Update 11-19-02


Hi,

Leading off with a question that more than a few of us have probably been asking, from Robert Fiveson:  I'm hoping all this recent, worthy writing isn't alienating our Irish and Italian friends. I fear the whole thing could take a decidedly clubbish turn.

(Rich:  The weird thing about the updates is every time I think about letting them go, there's a surge of interest.  Sometimes the interest goes one way, sometimes another, and, almost every time, it could seem clubbish -- but for a different group of people.  It also seems there are some people who write in, and others who are happy to read along.  And just when I think there are only six people reading, we hear from a mess of other people.  Frankly, I stopped trying to predict our class a year-and-a-half ago -- when the simple, e-mail address list I was trying to circulate suddenly turned into a full class reunion.)

But on to the important stuff:  

From Barbara Blitfield Pech:  Eric, I can see the yellow box.  I can visualize the two, small, soft vanilla cookies jacketing the single, sticky marshmallow.  I can practically taste them.  But I cannot -- for the life of me -- remember their name.  Still, while I'm on one of my favorite subjects, I've been on a mission the past few weeks, ever since I caught an episode on the food network covering Tasty Cake chocolate-covered donuts.  Whether it was great scripting, suggestive photography, or just killer munchies, I have been craving them.  And while my local supermarkets carry the brand, they don't carry this item.  So, I've been to the website that offered local distribution points of the cakes.  And I've sought out friendly Pennsylvania residents to do my shopping.  I'm now putting out a national plea.  In return, I offer key lime pie or other Florida delicacies.  (Sorry, but by the time you receive this, stone crabs will be out of season -- and they don't mail well anyhow.)  Meanwhile, I will have a long thought about the cookie name in question and get back to Eric with an answer -- as I eat my way through the cookie aisle trying.

From Sharon Hoenig Barry:  I, too, remember the marshmallow cookies with the vanilla wafers.  But I can't think of their name.  However, I seem to recall a light blue wrapper that surrounded two narrow cardboard boxes.  I believe the yellow
wrapper was reserved for the Mallomars.  Anyone else have any recollections?

From Robert Fiveson:  Were the vanilla cookies with marshmallow called Nilla's?

Other thoughts from Sharon:  Roz, my husband Tom and I have also changed our travel plans since the world has gone so crazy.  Vacations have been limited to the States, Mexico, and the Caribbean.  One wonders how people can be so hateful and destructive.  Thankfully, my family has been spared any real sorrow.  
      Also:  Paul, I hope to be joining the gathering at Lily Flanagan's on December 8th.

(Which would seem a good time to remind everyone that the next New York gathering is at Lily Flanagan's -- which we should buy stock in -- on Sunday, December 8th at 1:00.  Paul DeMartino has details.

Some Booker Gibson fan mail:

From Hy Rosov:  A note on Booker Gibson.  I  occupied a room directly adjacent to Booker's.  We were both lovers of classical music and good friends for over twenty-five years.  One of the best things that ever happened to South was hiring him as a music teacher.  He was one of my favorite colleagues and truly loved and respected by his students and peers.
From Robert Fiveson:  Mr. Gibson genuinely instilled in me -- and I am betting in many other people -- an appreciation of opera.  At the reunion, I mentioned Aida to him, and he knew what I meant.  A good teacher is always a good teacher -- and Mr. Gibson was among the best ever.

And from Booker himself:  A very short P.S.  I attended the famous 1963 March On Washington -- Martin Luther King, Jr.,  etc.  All kinds of groups from around the country were well represented.  Among the hundreds of thousands of people on  the mall, suddenly I bumped into a parent from  South High -- Green  Acres.  I wish I could remember her name.  She  could have been one of your mothers.  Among the many speeches that day, besides King's, there was a great one by a  rabbi.  It should have received more attention.  August  28, 1963 was a great, peaceful  day.  After that, the  assassinations, riots, and murders in the south started, plus the Vietnam War picked up.  All our lives had been somewhat sheltered.

A short appreciation, from Mary Sipp-Green: Hi, Denise (Frango Baxter).  So glad that you went to the Arden Gallery, but I was disappointed that it was closed on the day you were there.  I hope that you can make it back to Boston and see the whole show.  The gallery has two rooms, and you'll be able to see most of the 27 paintings hanging there.  They're open Monday to Saturday, 11:00--5:00/5:30, through November 30th.  In any case, thanks for making the effort to go and for writing such a good "review."  

Some fast business, from Larry Rugen:  Anyone know the whereabouts of Cathy Ahearn, class of '66?  I lost contact about 10 years ago.  Any help with recent contact information would be appreciated.  Thanks.  (larry1800@aol.com)

A correction, from Andy Dolich:  In the last update, Paul DeMartino was concerned about tornado damage in Tennessee, and my safety.  I'm in Memphis, not Nashville.  Memphis is still standing.  Thanks for caring.

(Rich:  My mistake, not Paul's.  The Memphis Grizzlies are obviously in... er... Memphis.)

A follow-up, from Marc Fishman:  It's not only the Jews. My wife is Anglo-Indian. There are about 6 million of them.  When the British left India, Anglo-Indians were no longer welcomed, and they scattered around the world.  My wife's family ended up in Canada, but only after leaving everything behind.  When I started practice in Florida, there were several Jewish oncologists, so I cultivated relationships with others.  When invited to parties with Indian MDs, I was accepted with the men, but when my wife would go to sit down with the women, they would all get up and move to another room.  I didn't believe it until she showed me.  It was amazing to me.  While an average North American couldn't tell the difference, the Indians knew who was Indian, Anglo-Indian, Tamil, Sikh, etc.

A footnote, from Hy Rosov:  It may interest you to know that the site of Temple Gates of Zion on Corona Avenue was the meeting place of the KKK from the 1920s through 1932.  Also, in 1998 I published a text on a related subject, Tracing Anti-Semitism from the First Jew to the Holocaust.

Finally, from Zelda White-Nichols:  I could never understand why people didn't get the concept that our bodies are just a housing for the soul, and that people really need to look inside.  I learned bigotry, but in a different way:  I was the only one with a weird name.  I wore glasses when no one else did, and I had curly hair when everyone else's was straight.  I was teased unmercifully, so I know what rejection feels like.  Fortunately, my name is now a great sales tool, and practically everyone I know wears glasses.  Though I still wish I had straight hair.

The home page address:   hometown.aol.com/falcons1965a


Rich