of the atomic bomb were on people of color, or whether that was a conversation of a later class.

There is a movie called Atomic Cafe, which I saw when it came out about 25 years ago. It was a history of the A-bomb from the 1940s to the early 1960s, told in clips ("duck and cover", Prersidential announcements) and song ("Jesus Hits Like an Atomic Bomb", "Atomic Cocktail"). It was funny (in parts), but also quite sobering. I used to play the LP every year so that I would never forget the insanity of nuclear war. (I've never seen the soundtrack listed, though several of the songs appear here, an inferior product, so I've read.}

As we mark the 60th anniversary of the dropping of the atomic bomb this week, I note that we've never used it again on people. This suggests (perhaps foolishly) that we've learned from our history.

Haven't we?

Haven't we?

Spring 1975

I’m having an Alice's Restaurant moment.

By that, I mean that I want to tell you a story. But first, I need to tell you ANOTHER story. In the Arlo Guthrie song, he talks about 7 minutes about, well, Alice’s Restaurant, and garbage. But then he says: "That’s not what I came to tell you about. Came to talk about the draft." Now, my second story, I'll write about eventually, but probably not for this week.

At the end of the fall 1974 semester at the State University College at New Paltz (NY), I broke up with the person who would soon be my ex-wife Nona. She moved to Philadelphia for reasons that were unclear to me then, and certainly no clearer 30 years later. The primary relationship issues were religion and money.

I drifted to Binghamton, my hometown. In January 1975, my sister Leslie and I kidnapped my 75-year old grandmother and took her by train to Charlotte, NC, where her daughter (my mother) had moved the year before. Gram was getting lame. She had a coal stove and it would have been dangerous to get up and down the stairs to get it. Nor could she walk up the steep street on which she lived.

When we came back a couple weeks later, I didn’t have any idea what to do next. So I ended up living in my grandmother’s home. Funny thing, though; as often as I had seen her tend to the coal fire in my childhood, I could not keep it going at all. I suffocated it, essentially. Even got help from a friend; no success.

Eventually, the pipes froze. It was an old wood house with old wiring, so I could either run the refrigerator or run the space heater. Given the cold of the house, I opted for the latter.

In February 1975, I spent virtually the whole month in bed watching television. My grandmother’s TV only got one station, the VHF station Channel 12. So I watched the soaps, Hee Haw, and whatever was on CBS that month. It was undoubtedly the deepest state of melancholy I’d ever been in.

The space heater was on the ground and, of course, I had every cover I could find. One night, a blanket, handmade by Nona, fell off the bed in front of the space heater. Fortunately, the acrid smell woke me up and I was OK. My sister Leslie told me later that my mother (in NC) THAT NIGHT woke up from a dream in which I was surrounded by fire, and stayed awake for a time. Perhaps my mother woke me up six states away. I don't dismiss that out of hand.

Occasionally, I’d go to the library to listen to music on the record player and headphones there. I remember once listening to the Beatles' Abbey Road. The song that ended the first side was "I Want You (She’s So Heavy)". During the dirgelike instrumental ending, I cranked it up louder and louder. So when the instruments suddenly stopped, I really thought for a half second that I had died.

Now and then, I’d visit my friend Carol, which is where I got cleaned up.

I didn't have a phone, so I missed at least a couple opportunities to get a job. Eventually, though, I got a position as a janitor in Binghamton City Hall. There were 4 or 5 of us covering the building. I used to clean the wastebaskets from the desks of the police officers and also clean the holding cells, as well as wash windows, buff the floors of the common areas and other tasks. Two of the guys started calling me Flash because I would get my work done by the end of the sixth hour of my eight hour day, at which point I’d hide in the bathroom or a storage room and read. It wasn’t that I was so fast, it was that they were very slow.

I really liked the police captain, and we would occasionally have erudite conversations about issues of the day or my future (which seemed bleak to me, but I’m sure I didn’t say that.) The police officers, however, were a more hostile lot in general, and I often felt that they would intentionally make a mess so that I would have to pick it up.

Now there were folks who ABSOLUTELY were making a mess that I had to clean up, and they were the prisoners. These were holding cells they were in, and the detainees were usually there only one night before being arraigned in the morning. So they thought nothing of taking a lighted match and melting the paint from the walls. More than once, they would take their own bodily wastes and smear that on the walls. Perhaps they thought that they were getting back at "the system," but all they were doing was making more work for a college dropout.

