"What is a friend? A single soul dwelling in two bodies." Aristotle, from Diogenes Laertius, Lives of Eminent Philosophers
"Abraham ... was called a friend of God." The Epistle of St. James
St. Paul closes his letter to the Phillippians with the words, "And now, friends, farewell." He was writing from Rome while under house arrest, waiting for a trial as a Roman citizen after being arrested in Jerusalem for his troublesome preaching. He had become particularly close to these Philippian Christians to the point that they, when hearing of his imprisonment, had sent one of their own, Epaphroditus, to assist him and to bring him gifts. In this most heartfelt letter of thanks Paul mentions his friendship to Timothy and Epaphroditus and his appreciation for their assistance. The great Saint, an older man now, wrote with the affection reminiscent of Jesus' concern for the twelve disciples in His last words of instruction to them. He was writing to friends.
Jewish and Christian sacred scripture speak often of the word friend. Indeed, St. Paul uses the word eight times in this epistle. Abraham was called a friend of God as was Moses and David. The book of Wisdom states that he who attains wisdom wins the friendship of God. As mentioned above, Jesus told his twelve followers at the Last Supper discourse in what is arguably the most poignant moment in the Sacred story, that these men were "no longer servants but friends."
Friendship was esteemed in the other ancient cultures of Bible times. The Roman statesman Cicero wrote eloquently about friendship and considered no life worth living without friends, as did Greek philosopher Aristotle, who spoke of three types of friendship, the highest being friendship for its own sake. It should be noted that both men considered virtue a requirement for true friendship.
The English word "friend" has German origins, not Latin. Freund in old German meant to love or set free. We English speakers more readily relate the word friend to the Latin, amare, because of the commonly known words amigo, ami, and amici, the Spanish, French, and Italian, respectively, or even the Greek, phileo, from which we get the name for our city, Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love. But for reasons unknown we adopted the German word for brotherly fidelity and charity, friend. The meaning is the same, in it’s highest form a friend is someone to whom we show and are shown charity, for its own sake, for its own enjoyment, that is, not for some ulterior end.
Maybe it's an obvious simplification, but it should be mentioned, I think, that friendship exists between we humans because God exists. When St. John says that God is love, he is declaring that God's very existence is a kind of friendship. And from this I conclude that man, created by God and in His likeness, is being most human and godly when he is being a friend. And indeed, that friendship is inseparable from our being human, it is in the "warp and woof," of our nature. And that we are not alone; that we are not solitary creatures scraping out an existence in never-ending "survival of the fittest" competition with other solitary creatures, but persons made in the image of his or her Creator, who by that very special place in creation wants and needs, friendship.
One of my favorite stories of friendship is the lifelong friendship between southerners and writers, Shelby Foote, author of the best-selling books, The Civil War Series, and novelist Walker Percy. The two became friends as children in Greenville, Mississippi and remained friends throughout their lives. I knew of Walker Percy through his novels and Shelby Foote through the PBS/Ken Burn's adaptation of his Civil War Series books.
Because of the recognition Foote had received for the television series, C-Span's, Brian Lamb conducted several long interviews with Mr. Foote, one of which related to the recent publication of a book of letters, The Correspondence of Shelby Foote & Walker Percy. The interview was essentially a discussion about the friendship of the two men, as seen particularly, through these published letters.
Not long into the conversation Mr. Lamb got around to Walker Percy's death and asked "Could anybody ever be a better friend of yours than Walker Percy? Foote replied, "Nobody was a better friend, and nobody will ever be a better friend than Walker Percy… he was a friend that could never be replaced.”
Later in the conversation Shelby Foote mentions that he had spent the last seven days of Walker's life at his home in Covington, Louisiana while Percy was in home-hospice. Mr. Lamb seemed a little surprised by this and asked Foote why he do such a thing. Foote paused a little and said, "well…that's just what friends do," which struck me as a simple but insightful statement about friendship. To watch this interview with Mr. Foote is to see in his expressions and to hear in his voice what Aristotle meant when he said that friends are a single soul dwelling in two bodies. I have watched it a dozen times.
