HUNGRY GERALD

HG, a very senior fellow, knows that –“As It Must To All Men”–the Moloch Hamoves (The Angel of Death) will pay HG an unwelcome visit in the future. Not too soon, hopefully. Thus, there is the matter of Last Words to be considered. HG has been very fortunate. For more than a half century HG has lived with BSK, certainly the most beautiful, loving and multi-talemted woman in the world. HG has the best children and grandchildren, a source of unending joy. HG lives in two wonderful places–New Mexico and Prince Edward Island. In previous years, HG lived in New York (happily, before the isle of Manhattan became a theme park for oligarchs). Lived by the sea in Nantucket and Fire Island. Relished the equestrian life on a Colorado mountain ranch. Was fortunate enough to experience the glorious urbanism of Vancouver, B.C. and the Mile High City of Denver. HG has been fortunate in receiving much love and, of course, has gloried in the pleasures of the knife, fork, dish and glass. So, when the final moment arrives, HG presumes last words will not be eloquent. Possibly a grunt of anger at the end of it all. HG doesn’t believe famous last words ever got uttered. As a publicist who encouraged some profitable myth making, HG is aware that many heroic words can’t bear objective scrutiny. HG and most American children learned the eloquent last words of 21-year-old patriot and Continental Army officer Nathan Hale. During the Revolutionary War, George Washington sent Hale to New York to spy on the British. He was captured and hung. On the gallows he said (or didn’t say), these immortal words:”I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.” HG is skeptical. All reports indicate Hale was heroic, but there is little positive proof he said those stirring words. In fact, the exact location of Hale’s New York hanging has never been identified precisely. Third Avenue and 66th Street? The site of what is now Grand Central Terminal or further downtown at City Hall Park? Some years later there was another hero whose last words gained some immortality. He was Yosef Trumpeldor (1880-1920). A very tough soldier, Trumpeldor, a Russian and a Jew, joined the Russian army in 1902 and fought in the war with Japan. He was hit by shrapnel, lost an arm, but kept fighting. He said: “I have another good arm to lose for the motherland.” (HG finds this quite improbable). Trumpeldor received many decorations (including the Cross of Saint George) and became the first Jewish officer in the army. Later, Trumpeldor became a Zionist and with Ze’ev Jabotinsky, the fiery founder of Zionist Revisionism, helped organize the Jewish Legion and Zion Mule Corps which fought with the British during the Middle East campaigns of World War One. Trumpeldor was with the Mule Corps at Gallipoli and was wounded in the shoulder. (The Zion Mule Corps provided many men who later became officers in Haganah and the Israel Defense Corps). After the war, Trumpeldor settled in Palestine where he became a member of Hashomer, the Jewish self defense force (founded in 1909) that was the predecessor of Haganah. In 1920, the Jewish settlement of Tel Hai near the Syrian border was attacked by a force of some 100 Arabs (Syrian Arabs were engaged in a war with France –which France won). The Arab attackers of Tel Hai believed mistakenly that French soldiers were being sheltered at the settlement. Hashomer sent Trumpeldor to defend the settlement. Some 8 Jews and 5 Arabs were killed in the battle. Trumpeldor was hit in the hand and stomach by Arab bullets. Before he died he said: “It does not matter. It is good to die for our country.” He became a Zionist hero and those words are carved in a monument at the site of his death. Some historians have said that Trumpeldor, furious at his fate after having faced death so many times in the battles with Japanese and Turks, uttered a Russian curse. Roughly translated, it is: “Fuck your mother !!” This seems more probable. A rough oath at the end of a rough soldier’s life.