As the weather warmed, my spirits brightened somewhat. I started going out with this woman named Margaret, but it was a classic rebound situation, and that lasted about a month. At the same time, I ended up doing a play. And in the fall, I successfully returned to school at New Paltz.

It was one of my more difficult periods of my life, and I figured that if I could survive that, I could survive just about anything.

But that’s not what I really wanted to write about. I wanted to write about home ownership...

On a Carousel

Music playing in my head: The Hollies

I'm sure you ALL know that Binghamton, NY, my hometown, is "America's Carousel Capital". In the Binghamton area, there are six, count 'em, six, olde-fashioned merry-go-rounds. And the admission is FREE (or perhaps one piece of litter to place in a nearby trash can.) Travelers make a point to go to all half dozen. Bicyclers have been known to ride from park to park in order to ride all of them in one day; there's about 20 miles of bike riding involved in that endeavor.

The New York State Museum in Albany also has a carousel. It's a historic merry-go-round purchased over a quarter century ago, refurbished, and now made available to the general public. A $1 donation is requested.

Lydia has been on her first two merry-go-round rides in the past couple weeks in a period of three days. On a Saturday evening, we went to one of the Binghamton-area rides (actually in west Endicott). Unfortunately, it closed early, so it was the last ride of the evening. Actually, it was the last TWO rides, for the operator failed to turn on the music for what she announced was the last ride, so we got to go again.

Then on a Monday afternoon, we went to the fourth floor of the museum, and caught the last ride on THAT carousel.

We didn't ride the horses (Lydia's a bit young for that, we decided), but she loved the motion of the horses, and the colorful designs. She ESPECIALLY loved the music. That's my girl.

"Round and round and round and round and round
And round and round and round with you.
Up, down, up, down, up, down too."

Play ball!

Today is the beginning of baseball season.

WHAT? you proclaim. The Yankees, Mets, Red Sox and the other teams have been playing for nearly two months. Indeed they have, but I wasn't talking about Major League Baseball. I was talking about Minor League Baseball, specifically the Class A New York-Penn (NY-P) League.

When I was growing up in Binghamton, my father or grandfather (but seldom both) would take me to see the Triplets. They were team in the Eastern League from 1923 to 1963 and again in 1967 and 1968. They were called the Triplets because they represented the Triple Cities in New York State's Southern Tier: Binghamton, Johnson City, and Endicott (the fact that only Binghamton was a city and the other two were villages is not germane to the discussion). The out-of-town papers referred to the team as Binghamton. They were an affiliate of the New York Yankees from 1932 to 1961, so I was a fan of the Bronx Bombers as a kid.
I saw Al Downing pitch there. He eventually became a Yankee starter. (He was best known, though, for being the Dodgers pitcher when Atlanta Braves' star Hank Aaron hit home run #715 in 1973, breaking Babe Ruth's record.)
The Triplets were a Kansas City Athletics affiliate in 1962 and 1963. The team spent three years (1964-66) in the lower level NY-P League, linked with the Milwaukee Braves the first year, and the Yankees subsequently before their brief return to the Eastern League, still affiliated with the Yanks. Then nothing, as Johnson Field was torn down after the 1968 season so that a newer Route 17 could be built west of Binghamton.

That Yankee Class A NY-P team that was in Binghamton in 1965 & 1966 ended up in Oneonta for over 30 years before moving again. Oneonta is now a Tiger affiliate in the NY-P.

Albany has had trouble fielding a team. For a time, they had an Eastern League team in Heritage Park in Colonie (near Albany) that was affiliated with the Oakland A's (1983-84), then the New York Yankees (1985-94.) I saw Bernie Williams play there. But those arrangements eventually collapsed.
Then there were the Diamond Dogs (alas, no David Bowie) in an independent league not affiliated with major league baseball. I went to a few of those games and they were quite a bit of fun, though not always the highest caliber of play.
Now, the Capital District has a new team, the Tri-Cities Valley Cats (the Tri-Cities in this case being Albany, Schenectady and Troy -- all CITIES) in the NY-P League.
The out-of-town papers referred to the team as Troy. Today's opener is against the Oneonta Tigers at the Joseph L. Bruno Stadium, nicknamed "The Joe". (The running joke at the time: "It's a good thing his name wasn't John.") Joe Bruno is the Majority Leader in the New York Senate.

One of the cool games this season will be on July 30, when the same two teams meet in Cooperstown at Doubleday Field. The Oneonta team has, for many years, gotten a "home" game there, and I understand that it's quite a thrill for the players. Since my father-in-law has had season tickets to the Oneonta Yankees -he saw Ricky Ledee play for them- and now the Oneonta Tigers, I've seen a couple games there myself.