Friendship is a gift in both its existence and in its loss. The loss of a loved one, the sadness and emptiness that accompanies the loss is a consequence of that friendship, and is reason to be thankful even in sadness, that is, that we were so fortunate to have such a friend, whether that friend be a brother or sister, husband or wife, or, as in the case of Mr. Foote, a childhood chum.
St. Thomas Aquinas put it most succinctly when he wrote,
"Among all worldly things there is nothing which seems worthy to be preferred to friendship… It is what brings with it the greatest delight, to such an extent that all that pleases is changed to weariness when friends are absent, and all difficult things are made easy and as nothing by love.”
My final thought is a personal one. I have had the double good fortune to have been raised in a good family and to have made good friends throughout life. The older one gets the more one realizes how good that good fortune is. In this year of the pandemic twice I met online with high school buddies even though it has been 50 years since we ran around and got in trouble together. I still meet for lunch with the men with whom I worked for 30 years years. We’re old now and repeat the same old stories and laugh at the same bad, off-color jokes. And, still, the more the politically correct soccer moms at the next table are offended by our school boy antics, the more we like it.
Which reminds me that maybe I should add a last thought from the wise, old Roman, Cicero. He said that one of the most difficult accomplishments in life is to keep a friend from childhood to old age. The natural changes in life, our conflicting interests, and each man’s own faults tend to keep him from a lifelong friendship. Here again, for the most part, thankfully, I have had good fortune.
Now, I’m near the end. It’s been a good life. Friendship made it very good.
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de Amicitia (On Friendship), Cicero Nicomachean Ethics, Books VIII, IX, Aristotle The Book of Job The Norton Book of Friendship, by Ronald A. Sharp (Editor), Eudora Welty (Editor) The Correspondence of Shelby Foote & Walker Percy, edited by Jay Tolson Epistle to the Phillipians. St. Paul The Silent Friendships of Men, by Roger Rosenblatt. Time Magazine
It has been the best new segment for sports radio, The Ticket (96.7FM / 1310AM) in the last couple of years. All thanks to the Covid, I guess, because this Bands of Your Life segment replaced the popular pre-Covid weekly segment, Best Act Coming to Town, which was shelved because, post-Covid, no acts are coming to town.
Bands of Your Life ranks with E-brake and Gay or Not Gay (now on the shelf) as far as my favorites. I have other favorites including Dan-Paul's Pig Pen, Why Today Doesn't Suck, and Marge the swim coach. I miss What's on Mike's Mind, and for that matter, I miss Mike.The Compound was the best radio in the last 25 years, in my opinion, right up there with Corby's interviews with Shaq. Filling sixteen hours daily of airtime for a sports radio station is no small task when there's no sports.
But back to this segment, The Bands of Your Life. Morning host Craig Miller pulled the idea from a website called Sosh(?) The idea is simple. Answer a list of questions about bands that have been a part of your life, and why. The only rule is that a band can only be used once. Besides the Ticket hosts going through the Bands of Your Life on air they've had local celebrities as well, Mike Doocy and Lisa Loeb, to name just two. It's all good radio, in my opinion. I've listened to most of the lists more than once on podcast. For the younger guys, like Gen-X Davy and to a lesser extent Danny, I didn't know many of the songs or even the bands. But the kind of music a person likes is still of interest to me.
August 2020 update:
Since first writing this three more Ticket hosts have presented their "Bands," Bob Sturm, Dan McDowell, and Julie Dobbs. All of them very interesting and worth listening to.
But to Dan I have to say: the BeeGees...? ...Whoa..
September 2020 update:
This week singer/songwriter Pat Green presented his "Bands of Your Life." I think it's my favorite so far, partly because I liked his selections and partly because of the stories he told along with his selections, including personal anecdotes of Willie Nelson and Jerry Jeff Walker. That was a great segment.
The Unticket has the complete list of questions, the podcasts of each person and their choices. Here: https://www.theunticket
Here are the questions:
Band that you hate?
Band that you think is overrated?
Band you think is underappreciated?
Band that you love?
Band you can listen to over and over again?
Band that made you fall in love with music?
Band that changed your life?
Band that surprised you?
Band that is your guilty pleasure?
Band that you should have seen by now?
Greatest band to see live?
