Update 7-31-07

Hi,

Ingmar Bergman, Tom Snyder, Bill Walsh -- take your pick who you want to remember this week.  But, first, some letters.
   
    From Zelda White Nichols:  I still remember the name of every bone in the human body, and it just occurred to me that it's thanks to Irv Saffrin.  Muscles, I wasn't too great with.  I also seem to remember a science experiment which smoked unnecessarily.  Still, that science class was one of my favorites.
   
    From Jean Cohen Oklan to Allen Moss:  Hi!  I received the L. L. Bean Home Catalog the day of the last reunion newsletter and got such a kick out of seeing your dog, Argos.  What a beautiful Beagle.  I wish I looked that good.
   
    From Judy Zinger:  I have not received the class newsletter in about three weeks, and I wondered if you had stopped sending them.  I do enjoy reading them, and if for some reason I am no longer on the e-mailing list, please include me again.  If, of course, you have decided to no longer create them, then thanks for your past efforts, and I certainly hope that all is well.
   
    [Rich -- First, yep, we got the Bean catalogue, too, and you've got a neat dog, Allen.  Next, as I've mentioned before, I'll warn everyone if I decide to stop sending the weekly newsletter.  In fact, I even tell people when I'm going off on vacation and the newsletter's going to be a little late.  So if for some reason you haven't gotten a copy by Tuesday morning, please let me know.  The problem is often overly protective spam filters, which is why I've switched from including hyperlinks to just providing unlinked addresses.  But there are other Internet dysfunctions, too.  I've thought about posting the newsletter as a blog, as a back-up for people who didn't get the weekly mailing, and I'm still thinking about it.  The question is:  Do I start posting from the beginning, in 2001, if people are just joining in or are curiously nostalgic, or do I simply start with the next newsletter?  While I've occasionally pondered this, I've managed to do nothing.]
   
    From Liz King-Giordano:  In answer to your question, the Vince Tampio scholarship winner, Andrew Karp, will be attending Northwestern University in the fall.  Also, Principal Stephen Lando is moving on from South to become the Executive Director for Secondary Education in the Great Neck School District.  Tonight is Steve's going away party in Wantagh, and his last day is July 26.  We'll all miss him, but we know that he has been aspiring to move to a district level position for a while, and we're glad he is so happy with his new position.  I'm on the interview committee here, and we start seeing candidates for principal next week.  I have no plans to leave South, and, with all my experience, I would only move to work for a superintendent -- and even then I don't know if I would have as much fun as I do at the building level.  I will be taking vacation in mid-August, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to write.  On a personal note to Andrea Schwartz Neenan, good luck with the reunion plans, and I wish everyone a great time.
   
    From Amy Miller:  If anyone is in touch with people from the class of 1963 or their sisters and brothers, please forward their e-mail addresses to me.  Thanks.  My address is:  ymarellim@aol.com.  And happy midsummer.
   
    From Amy Lieberman, some social notes for those who live in Los Angeles -- a couple of places where Billy Valentine is playing locally in August:
        Wednesday, August 8, 6:30 - 10:30 PM -- with the Stuart Elster Trio, a night of standards and more.
    Casa Del Mar Hotel -- lounge, 1910 Ocean Way, Santa Monica -- 310-581-5533.  It's on the ocean, so you can see the setting sun and the rides on the pier.
        Friday, August 17, 10:00 PM - first set; 11:30 PM - second set -- with Off The Hook, good ol' r&b.
    Cafe Cordiale, 14015 Ventura Boulevard, Sherman Oaks -- 818-789-1985.  Reservations are somewhat necessary if you want a seat.  I suggest going early and having a bite to eat.
        And you can always check out Billy's website:  www.billy-valentine.com, and listen to "travellin' light" on your local jazz stations.
   
    One final reminder:  The Evening with Booker Gibson at the Irish Coffee Pub in East Islip, New York, will be on Wednesday, August 1, 2007.  It will start around 6:15 though Booker does not begin to play until 7:00.  To make a reservation, please contact Claire Brush Reinhardt at:  reino@optonline.net
   
