‘I’ve Been Contemplating The Death Of An Old Friend…’

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The titular quote comes from the climax scene of the Star Trek: The Original Series episode “Where No Man Has Gone Before.” While this aired on September 22, 1966 as the third episode of the first season, “Where No Man Has Gone Before” was produced in 1965 as the second pilot for the seminal series. It sets the stage for all that is Captain Kirk.

Briefly, (spoiler alerts here, but if you haven’t watched it yet, that’s another issue), Captain Kirk’s good friend Gary Mitchell (played by actor Gary Lockwood), gains God-like powers when the starship Enterprise becomes the first vessel to go beyond the barrier at the edge of the galaxy (hence, “Where No Man Has Gone Before”). In a fight to the death, Kirk (with a little help) prevails. Despite his near-fatal confrontation, Kirk says Mitchell died in the line of duty because “He didn’t ask for what happened to him.”

“Where No Man Has Gone Before” stands out as a story of the bonds of friendship and its undying importance to Captain Kirk. Of all his friendships, it’s the one between Kirk and Continue Reading “‘I’ve Been Contemplating The Death Of An Old Friend…’”

Halloween Memories

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There’s a certain childlike innocence about Halloween. It’s childlike because it’s best captured through the eager eyes of young children. Perhaps no holiday other than Christmas brings forth more enthusiasm than Halloween for youngsters.

Quite possibly, for a kid, it’s tough to say which yields more joy. Christmas certainly has its upside. After all, who can deny the happiness of receiving a roomful of gifts? But, for a child, these gifts come at a cost. You must wear stiff clothes, suffer through a long Mass, and put up with the boredom of even longer dinners with the extended family. All this keeps you from playing Continue Reading “Halloween Memories”

Remembering Father Latus

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Father Charles Latus presides over the first Wedding Mass celebrated at the new opened St. Catherine’s Church in the hamlet of Mendon, NY on September 28, 1991.

My father and brother erected the family estate with their own hands. After a long search my parents found a perfect parcel on which to build. While I toiled away deskbound in some distant cubicle, the other men in the family conveyed materials in a beat-up Ford pick-up to the site. Reminiscent of “Carosa and Son” (the masonry business started by my grandfather with my father riding shotgun), the two constructed a home of their dreams.

Oddly, it wasn’t their dream home. That would come decades later.

Coincidentally, they located both homes in the Town of Mendon. The first was the ideal family home. The second was the ideal home for retirement.

That first home was more than the “ideal” family home, it was the last home that housed the entire family – Mother, Father, two adult sons, a high school daughter and an elementary school daughter. We were all there. Until the company my father worked for decided to shut down the Rochester office and transfer him to Albany.

But that’s another story. This is a story about melding into a community.

We quickly adopted Mendon as our home. There are three things that make a community a Continue Reading “Remembering Father Latus”

The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died

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JFK Campaign Poster. Source: Unidentified Artist, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

Two hundred years. It was a great run while it lasted.

I wrote eight years ago how the establishment Republicans’ alienation of Donald Trump signaled the end of that party, (see “The Night the Grand Old Party Died,” Mendon-Honeoye Falls-Lima Sentinel, April 14, 2016). A week ago, their counterpart decided to return the favor.

To fully appreciate the significance of this, understand I was raised a Kennedy Democrat, pretty much like every other Catholic who grew up in the 1960s. Every home in my family and every home of my family’s friends had two pictures hanging somewhere among their walls. One was of the Pope. The other was of John F. Kennedy.

How effusive was the Kennedy aura in our family? My brother’s name was “Kenneth.” We called him “Kenny.” My great-great aunt Zia Pepe (that would be my mother’s great aunt and my grandmother’s aunt) watched us when my mother had to substitute teach. She called my brother “Ken-eh-dee.” It was a badge of honor for him. He collected all things Kennedy, at least for a short time.

Zia Pepe was babysitting us when JFK was assassinated. The three of us watched it on TV. She cried. We didn’t know why Zia Pepe was crying. As we were watching, our mother Continue Reading “The Day ‘The Democracy’ Died”

Hats Off To Easter!

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My mother once told me what Easter evokes in her mind. She grew up in Lackawanna “on the other side of the tracks.” She’d work in my grandfather’s grocery store on Ridge Road. During the Easter season, as she walked up Ingham Avenue to her father’s shop, the alluring aroma of ethnic cooking wafted through her nostrils.

