I was 15 when World War II ended. A good number of years -- and one Rangers Stanley Cup -- have come and gone and just when I least expected it; at age 91 to be exact; I'm writing my fourth piece about a war that I never wanted to know about, least of all write about.
I was 15 when World War II ended. A good number of years -- and one Rangers Stanley Cup -- have come and gone and just when I least expected it; at age 91 to be exact; I'm writing my fourth piece about a war that I never wanted to know about, least of all write about.
I was ten years old when the Japanese attacked the American Naval Base at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941
It was my first taste of war -- from the safety of our green, living room couch.
I should have been at the Polo Grounds in Harlem with my father where the NFL Football Giants were playing the Brooklyn Football Dodgers. But I had the measles so my Uncle Sid took off with my dad and I tuned in on our stately RCA Victor stand up radio.
This pro football game was a big deal in our nabe because on Marcy Avenue, near the Williamsburg Bridge, we religiously rooted for anything Brooklyn. I should note that before we heard the news from Hawaii, the other big event was "Tuffy Leemans Day," honoring the Giants' robust -- and like-able -- fullback.
As usual our Brooks were the underdogs but quarterback Ace Parker had the game of his life and the Flatbush gridders came away with a heady victory.
But something had happened between the opening kick off and the end of the first half.
Word passed from across the Pacific and from California to 582 Marcy Avenue that a land that had been at peace now was at war -- us against them and five years later Us sealed the ultimate victory on the USS Missouri.
I was too young to be in the war but my Uncle Joe was in the Seabees, my Uncle John was in the Maritime Service and my mother's cousin, Irving Lee, was a Major with Army intelligence. There was a lot of excitement following FDR's "Day of Infamy" speech right up to V-E and V-J Days.
That, however, was far away, kid stuff for me. I was 15 when World War II ended. A good number of years -- and one Rangers Stanley Cup -- have come and gone and just when I least expected it; at age 91 to be exact; I'm writing my fourth piece about a war that I never wanted to know about, least of all write about.
But here I am -- still in Israel -- with a lot of war news having come and gone.
The standard question hurled at me -- a good 300 times by now -- is how're doin'?
For starters, my answer inevitably is OK. Although rockets upon rockets have rained on many of our daily haunts, we've remained safe. And all things considered, that's a feat.
For example, the Canada Centre, which boasts an Olympic-sized hockey rink, has been closed for weeks and the town of Metula where it sits, has been evacuated -- as have other centers.
That said, we manage to get around. Last week my younger son, Simon, had to obtain our medical prescriptions. Once again we had to drive the 40 minutes to Kiryat Shimona which had been evacuated weeks ago.
Last time we drove to K-S it looked like a ghost town. Except for SuperPharm, the shopping center was closed and that included McDonald's which I figured would have been open no matter what.
But we are beyond No Matter What Land. 'Way 'way beyond, A few hours after Simon and I motored home, at least two rockets hit Kiryat Shimona's main drag and demolished a married couple's apartment. Simon and I were lucky to have left K-S when we did.
As for my schedule these days, it goes something like this:
1. Up at 5:30 a.m. If the Islanders had a game the previous night, I'll write a game story which will take less than an hour and then off it goes on my computer, hopefully by 6:30 a.m.
2. A half-hour of stretches accompanied by songs; which I sing to myself.
3. Let the seven dogs out for some fresh air, although old, slow, Munches usually goes back to sleep.
4. Prayers in Hebrew and English from a bilingual prayer book Rabbi Friedman from 'Congregation Ramath Orah (110th and Broadway) gave me decades ago.
5. Check email. Answer most!
6. Shower; shave. Gillette throw-away plastic razors are underrated.
7. Tell the dogs to "Quiet down!" (They talk back.)
8. Make and eat oatmeal. (Tell the classic Oatmeal gag to myself).
9. Start additional hockey-writing and keep going until 2 p.m. lunch.)
The Hebrew news Channel 14 remains on throughout. The rest of the day depends in large part on the necessity of the moment.
Throughout, hockey dominates a large part of my thinking. Pulling for the Isles is like exhaling. Writing is a wonderful tonic and also a distraction but I'm sure you heard that before. (I've found that I'm integrating my love of big band tunes into my stories. Accidents will happen.)
In between I might hear some jets heading to Gaza and hum some tunes I learned at Brooklyn College. The days go fairly fast and often speeded up when Simon and I discuss the pluses and minuses of the Islanders week.
Keeping on an even keel is enhanced by the tons (well, almost) of emails.
Pals such as power skating queen Barbara WilliIams, hockey historian Eric Zweig are pleasant surprises not to mention my "Family" from MSG Networks. Some emails are stunners such as a gal pal I never, ever expected to hear from who lives on the Left coast.
The hockey community has overwhelmed me and my family with love, concern and more love. (And that's no joke.)
It's given me an incredible peace at what's anything but a peaceful time.