On October 21, 1929 (just days before the stock market crash which ushered in The Great Depression) there was a sell out crowd at New York’s Madison Square Garden watching five 5-round boxing matches. In each bout one of the fighters was Jewish—Max “Slapsy Maxie” Rosenbloom; Yale Okun (fresh from his win over heavyweight champion to be, “Cinderella Man” James Braddock); Al Singer “The Bronx Beauty”, Ruby Goldstein “The Jewel of the Ghetto” and Jackie “Kid” Berg. The fantastic, Semitic fistic program, promoted by Samuel “Subway Sam” Rosoff, the Jewish builder of New York’s subways, was a benefit for the Palestine Emergency Fund and “The Stricken Jews of Palestine.” In six days (August. 23-29, 1929) some 132 Jews had been killed, 232 seriously injured and many left homeless by Arab rioters incensed at the Jewish presence at Jerusalem’s Western Wall and the increasing Jewish migration to Palestine. Some of the worst bloodshed was in Hebron. The 600 Jewish residents there refused help from the Haganah (then an illegal Jewish self defense group). The Jewish Hebronites said they would be protected by the Arab elders. They were wrong. Some 68 Hebron Jews were murdered. Let’s segue to 1948. “Slapsy Maxie”(Damon Runyon had given him the nickname because, though a very clever boxer, Rosenbloom was a light puncher) was a comic actor in the movies (usually playing a punchy lug). He fronted a comedy club in Hollywood, “Slapsy Maxie’s.” His boxing career was long over (Four years as light-heavweight champ, 298 fights with 229 wins). LA Mobster Mickey Cohen (once a featherweight boxer himself) was with Ben “Bugsy” Siegel a founder of Murder Inc. and leader of the “Jewish Mafia” and the alleged real owner of “Slapsy Maxie’s.” It was at the club that Ben Hecht made a legendary speech to an audience of Cohen, Siegel and other Jewish gangsters, bookmakers, hustlers and gamblers. Hecht was a prominent screen writer, novelist and journalist. He was an ardent supporter of Irgun (the Israeli terrorist cell headed by Menachem Begin). Hecht asked the audience of tough guy Jews to contribute money for the purchase of arms for Irgun. Some $200,000 was raised. There is a division of opinion on what happened to the money. Some claim Cohen simply kept the dough. A writer devoted a book to an implausible theory linking Mickey Cohen, Menachem Begin, the Mossad and the Israeli government to the death of Marilyn Monroe and the assassination of President Kennedy. Obviously, there is a glut of far fetched conspiracy theories concerning these events, one more outrageous than the next.

Nir Bareket, age 76, died last week and was buried in Toronto, the city where he had lived for many years. Nir, an eminent photographer, was HG/BSK’s dear friend for more than 50 years. They met when Nir was a photographer at the Young & Rubicam advertising agency in New York and BSK was a young actress. Nir wanted exposure for his skills so volunteered to provide “head shots” for BSK. The portraits ended up being too beautiful and creative for commercial head shots but valuable as art work and invaluable in creating a lifelong friendship — In HG/BSK’s New Mexico home there is a portrait of young BSK from that session—a sensitive face dramatized by a sweep of dark hair and BSK’s beautiful eyes. Nir once said about his career: “Photography isn’t a sprint. It’s a marathon.” His brilliant marathon of a career took place in Israel (where he was born and served in the IDF), Europe, New York and Toronto. In May 2014, Toronto’s Market Gallery featured a retrospective: Nir Bareket; My Eyes Have Seen. Celebrating 50 Years of Photography. The show included Nir’s theatrical photos (the director of Canada’s Theater Museum praised Nir for keeping alive memorable theatrical moments); Toronto street scenes; Ellis Island in New York harbor; New Mexico and more. The obituary notice in Canadian newspapers accurately described Nir Bareket: “An artist, photographer, mentor to many, honest friend, fierce soul, a dreamer and a realist, beloved partner, father and grandfather,” Irreplaceable, Nir will live in the memories of HG/BSK and many others.

