Update 7-1-08

Hi,

First funny story, from Ira Mitzner:  Bobby Green and I used to go fishing at a pond near Mill Road.  We told Mr. Maggio about it, and he decided to bring his rod and come along.
        Mr. Maggio was fishing in his suit with his tie removed.  Nothing was biting.  Bobby Green said, "I think I got a bite," and Mr. Maggio replied, "You're full of crap."
   
    Second funny story:  Amy Lieberman and I were having lunch this week, and in the most polite, least school marmish way, she pointed out that last week I managed to spell "Hungry Harbor Road" as "Hungary Harbor Road," making the street a route to a European country.  I told her I'd correct it this week and throw an eraser at my head the way Mr. Hartman might have.  (I've forgotten his first name again, and I'm too lazy to go look it up in the old newsletters, only partly because it's ninety-eight degrees outside.)
        I also asked Amy if she knew why Hungry Harbor Road was named that -- if she knew where Hungry Harbor was -- and she said that while she was growing up, it was something that none of the people who lived on her street ever figured out.  So I asked Google and came up with this:
   
    From:  http://www.forgotten-ny.com/NEIGHBORHOODS/borderrosedale/rosedale.html
        Hungry Harbor Road extends from Hook Creek Boulevard, crossing that boulevard's titular creek before entering the town of Woodmere and changing its name to Rosedale Road.  The origin of the name is unclear, but the town of Woodmere contains a lengthier road with the same name that has nothing at all to do with this.
   
    Then, immediately below that entry:  Forgotten New York Neighborhoods website fan Rob Hans writes:  "I have this book my mother got from the Village of Valley Stream, celebrating the 50th anniversary of Valley Stream.  The book traces the beginnings of Valley Stream and how it was named, and in the book it also says, 'On the extreme southwest, approaching Jamaica Bay, was Hungry Harbor, so called because it was largely a settlement of squatters, and the squatters went hungry a goodly part of the time.  It was a harbor because it was the only area of farmland that possessed rich fertile land in addition to having access to the sea.  Hirst dock was the sole commercial enterprise of Hungry Harbor.' "
   
    So now we know how Hungry Harbor Road got its name.
   
    Not a funny story, but a nice one, from Booker  Gibson:  Last week, I again went to South for awards night. This time I didn't climb up on the stage to sit for a couple hours, even though South Hall is now air-conditioned.  I sat in the auditorium like everyone else, and I could see the projected photos of people like Vince Tampio without turning around.  During the presentation of the theater award, a lady sitting next to me said South had repeated Once Upon A Mattress, The Boyfriend, and some other musicals that you did, but I didn't hear her mention Damn Yankees.  I'll never forget you fellas singing, "You Gotta Have Heart."
        Thanks again to the members of the '65 class.  By the way, the student who won the music scholarship came over and personally thanked me.
   
    And a quick follow-up from Linda Tobin Kettering, who again presented the Tampio and Gibson awards:  I'm glad Booker felt better about the introduction and that he felt more comfortable sitting in the audience and not on stage.  I did amend the introduction again to make it a bit briefer and maybe a little more modest from Booker's point of view.  But I left in the best parts so that the audience still understood why he was being honored.
        Both recipients were very happy and appreciative of their scholarships, and I am glad to help out with your class's generous awards.  I will be looking forward to next year.  Meanwhile, my best to all.
   
    [Rich -- I'd actually have to go and check the names of the people who've been supporting these two awards, but that would take the same kind of effort as checking the back updates to find out Mr. Hartman's first name.  (It's not "Phil," and I don't think it's "Paul," and those names only sound familiar because both those men were well-known actors.)  In any case, the class of '65 might have had the idea to start the awards, but, almost since the beginning, people from other classes have been a good part of the active contributors.  So everyone needs to be thanked.]
   
    Linda Cohen Greenseid also forwarded an Internet piece that's too complicated to attach here because it involves an enclosed photo which is guaranteed to trip spam filters.  But if you're interested, check your class e-mail address list and write her.
   
    Finally, a note from Barbara Blitfield Pech, and then I'm going back to lie in the hammock:  Well, good grief, I hope I am wrong about the following.  June Reising was at the 20th reunion, although her name is not on the mimeographed copy of the guest list.  But I know I did speak with her there, and, if I recall, she mentioned that she had been married and divorced a few times and was living somewhere in Florida, though not near me in Miami.  I wasn't at all familiar with the town or area she spoke of, and, just out of curiosity, I Googled her now to see what I could learn.  After five pages of other information, I came across a brief notation in an obituary which mentioned a June Reising Veronneau as the daughter-in-law of the deceased woman.  It unfortunately also mentioned that June had predeceased the woman on November 11, 1988.  Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean it's the same June Reising.
        On a happier note, though quite a head-scratcher for me, here's another question:  in the same Daitch-Shopwell shopping center with Royal Cards, there was a beauty salon at the end.  Does anyone remember its name?  I recall that "Mr Marty," formerly of Brooklyn, was my coiffure du choice, and I spent many a Saturday morning with him, having my hair washed, rolled into curls, and anchored on top of my head for the stag/drag dances, sock hops, junior and senior proms, and the year book photos that mandated the use of every bobby pin the salon owned and enough "shellac" to keep my "frizz bomb" intact.  It's also worth noting that every dance or special occasion required yet another pair of dyed-to-match, fabric-swatch-cut-from-the-dress's-hem-and-stapled-to-the-shoe-box-because-the-color-had-to-be-exact, five-inch, pointy toe heels from either Burts, Bakers, or Chandlers.  Ouch, my feet hurt just thinking about stuffing my tootsies back in for one more lindy or "why" dance.
   
    [Rich -- I have no idea what a "why" dance is, but I am reminded by Barbara's description that guys had it so easy.  All we had to do was show up for our class pictures and smile.  And I suspect that a lot of guys wore their church- or temple-going suits to dances until the damned things got too small.  Then our mothers magically replaced them.]
   
    That's it for the week.  Back outside now.