Update 10-9-07

Hi,

A sextet of notes, a strange observation, and some hidden history:

First, from Helen David:  Thank you, Barbara, for the few seconds of "Brooklyn Memories" on the U-tube.  I was educated in Brooklyn from kindergarten through Brooklyn College where I met my husband-to-be. He was born in Brooklyn.  We were married in Brooklyn, and I chose a Brooklyn obstetrician, whose office was near the Grand Army Plaza, to deliver our children.  My years in Brooklyn were always within two or three blocks of Ebbets Field and, I might add, the Brooklyn Botanic Garden, the Brooklyn Museum, and Prospect Park.  Now it all seems so far away and long ago ... and it is.
   
    Next, from Barbara Blitfield Pech:  Greetings.  I am a bit concerned.  Bernie O'Brien and I have become e-mail friends over the past year and have often exchanged notes.  A few weeks ago, he mentioned that he had minor surgery on his back.  I have not had a response to any communications since and am concerned.  Do you have any further information?  Please send him my best wishes when you do connect.  He is a dear, good man who adds joy to my e-mails.
   
    And a quick follow-up from Bernie O'Brien:  My apologies, Barbara, for not responding to your always-welcome e-mails.  In the beginning of July, I was diagnosed with two melanomas, one on the base of my neck and the other in the center of my back, between the shoulder blades.  The surgeon felt that this would be a minor operation, since both "hot spots" were rather small.  It turned out the neck melanoma was small, but the one on my back was a different story.
        I have been told they got everything so I was spared chemo.  But after three weeks with walking as my only exercise, I developed a staph infection, had a severe asthma attack, and went on breathing machine for a month.  All is well now.  I was cleared by all my doctors and can now resume my workouts and GOLF!  I hope all is well with you, and I thank you sincerely for your warm friendship.  I will now get back on the ball.  Best always.
   
    [Rich -- Glad you're well, of course, Bernie.  And I'm sure I speak for more than myself.]
   
    A photo from Robert Fiveson that I can't pass on for want of the proper technology.  But his caption captures his enthusiasm:  The biggest day in a young pilot's life is his first solo flight.  Here is a picture of mine this morning.  (OK, so the "young" part is arguable.  But it is my first solo.)
   
    And a quick follow-up from Donald Faber:  as per accuracy of that video I sent the link to last week -- I'd first heard about it from a column by the financial writer Andrew Tobias.  I assumed his insights and understanding of economics/demographics were validation for the video.  I'd certainly read enough elsewhere over the years to believe what was stated.  But, then again, in this age of mega information, who really knows what's factual anymore?
   
    Then, from Amy Lieberman:  Billy Valentine, with the Stuart Elster Trio, will be playing at the Casa Del Mar Hotel, 1910 Ocean Way, Santa Monica, California, on Wednesday, October 24th from 6:30 to 10:30 PM.  They'll be in the lounge, against the setting sun and the neon lights of the Ferris wheel on the Santa Monica pier.  Come join us there.  Its a lovely way to spend an autumn evening.  The phone number for reservations is:  310-581-5533.
   
    The observation, from a business friend in Massachusetts:  The most bizarre thing I've ever overheard in my store -- "Her husband and her cat died on the same day.  So when she buried her husband, they wrapped the cat in a plastic bag and threw it into the grave, too."
   
Finally, a little of our shared history:  Secrets of Sputnik Emerge 50 Years Later.  Written by Vladimir Isachenkov for the Associated Press.  Published October 1, 2007.
    When Sputnik took off 50 years ago, the world gazed at the heavens in awe and apprehension, watching what seemed like the unveiling of a sustained Soviet effort to conquer space and score a stunning Cold War triumph.  A Soviet rocket carrying the satellite Sputnik blasts off on Oct. 4, 1957, from Kazakhstan.  Fifty years later, scientists involved with the launch have shed some new light on the event, which stunned the world and opened the space age.
    But 50 years later, it emerges that the momentous launch was far from being part of a well-planned strategy to demonstrate communist superiority over the West.  Instead, the first artificial satellite in space was a spur-of-the-moment gamble driven by the dream of one scientist, whose team scrounged a rocket, slapped together a satellite and persuaded a dubious Kremlin to open the space age.  And that winking light that crowds around the globe gathered to watch in the night sky?  Not Sputnik at all, as it turns out, but just the second stage of its booster rocket, according to Boris Chertok, one of the founders of the Soviet space program.
    In a series of interviews in recent days, Chertok and other veterans told the little-known story of how Sputnik was launched, and what an unlikely achievement it turned out to be.  Chertok couldn't whisper a word about the project through much of his lifetime.  His name, and that of Sergei Korolyov, the chief scientist, were a state secret. Today, at age 95 and talking to a small group of reporters in Moscow, Chertok can finally give full voice to his pride at the pivotal role he played in the history of space exploration.  "Each of these first rockets was like a beloved woman for us," he said.  "We were in love with every rocket, we desperately wanted it to blast off successfully. We would give our hearts and souls to see it flying."
    This very rational exuberance, and Korolyov's determination, were the key to Sputnik's success.  So was happenstance.  As described by the former scientists, the world's first orbiter was born out of a very different Soviet program:  the frantic development of a rocket capable of striking the United States with a hydrogen bomb.  Because there was no telling how heavy the warhead would be, its R-7 ballistic missile was built with thrust to spare, "Much more powerful than anything the Americans had," Georgy Grechko, a rocket engineer and cosmonaut said.  The towering R-7's high thrust and payload capacity, unmatched at the time, just happened to make it the perfect vehicle to launch an object into orbit -- something never done before.
    Without the looming nuclear threat, Russian scientists say, Sputnik would probably have gotten off the ground much later. "The key reason behind the emergence of Sputnik was the Cold War atmosphere and our race against the Americans," Chertok said. "The military missile was the main thing we were thinking of at the moment."
    When the warhead project hit a snag, Korolyov, the father of the Soviet space program, seized the opportunity.  Korolyov, both visionary scientist and iron-willed manager, pressed the Kremlin to let him launch a satellite.  The U.S. was already planning such a move in 1958, he pointed out, as part of the International Geophysical Year.  But while the government gave approval in January 1956, the military brass wanted to keep the missile for the bomb program, Grechko, 76, said in an interview.  "They treated the satellite as a toy, a silly fantasy of Korolyov."  Grechko went on:  "The U.S. had its own satellite program.  The Americans proudly called their project 'Vanguard,' but found themselves behind us."
    The Soviet Union already had a full-fledged scientific satellite in development, but it would take too long to complete, Korolyov knew.  So he ordered his team to quickly sketch a primitive orbiter.  It was called PS-1, for "Prosteishiy Sputnik" -- the Simplest Satellite.

[Rich -- The rest of this article is available online.  Just do a search on the title.]