Maybe I should add that in my answers to the first two questions there is a little bit of blog-rant which I will leave un-edited because this is an opinion piece and there's no sense equivocating when asked your opinion. Then again, no one asked my opinion.
But and nevertheless, in the spirit of Misters Doocy and Rhyner whose bands and songs I did know, here's my list. I'll start with the question found difficult by everyone. My choice will be criticized by many, but it's true...
1. The Band That I Hate is . . . the Rolling Stones. (in my head the headline is read in Ribby Paultz voice)
Hold on a minute Junior and fellow-Muses. Put the brick down. I recognize the talent. But their bit bugs me and has bugged me ever since I was thirteen and my father and I, sitting in the den, watched them perform Satisfaction on the Ed Sullivan show. Jagger's tongue thing annoys me, their tongue album cover grossed me out when I was around sixteen, and their involvement with the Hell's Angels at Altamont which turned violent and caused the death of a young black man iced the cake. I don't like them or their act. I'll grant that it's cool that they were influenced by Muscle Shoals and American soul and country music. Respectfully, I think Mr. Doocy is wrong about them, they are kind of a one-tracked band with a few exceptions, in the way that the Beatles weren't. The Beatles vision and scope was much broader. I'm just not into the Stones. Sorry.
According to the magazine Business Insider, The Eagles Greatest Hits is the #1 selling album of all time. If they sell that many albums and are so popular how can I say they are over-rated? I guess it's just too pop for me. And back in the day I thought, not counter-culture enough. I don't doubt the talent or the lyrics in songs like Desperado but they just generally wear me out. I'll light myself on fire if I'm stuck hearing Hotel California. In my view, the Eagles and other 70s bands are the beginning of the end of the Bob Dylan to the Beatles era of rock and roll. And if that's not enough to convince you they're over-rated, consider this drivel, The Greeks Don't Want No Freaks :
3. The Band That I Love Right Now: Bruce Springsteen and the E-Street Band.
Actually, it's the Ticket that got me listening more closely to Springsteen. Corby Davidson did a review of the movie, Dancing in the Street which is about a young Pakistani boy living in London whose life was changed by Bruce's music. My wife and I went to the movie and I was hooked. Before that I knew him for hits like Born in the USA. But I didn't appreciate him as a lyricist in the tradition of Dylan, Prine, Petty, Lennon and McCartney until recently. The Streets of Philadelphia written for the movie is a beautiful and haunting piece of music. His lyrics are authentic in the way of 60's music even though he's not a 60's guy. He's criticized for lyrics like Racing in the Streets because he's not really a racing guy, or a working class guy, or a guy without a place, but his songs are about the universal qualities of love, longing, and loss, and like every good lyricist he uses what he knows or what he has observed closely. A southerner writes about the south, a boy raised in the shadows of Philadelphia sees the world through a city.
As in the following tunes:
In somewhat of a contradiction to my last statement, Springsteen went Western in his last production. It shows his ability to change with his age and experience in life, and with his interests, much like Bob Dylan and Paul Simon did. In his latest album, Western Stars he departs the street lights of Philadelphia for the night lights of the big western skyand produces songs in the style of the Western Ballad.
4. I Love Music because of: The Temptations and Motown
When I was fourteen in 1966 the Beatles hadn't yet cracked (or should it be "written") the code of the emerging counter-culture rock music scene. For those of us living in the shadows of Philadelphia, music was Motown. And the Temptations were Motown's kings. Not far behind was Smokey, the Four Tops, Aretha, Marvin Gaye, and the Supremes. I saw the Temps live with five of my buddies when I was sixteen in Philadelphia. The Convention Hall was packed. There were six white boys. It was magic.
The album I wore out the most was probably The Temptations in a Mellow Mood. I never heard any of these songs on the radio and I don't know how well it did commercially but my buddies and I loved it. We tried to dance, sing, and perform like this but never quite got close.
Then the Beatles produced Rubber Soul, and a couple years later Sergeant Peppers, and in those short years the world changed right before our eyes and me with it. The White Album followed, and in my view, the beginning of the end of the good times. Despair was seeping into the music (Helter Skelter and Revolution No.9). But there's no doubt that the White Album took the young generation by storm. Nothing came close to its influence and popularity except possibly another Beatles album like Sergeant Peppers, Abbey Road, or Let It Be, all of which were produced in the late 60s early 70s. In 1969 the Beatles were at the top of the heap and no one was near them.