Restaurant cooking is probably better than ever. Chefs are more creative and less provincial. They are willing to stretch themselves, using the spices, foods and flavors of numerous countries in their cooking. And, many chefs are seeing outside the confines of their kitchen and addressing global problems of climate change and health by sourcing sustainable (and local) produce, meat and fish. However, because of rising costs and (specially in New York) the crushing burden of rent, most restaurants lack the two important qualities that make dining out memorable: Generosity and Hospitality. These qualities always impressed HG/BSK when dining in Italy. So many happy memories of modest trattorias and osterias where HG/BSK were treated like family members rather than tourists with a very modest amount of Italian language skills. Chefs would often send a few additional gratis tastes to HG/BSK’s table. HG has a happy memory of the proprietor of a seaside restaurant walking through the room with a big bowl of seafood risotto insisting the customers have a taste. Paris bistros and brasseries (for the most part) have lost their welcoming spirit. Today, after being assured HG/BSK’s reservations are in order, the maitre d’ seats them in a ghetto reserved for non-Francophones—mainly Japanese and Chinese tourist plus boisterous Germans and Russians. This is in sharp contrast to the welcomes of yesteryear. HG recalls a lunch some 30 years ago at Chez Georges, then as now, an excellent bistro serving classic French food. Cold November day and HG/BSK arrived without a reservation. No matter, said the smiling bistro owner, the wait will be short. Made them comfortable standing at the bar. Poured two glasses of fine Brouilly and provided some dry sausage to nibble. Seated in about seven minutes, HG/BSK relished their salads of frisee with lardons and poached eggs. Ate other good things –rare duck breast, sole meuniere, pommes frites., etc. That old time French bistro spirit was always alive and well at the delightful Veau d’ Or on E. 60th Street in New York. When you were seated, the proprietor immediately provided you with an appetite sharpening saucer of mussels in a savory mustard sauce. Waiters enjoyed HG’s exuberant pleasure in Veau d’ Or’s lusty cuisine. When HG knocked off some delicious quenelles in record time, the waiter replenished the plate. Smiled, No charge. A happy time.(The photo is of the late Robert Treboux, the genial owner of Le Veau d”or. He said of his traditional restaurant: “Those seeking trends should go elsewhere.”)

In HG’s Bronx youth basketball ruled. Sure, there were plenty of softball games, rough and tough sandlot football battles, bleacher seats at Yankee Stadium (to watch the Yanks) and at the Polo Grounds (to watch the football Giants). But, the game that captured the hearts and minds of Bronx guys was basketball. Every Sunday, HG played three-man ball on the asphalt courts of Public School 86 (on Reservoir Avenue) or the Williamsbridge Oval (near Mosholu Parkway). Winning threesome kept the court. Losers left and another trio took their place. First team to score 16 points won. HG was no star. Just a very competitive and fearless journeyman. After games were over, the hungry young men shared huge, greasy pizzas at Joe’s Pizzeria on Jerome Avenue or numerous hot dogs with sauerkraut and mustard at nearby delicatessens. Saturday night was reserved for college games at Madison Square Garden. St. John’s, N.Y.U., C.C.N.Y., Manhattan, L.I.U. all had powerhouse teams and legions of manic fans. Apres game it was off to the Blue Ribbon, a German restaurant, for huge apple pancakes and beer. Currently, HG is watching the NBA playoffs. The players, in HG’s opinion, are the greatest athletes in the world. They combine size, strength, coordination, speed, grace, endurance and a fiery will to win. In recent days HG has seen ferocious, brilliant games culminating in last second heroics by Derrick Rose, Chris Paul, Paul Pierce and Lebron James. Yes, Europeans call soccer “the beautiful game” and Canadians are nuts about hockey…Fuhgeddabout it!! The game that’s got everything is NBA play-off hoops. And, depleted after vigorous TV watching, HG sits down to sumptuous eats prepared by BSK. Beats the hell out of pizza and hot dogs.