Those smells told you what neighborhood you were in—Polish, Italian, and a mixed ethnic conclave of everything from Mexican to Croatian. Even before getting her master’s degree in Home Economics, the teenage version of Lena had a nose for food. The yeasts were her favorite. From them, she could tell what type of bread each kitchen baked.

Arriving at her dad’s mom-and-pop supermarket, she entered an aromatic atmosphere that defined Easter, not just for her, but for nearly everyone of that era. The sweet scents of purple, pink & lavender hyacinths mixed with the perfumes of the tulips and lilies. My grandfather sold these potted flowers each Easter so families could adorn their festive tables with colorful centerpieces.

Fast forward a generation and the smells were still there. Only the tulips, hyacinths, and daffodils aren’t in pots. They’re planted along the front of the house between the sidewalk coming from the front door and the wall of pale yellow bricks. The flowerbed sat just below the four rectangular panel windows that open up to the parlor of the modest raised ranch home of my youth.

It’s funny. I don’t remember the smell of those tulips. I do remember the smell of the Continue Reading “Hats Off To Easter!”

50 Years Ago—A Reflection On Star Trek: The Animated Series

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What were you doing in September 1973? Were you listening to Art Garfunkel’s first solo album? Watching Billie Jean King beat loud-mouth Bobby Riggs in straight sets? Or how about cheering as the Oakland Raiders’ Ken Stabler threw the winning touchdown pass to give the hated Miami Dolphins their first loss in 18 games?

Well, if you were me, you excitedly anticipated the realization of what you spent years waiting for: the first airing of a new Star Trek episode.

Of course, this would be an animated episode, but at least it would feature the voices of the original crew (except for Chekhov, that is).

Diligently watching the series also presented one of my first moral dilemmas. There was only one thing I liked better than Star Trek (and astronomy and the space program). It was Continue Reading “50 Years Ago—A Reflection On Star Trek: The Animated Series”

Blasdell, The Beatles, And Brotherhood

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There was always The Beatles. Or at least it seemed that way.

I was too young to remember a time before The Beatles.

Strike that.

I certainly do remember the years before The Beatles (or, more appropriately, their music) landed on American shores. I can recall several memorable scenes from the time I was one or two years old.

I remember watching Mercury launches on the black-and-white TV in the living room of our apartment. I remember waiting for my mother to return home (from either work or school—that part I can’t remember) in that same living room on 83 Victory Avenue. I remember taking walks on that same street.

I remember staying at my grandparents on Ingham Avenue while my parents went out. I slept in the crib in the back room. Rather, I was supposed to be sleeping in the crib in the back room. What I really did was Continue Reading “Blasdell, The Beatles, And Brotherhood”

The Never-Ending Apple Wars of Summer

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The dynamics between the kids on Abbott Parkway were complex. There was always this “boys against girls” thing.

It started in school. By fourth grade, it got to where boys intercepted notes girls tried to pass to one another. Sometimes the boys would read them. Sometimes the boys would pass them to our teacher, Miss Powell. Miss Powell didn’t take too kindly to note passing.

This tension spilled over to the neighborhood. Several girls from our grade played on the Continue Reading “The Never-Ending Apple Wars of Summer”

Simple Summer Mornings In The Years B.C. (‘Before Chili’)

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If the summers of Dortmund Circle were filled with sports of all sorts, flingable fruit filled the summers of Abbott Parkway. That wasn’t the only difference.

While nearly all the kids my age on Dortmund Circle were boys, girls dominated the peerage on Abbott Parkway. There were a lot more kids on Abbott Parkway, in part because the street was twice as long. That length also changed our venues of play.

On Dortmund Circle, all us guys lived within a few houses of each other. Our playing fields (mostly the street and our driveways) lay right outside our doors. Given its substantial length and the location of most of the kids, Abbott Parkway presented a different avenue to fun.Continue Reading “Simple Summer Mornings In The Years B.C. (‘Before Chili’)”

Reflections On The Last Day Of School Past

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A warm summer day. Cozy warm. Not hot.

The trees and grass twinkle silently in the soft unseen wind, lush from the recent rains. Green. Not that dark green of July. Closer to the lighter greens of the Spring’s new growth.

The bright sun brings out the yellows in that green. But those brilliant rays wash out the sharpness of all color, much like you would see in an overexposed photograph. The effect only brings more tenderness to the scene.

Windows open in the moving school bus allow a gentle breeze to circulate the fresh temperate air.

It’s the last day of school. The last bus ride home. You can feel the excitement. Everyone is Continue Reading “Reflections On The Last Day Of School Past”

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