Update 8-7-07

Hello,

It's summertime, and I'm doing virtually nothing.  So here are some notes from some more ambitious folks.  But, first, a question:  How was last Wednesday night's party with Booker Gibson?
   
    Notes about a different party, from Robert Fiveson:  Saturday, I went to Ira Mitzner's 60th birthday party.  I have to admit I was doubtful.  A party in DC in a boxing gym where we are to wear "gym clothes!?"  Sounded suspiciously like a Star Wars or other themed bar mitzvah.  There were boxing lessons promised and the opportunity to get in the ring and spar.  Aha -- Ira wants to punch me.  Path of least resistance logic.  So I went because, since Ira's a successful lawyer, I figured if he punched me, I could always hire him to sue himself.
        There was a nice and eclectic group.  I walk in and immediately meet Ira's partner at "the firm"  -- isn't that what they call the CIA?  The first thing the guy says is that he thinks Ira wants to punch him!  I head right to the bar.  A few drinks in, and we are in fact taking boxing lessons from a dude named Laurence, who looks like he knows his way around a punch.  We get "taught" like six moves, and Laurence asks who wants to get in the ring and fight him?  You would have to be nuts.  This is a cut -- chiseled -- brother in his own domain asking like a dozen over the hill hippies who wants to get in the ring with him.  It's getting surreal.  But, clearly, I had not had enough to drink because, lo and behold, I am the first volunteer.
        No much to report because, thankfully, Laurence only defended himself.  He was very impressed when I stepped on his foot and held him there and punched him though.  Then, I folded.  Everyone took his or her turn, and then Ira suits up and puts on a big rubber exterior jewel protector -- which he should wear everywhere because it did more than a cod piece for him.  Now I am wondering why I wasn't given one.  But it turns out Ira really knows how to box.
        It also turns out that he and his lovely wife Rachael know how to throw a great party.  Back upstairs, there is a feast of Asian food -- and not that cheap everything-is-in-the-same-brown-sauce-stuff, either.  But for me, the best fun was seeing Ira's brother Rick again.  I have not seen him since around 1965, when he would occasionally sit in with our band "The Fabulars" (Bob Rudder, drums;  Jay Tuerk, bass;  Ira, lead guitar;  Eric Burton, played by me).  I also got to see George Monahan, who blew my mind by seeming to remember everyone and everything that ever transpired in our heyday at South.  Though Carol, his wife since high school, kept saying that was all he remembered.  Overall, what a great time thrown by a great guy and his adoring wife Rachael.
        PS.  Ira did punch me, but it felt oddly like a love tap.
   
    [Rich -- Of course, happy birthday, Ira.]
   
    Next, from Emily Kleinman Schreiber:  Being the reunion crasher that I am, I attended -- for a short time -- the Class of '67's 40th reunion on July 28th.  It was held in a favorite reunion spot, the Huntington Hilton, and I was there partly to urge alumni to join our Alumni Association.  One guy paid up on the spot and added a donation in memory of one of his friends.  Many other people took applications and said they'd be joining.
         I knew a few of the '67ers -- Alicia, Andrea, and Patrick -- and some of the loyal teachers who were there -- Irv Saffrin, Bernie O'Brien, and Joe Caruso.  I especially loved seeing them.  Irv Saffrin -- imagine calling him that back in the olden days -- told me how much he enjoyed reading Evelyn Roedel Read's piece about him in the Alumni Association Bulletin.
         Our big membership drive is starting.  The new membership year will be from September 1st to August 31st.  Please encourage everyone you know from South to join.  We are making a difference at South, and I feel really happy about that.  But we need continued financial support to continue our efforts.
        On another note, I'm so glad your newsletter printed all of Jayne O'Malley's letter to Oprah about her dog.  Besides being so well written, the note touched that special spot in my heart that releases the tears.
         It must be something about Labs -- I think they're part human.  No, actually they're way above human, for they have such a strong capacity for love and loyalty.  My son Mike's black Lab Blue was exactly like Jayne's dog Rebel.  Mike lives in the East Village, and everyone in his neighborhood knew Blue.  No leash was required because Blue knew his manners -- he just strolled alongside Mike as they walked to the dog park or to the park by the East River where he'd meet his other canine friends.  At the age of 13, after a bout with cancer, Blue passed on in May of '06.  After people heard the sad news, they stopped by Mike's apartment house and left plants and flowers at the doorstep.
         For fifty years, I was terrified of dogs, and I always hated feeling that fear.  My personal terror time ended when Mike brought Blue home from the University of Connecticut.  One day Mike had to go out, and I had to dog sit.  Blue stood at the door watching Mike leave, and he cried, actually whimpered.  At that moment, I realized that my fear was irrational, and it simply melted away.
         I guess I had the need to share this with you since Jayne's letter so touched that Blue spot in my heart.