It's a bit surprising that a market the size of Albany/Schenectady/Troy has a Class A team, especially since Binghamton, which is about the size of Troy and half the size of Albany, once again has a team in the Class AA Eastern League, with a higher caliber of player.
Last year, for the first time, I went to the stadium in downtown Binghamton where the Binghamton Mets have played for a few years, after a nearly three-decade gap for baseball in Binghamton. The program had third baseman David Wright on the cover; he'd already been promoted to the New York Mets, but that's baseball. It's a lovely stadium, but I have to think that foul balls must hit the cars driving by on Henry Street.

In any case, if you like baseball, but have gotten cynical over Major League Baseball because of the salaries, or whatever, check out Minor League Baseball.

Boys in the Band

I had dropped out of the State University College at New Paltz and was working as a janitor in Binghamton City Hall in the spring of 1975 while my sister Leslie was performing in "A Funny Thing Happened On The Way to the Forum" for the Binghamton Civic Theater. After the short run ended, Charlie, who was the lead in "Forum", decided to direct a play called Boys in the Band, which had played on Broadway in 1968, and was made into a movie in 1970. If you've looked at either hyperlink, you'd know that this was a play featuring seven (or eight?) gay men at a dinner party.
Charlie had a casting call, and given my need for greater mental stimulation, I decided to try out. As it turns out there was a specifically black character in the play, and that I was the only black person to try out. (Though Charlie said that I would have been cast regardless.)
We started rehearsals. Some of the cast (at least five) were in fact gay, but at least two of us (a guy named Bill, who played the lead, and myself) were not. So Charlie thought that we all ought to go to a gay bar, as some sort of bonding experience. I did not know there WAS a gay bar in Binghamton, but there it be, a couple blocks from my old high school. It was an interesting experience having a guy (or two) hit on me.
We also went to at least one party at either Charlie's or cast member Jeffrey's house, and it was a fascinating mix of the banal (pretty normal conversations about weather and whatnot) with the stereotypical (music by Barbra and Judy).
Bill used to give me a ride home after rehearsals and we'd talk about the experience of working on the play, what surprised us, what preconceived notions we might have had and how they had been challenged.
One of the things that the script required was for me to kiss my "lover" - it was a peck on the lips- played by a guy named Mickey. It was difficult for about 3/4s of the rehearsal time, but finally, I decided, "I am an actor, I can do this." (Though, in fact, I hadn't been in a play since 1970, when I was in high school.) In any case, in the last week of rehearsal, I finally managed to do the kiss.
Near the end of the play, Bill had a lengthy monologue which he was having a hard time learning. Charlie got impatient with him during the later rehearsals. My character is "passed out" on the floor for about 10 minutes during this time, and I found that I was learning Bill's lines. So during the rehearsals (but not during the actual performance), I'd whisper lines to him, which I believe helped.
The play was performed for a couple weekends. Another of the things the script called for was for Jeffrey's character to take a shower. So, he took off his clothes and feigned taking a shower. I never saw the scene until the play opened (my character had not yet arrived at the party), but it garnered audible gasps each time. (I thought it was a bit gratuitous.)
The review in the newspaper never even reviewed the performances, but instead noted the play as a "statement" of some sort.
My high school friend Carol (not to be confused with my-now wife Carol) later tells me about this dialogue with our mutual HS friend.
Lois: It's too bad about Roger.
Carol: What ABOUT Roger?
Lois: That he's gay.
Carol: He's not gay!
And apparently, the pastor at a church I used to attend thought so, too, as he gave me definite vibes.

That was the first time that I was aware that some people thought I was gay. It was definitely a learning experience in being "the other" from a different perspective.

I remember there were some (presumably) straight actors in that same period who were stereotyped for their orientation in a movie or play. So other performers were wary of taking on such roles. Someone from Martin Sheen's high school recently told me that Sheen came back some years later, and the faculty adviser said that Sheen could be asked about almost anything...except about that highly rated mid-1970s TV movie called, "That Certain Summer," in which he played a gay man. I often wonder just how much progress we've made since then.
...
And, coincidentally: For all you baseball fans, watch Carson, Jai, Kyan, Ted, and Thom kick off the start of a fabulous new season of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, when the Fab Five visit the World Champion Boston Red Sox. Tuesday (tomorrow) at 10 p.m. on Bravo.