Okay. This is the last of HG’s ruminations about old (mainly Jewish) prize fighters. HG has been fascinated by the fighting names of two battlers (they fought as welterweights and middleweights) Soldier Bartfield and Sailor Friedman. Soldier (1892-1970) was born Jakob Bartdfeldt in Hungary. He grew up in Brooklyn and was one of the busiest (some 220 fights between 1911-1932) and toughest fighters of his era. Soldier fought the best including champions Ted “Kid” Lewis (6 times), Mickey Walker (3 times), Benny Leonard, Jack Britton (7 times), Harry Greb (3 times). Soldier beat Lewis once, Britton once and Greb once. Soldier’s nephew was the very good Brooklyn middleweight, Danny Bartfield. During a comparatively short career (1940-1948),he had a record of 41 wins and five losses. (An aside: Britton was Ernest Hemingway’s favorite fighter and is a prototype for Hemingway’s fictional portraits of fighters. Britton fought Ted ‘Kid” Lewis the great Jewish welterweight from London’s East End, some 20 times. Each was a close bout and the welterweight championship shifted between them.) Soldier got his military name from three years of US Army service in Texas (presumably chasing Pancho Villa). Sailor Friedman (1899-1968) was born William Friedman in Chicago, ran away from home at the age of 14, settled in South Philadelphia. Sailor got his nautical name from three years (1915-1918) service aboard a US Navy battleship. He moonlighted from the ship to have his first professional fight in 1916. During his career (1916-1928) he had 119 fights (winning about half). Highlights were a losing battle with Mickey Walker for the welterweight title and two losing efforts against another Philadelphia fighter, Lew Tendler. Sailor was not an exemplary citizen. His manager was Max (Boo Boo) Hoff, Philadelphia gangland boss, bootlegger, gambling house operator . Sailor worked in various Hoff gambling enterprises and was one of his bodyguards. Sailor was charged with a Chicago murder in 1922 (killing of an illicit booze transporter). Convicted but exonerated. In 1923, on the eve of a Milwaukee fight, Friedman was beaten bloody by three assailants and left senseless. Cops linked it to a Chicago gangland dispute. In 1928, Friedman was arrested for assault but released. Surprisingly, Sailor had a streak of patriotism (or a desire to leave troubling circumstances in Philadelphia). In 1942, at the age of 43, he re-enlisted in the wartime US Navy. Record books reveal another Sailor Friedman who fought in New Orleans five times. There was also a Sailor Freeman (no relation of HG) who had one fight. And, there was also an obscure Soldier Freeman (no relation). Go figure.

HG’S darling daughter-in-law, Exquisite Maiko (one of the world’s great cooks) doesn’t like cumin. Says it smells like “pencils.” (Go figure). Gorgeous Granddaughter Sofia has many aversions: Mussels, eggplant, cucumbers, fish. Sofia has a mad lust for Israeli couscous. Could live happily on tortillas that are dusted with cheese and popped into the toaster oven. Grandson Haru is finicky. Likes omelets (the way his father, SJ, prepares them); pasta with oil, garlic and anchovies; salmon caviar; grilled mackerel. And, that’s about it. (Loves ice cream and other sweet treats, of course). Daughter Victoria is a vegetarian and owns (with husband/chef Marc Meyer) four restaurants that feature many meaty dishes. (Go figure). Gifted Daughter Lesley R. is a wonderful cook with a robust appetite. Doesn’t like walnuts. (Go figure.). SJ is an omnivorous, ambidextrous eater. Will eat almost anything but found himself unable to get down more than a bite of French chitterling sausage, a mainstay on traditional French bistro menus — found them vile in terms of taste and smell. Brilliant Granddaughter Arianna (very, very slender) has a big appetite, a lust for Korean ramen, hot spices and smelly cheeses. Son-in-law Massimo R., the distinguished Italian Professor and scholar, has Italian and cosmopolitan tastes. Unlike most Italians, Massimo happily devours sushi, Indian food, etc. He lacks sentimentality and will eat with good appetite a variety of dishes shunned by civilized folk: Horse meat, donkey sausage and stew; offal. Shares HG’s passion for tripe (SJ and Sofia are also fans). But, the Professor has a typical Italian superstition. Won’t eat cucumbers. Claims they are semi poisonous and an enemy of good digestion. (Go figure). BSK is allergic to crustaceans. Does not like fatty, unhealthy foods (chicken skin, for example). Pickles and peanuts are a significant part of the BSK diet. Eats loads of fruit and vegetables. But, BSK’s English ancestry has made BSK lust for (a passion BSK keeps in check) a cloyingly sweet and nasty confection (in HG’s opinion) called Licorice All-Sorts. (Go figure). HG”s attitude toward food, wine and strong drink, is: “Bring it on (and in big portions) !!” However, the greedy fellow turns down beets (except in the form of borscht). (Go figure).