    From former South principal Steve Lando:  Thank you all for being a special part of our Senior High Awards Night program in June.  It was a proud evening for our students, their families, and our staff.  With your generous support of Valley Stream South High School, the night was an enormous success.  I hope you will continue to be part of our future awards program.
        Next year, South High School will undergo a change in leadership.  It is with deeply mixed emotions that I inform you that I have been offered and have accepted a position in the district office of the Great Neck public schools.  I am very proud of the accomplishments of our students and the school during my tenure.  The students at South shine in their academic performances and in their service to the community.  I personally thank your class for its constant and caring support.  May your relationship with my successor be as positive as that which we enjoyed.
        The Senior High Awards Night will continue to be coordinated by Liz King Giordano, and if you have any questions or concerns about it, please feel free to call or write her.  Meanwhile, I wish you all continued success and good fortune.
   
    Some new readers, and, with luck, contributors:
         I am Roberta Brill Birnel '62.  I met you a couple of years ago, at the reunion in Melville.  I am also the secretary of the Alumni Association, and I've been great friends with Claire Brush Reinhardt since forever.  I  would love to be on your mailing list to receive the newsletter I keep hearing about.  Thanks.  I hope to meet up again at another reunion
        From Judy Brill, Class of '68.  My sister Roberta just forwarded me the latest newsletter, and I would love to be added to the mailing list.  Thanks.
        From Jackie Drucker Roberts:  I would like to be included on the list to receive the weekly newsletter you send out.  I graduated in ’67.  Thanks. 
   
    [Rich -- As I wrote back:  Sure.  It's always nice to know more people.]
   
    Finally, a poem, "The Voice of Blue," by Emily G. Schreiber:

    The door closes.
    The lock is turned.
    My master has left
    Once again.
    I wonder...
    Where does he go
    When his big yellow truck
    Takes him away?
    Why can’t I go with him?

    I stand here crying
    But he doesn’t know
    The sadness I feel;
    The fear that envelopes me.
    Fear for him.
    Who will protect him
    From the dangers
    Of the world?
    Fear for myself.
    He may not return to feed me,
    To walk me,
    To play Frisbee with me,
    To hug and stroke me.

    I wish I could pass through
    The glass door that holds me prisoner
    In this big empty house.
    Instead I retreat
    With my tail between my legs.
    I’ll look for a quiet spot
    Where I can pass the day away sleeping.
    That’s easy.
    The house is one big quiet spot.

    A small rug under me
    Would be a fine bed.
    Here, next to the back door,
    I can watch the birds taking flight
    And the leaves swaying
    As if to say “Hi, we understand.”

    There I sleep
    And dream.
    Yes, I dream.
    Nobody’s here to hear me
    Crying in my sleep.
    Or see me moving my legs
    As if frantically
    Pulling a stick out of the water.
    I love to swim.
    It comes naturally to me.
    They say I’m mostly Lab;
    Fetching is my favorite past-time.

    Soon my sleep is broken
    By loud crackling sounds.
    My whole body trembles
    And I need comforting,
    But no one is here with me.
    I look for a low table to lie under.
    Yes, that makes me feel safe.
    Why does that scare me so?
    Do I think it will kill me?
    I do wish my master would return.

    Somehow, he seems to know
    When I am hungry
    And about to burst.
    As if answering my wish,
    I hear the truck.
    I always know when it is him.
    I sense his presence.
    I’m at the big glass door in an instant.
    I can barely stop myself
    From trying to crash through it.

    The key turns in the lock.
    The brass handle turns
    And I am on my hind legs
    Licking his face
    And barking my happy bark.
    My tail is now waving back and forth
    With rhythmic urgency.
    I’m the happiest dog in the world.