    Finally, from Ellen Epstein Silver:  Hi, dear friends.  My sister, Jayne O'Malley, wrote this heart-wrenching letter to Oprah Winfrey after reading about the loss of Oprah's dog, Gracie.  I thought you might like to read it as it is very well written.  Also, if you would like, and if you have a chance to, please comment on Jayne's blog.  The address is:  journals.aol.com/jayneom/jaynes-journal.  Jayne is trying to start a grassroots campaign because Oprah does not read every letter she receives, and Jayne feels that if she gets a lot of hits on her blog this may compel Oprah to read the letter.  So please forward this to anyone else that you think would have interest.  Thanks, and my love to you all.
        Dear Oprah,
        My name is Jayne O'Malley.  I am 50, a mom, a wife, a nurse, a passionate woman, and most telling, a dog lover extraordinaire.  Several years ago, my cousin told me that if I ever wanted to give myself a gift, I should subscribe to O.  Well, it was sage advice.  I stand before you proof positive that your magazine has touched and shaped my life on so many levels, and for that, a heartfelt thank you!
        There are so many things about your magazine that I look forward to each month ... from the beautiful cover shot of you in vibrant colors, to "Live Your Best Life calendar," the O list, Lisa Kogan, and Dr. Phil.  But the part I savor, my most favorite is, "What I Know For Sure" ... I love your insights.  It is as if you are sitting next to me and sharing a secret, a part of yourself that makes you so touchable and real.
        In this month's issue, you wrote about Gracie.  Oprah, I was a mess reading the article.  I didn't know.  At first, the tears started to gather, then fall.  By the end, when you went to the spot where Gracie took her last breath, the page became too blurry to read.  I just sat there and sobbed.  Out loud.  My heart broke for you.  I remember when you first got your white golden pups.  I followed along with the rest of your fans as you went through "puppyhood X 3."  Your pups antics captured us as the puppies grew, along with their curiosity and wonder.  And now, Gracie is gone, and I mourn her loss with you.
        Your loss touches me so deeply because I just lost my black lab, Rebel.  Eight years ago, a patient came to me and asked if I wanted to adopt a six-week-old lab puppy.  I told her my life was too full, and I already had a dog that I was raising and training.  I didn't have time for a tiny pup who would have a multitude of emotional problems because he was too young to be separated from his mother.  She informed me that the owner, a migrant farm worker, was going to destroy the pups.  He didn't want them.  End of story.
        Well, it wasn't the end ... my patient came back.  Every day.  By the week's end, I acquiesced and went to see the pups.  They were kept in an actual pig sty, with the door closed, leaving them in complete blackness.  The mother was chained outside, away from her pups, with no shelter.  It was so sad.  But when I opened the door, and the light spilled in, I saw him ... this beautiful puppy, with the shortest legs and fattest head I'd ever seen.  Well, I was done.  His spirit certainly wasn't dampened by his surroundings.  He trotted over to me and started licking my face, and there was no turning back.  He had my heart at the first lick.  Little did I know that the life I was about to save would turn around and save me right back.
        The next eight years were a gift.  He was all heart.  He did everything I asked of him with boundless enthusiasm.  If he was not at my side, then he was always tracking me with his eyes.  He was a master at reading my body language and was cued to my most subtle moves.  Just reaching for my keys or sneakers would bring him to my side with that "Please pick me, I'll be so good" look that I couldn't refuse.  He traveled everywhere with me.  Everyone in town knew my gentle giant, Rebel.  When he sat near me, I felt like I was in the company of royalty.  He was my Prince.  I couldn't look at his face without smiling.  He was pure unconditional love, a heartbeat at my feet.  You had your "amazing grace," and I had my "regal rebel."
        And, like you, I believe that there is no "happenstance."  All things happen for a reason.  When we are swallowed up by pain, it is the universe telling us to be still.  There is a lesson we need to learn.  It is through that pain, that we pause, so that we can move forward.  Kahil Gibran says it best, "Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.  When you are joyous, look deep into your heart, and you shall find that it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.  When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.  Together they come, and when one sits down with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed."
        I have enclosed a picture of Rebel on the day I brought him home eight years ago.  He became the inspiration and the logo of my little side business.  Everywhere we went, people would ask me if I could help them with their dogs.  They wanted to have their dogs accompany them about town, but their dogs lacked manners.  So Rebel and I would go to their homes, and we started "saving lives."  We taught people how to "talk dog."  Rebel and I had fun, and everyone's life seemed to improve.  I've been a nurse for twenty-five years, and although I get much joy and fulfillment from my work, it pales next to what Rebel and I have accomplished with helping dogs and their humans connect.
        I miss my Rebel.  He died in April from lymphoma.  It came on suddenly and spread rapidly.  One day, he was jogging beside me, and the next day he was a step behind.  He had never been a step behind.  That sense of impending doom settled in my heart, and I knew something was gravely wrong.  I examined him and had my suspicions.  A few days later, the vet confirmed my fear.
        Three weeks later, I held my gentle friend in my arms as I thanked him over and over again through my tears for all the joy he had brought me.  I whispered good-bye as the vet put him to sleep.  Someday, Oprah, when it is time, Gracie and Rebel will be waiting for us beyond the Rainbow Bridge.  As the world mourns your Gracie, my deepest sympathy goes out to you.