Back in New Mexico where our gardens are ablaze with color. Daffodils, tulips, forsythia, lilac bushes. HG/BSK ambled through the apple orchard which is in full blossom. The fragrance is delicious. Fish are leaping about in the Koi pond and Toby, The Wonder Dog, is leaping in pleasure–delighted at the HG/BSK homecoming. BSK prepared one of HG’s favorite dishes: A roast spatchcocked chicken. BSK marinated the succulent Bell & Evans bird at room temperature in a marinade of olive oil, lemon juice, garlic and rosemary. The nicely browned, juicy chicken (and plenty of herbaceous, garlicky juices) was served with BSK’s smashed potatoes. (BSK crushes boiled potatoes with chicken stock and then adds sliced scallions). The next day, HG cut the left over chicken in slivers. Sliced Persian cucumbers, sweet onions, carrots and radishes. Cooked and quickly cooled (under cold water) some Chinese cellophane noodles. Made a dressing of Vietnamese Red Boat Fish Sauce, brown sugar, water, sesame oil and red chile flakes. Mixed everything together, Topped the platter with torn leaves of mint and basil.and a shower of chopped, salted peanuts. A bottle of Sriracha on the table for added heat, Drank cold Anchor Steam Ale with this vaguely Vietnamese dish. Pleasant eating on a warmish spring night.

More sun. More sea. More fun. And, a nice surprise. Beautiful Zena B. has accompanied SJ and family. (The lovely lass doesn’t swim but sunbathes and hot tubs). Ram Sea, the condo/resort BSK selected, is comfy, convenient and friendly. Not to be mistaken for Palm Beach or the Riviera. Unchic. Caters to families from the South, midwest and Canada. Lots of kids and teens and college-agers. These teenagers and collegians are not the Spring Break cliche of wet-T-shirt-contest-having, beer swilling, vomiting-on-the-beach barbarians; rather, they seem to be busy all day flirting, joking, playing volleyball, kayaking, paddle boarding, throwing footballs, etc. BSK remarked on how beautiful and fit the young women looked — lean and athletic. These are young women who exercise and play soccer, tennis, volleyball, basketball, etc. The girls of HG’s generation (and possibly BSK’s) seemed forced into the role of beach bunnies whose principal activity was nurturing a tan. Our fellow vacationers at Ram Sea are a kind, courteous and helpful group of folks. When HG tripped leaving the sea (nothing serious), a half dozen young people and a group of oldsters raced to his rescue. Sun, swimming and sunset drinks on the terrace created raging hunger. HG, BSK, etc., abandoned seafood and drove to Pho Kien Kang, a Vietnamese restaurant. Egg rolls; big, steaming bowls of pho with sliced beef; grilled pork on “broken rice.” HG mused how immigrants have improved American restaurant cuisine. There are now few American cities where one can’t get a big bowl of good pho. Hopefully, when the Mideast madness simmers down, we’ll get a deluge of good Syrian and Iraqui eateries.

In St. Petersburg, Florida for annual visit with BSK’s very frail 95-year-old Mom (the brave lady hangs on and seems to enjoy seeing her family). BSK had the good idea of renting a 3-bedroom, 2-bath condo facing the Gulf of Mexico. SJ and family motored down from frozen Brooklyn for some much needed warm Florida sun; white, powdery sand beaches and sea swimming. HG/BSK arrived on a Saturday, did some necessary shopping for essentials, basked in the hot sun (temps in the high 80’s), swam in the warm sea, loosened muscles in a hot tub, showered and drank cold white wine on the sea facing terrace. Sunset over the Gulf was a dramatic blaze of color. Appetites well honed, HG/BSK were off to Leverock’s Restaurant for some traditional Gulf Coast seafood. Started off with some Gulf oysters (bland when compared to the briny Northeastern variety but tasty when enhanced by horseradish, lemon and hot sauce). Very good grilled Grouper with cole slaw and sweet potato fries. Shared a dessert of Key Lime pie. Went back to the restaurant on Sunday night after late afternoon arrival of SJ family. Easter Sunday crowd had demolished all of the oysters but the group managed to dine lavishly on fried shrimp, steamed snow crab, grilled Grouper, fried onion rings and a giant helping of shrimp and bacon over cheese grits. Shrimp in local St. Pete restaurants come from shrimp fleets (many manned by Vietnamese emigres) operating out of New Orleans and Galveston. These shrimp are fresh, juicy and much better than the frozen, tasteless variety served in Northern states. Happy mouthfuls.