The following song has some nostalgic significance for me. One, I loved the song, but also, my religion teacher at the Catholic school was a bit of Marxist, and a lover of the 60's peace and love religion that bands like the Beatles were promulgating. Fr. Burns would explicate the meanings of contemporary songs to us boys and Blackbirds was one of his favorites. I think they canned him the following year.
6. The Band That I Listen to Over and Over? Crosby, Stills, Nash (and Young)
I had all the CSN and CSN plus albums. They brought something different, more melodic, to the music. And the lyrics expressed the thoughts of a generation. My buddies and I spent many a night with CSN music playing in the background of whatever it was we were doing. I still listen to them.
7. Band that you should have seen by now? Anita Baker
I love listening to Anita Baker but never saw her perform live. Her voice captivates me. Give me a Texas-summer Saturday night, about 9:00 after working in the yard, a cold six-pack of Miller Lite, a pack of Marlboro Lights, my porch swing, quiet, and a little Anita Baker playing in the background and all God's chillin' are happy. She can belt it out with the best of them including Diana, Whitney, and Aretha, but, to my ear she has something else, something maybe a little more human. Sexy. I don't know, but I like it, and her. And she's a performer, par excellence.
Band that is your guilty pleasure? Jason Mraz "I'm Yours"
I'm a sucker for the catchy, upbeat tune. This was popular and deservedly so. Would I go to a live show? No, but I've listened to this song hundred times on YouTube.
Greatest Band to See Live... Dave Matthews (Apologies to Mr. Wilonsky and Mr. Miller)
The fact is I never saw him live. I wanted to and I guess I could have but my wife isn't really interested. My daughter and sons attended Dave's concerts, more than once I should add, and I thought eventually they'd invite old dad to tag along. You know the guy that got them listening to music. Silly of me, I know. The truth is I wasn't invited because of their lingering thought that Frank the Tank would emerge from the person they knew as their father. They were right, of course. Still, in my mind, this is great 60's rock and roll interpreted 30 years later. I love it and would love to see him live.
The hell with Junior and Wilonsky. Hit play. Crank that baby up.
The Band I Would Go See if I Could Time Travel: the painter,Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
If I could time-travel and could choose a seat at any performance in history, I'd take Antonio Salieri's seat at the opening performance of The Marriage of Figaro (1786). Mozart was the greatest and still is the greatest composer of all time. Period. My view of him is not unlike Salieri's in the movie, Amadeus.
When I listen to the Overture to The Marriage of Figaro or the Contessa Perdonne, or the Lacrimosa from the Requiem I wonder if God Himself wrote this music. It is the sound of beauty. So thought Salieri (above) and Red (Morgan Freeman, below), the prisoner friend of Andy Dufresne in Shawshank Redemption. He said as much while one of the world's most beautiful arias (Canzonetta Sull'aria) is played over the prison yard's loudspeakers:
I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't want to know. Some things are best left unsaid. I'd like to think they were singing about something so beautiful, it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away...
I can't make a list of music in my life without mentioning the man who was the soundtrack for my childhood, and our family. He was my father's favorite and the man my father loved to see live back in the day before I was around. In later years, Philadelphia radio aired a Sinatra station. 24 hours a day. I can remember walking into my father's room and he'd be half-snoozing, eyes closed in his Laz-y-Boy, and Sinatra singing lightly in the background.
I thought his music was old-fashioned and out of touch when I was a teenager. I love it now. Love it.
Just about everyone said that they had a hard time narrowing down their list and would add names of people they thought should be included even though that's kind of against the rules. Today, I was driving down the road thinking that I should have included X.
So, I'm going to do what everyone else did and add people that could have been included:
Luciano Pavarotti: in a league by himself. Saw the 3 Tenors at Dodger Stadium many years ago with a friend of mine. Truly a highlight of my life.
Tom Petty: Listen to him frequently.
Jackson Browne: Wish I had seen him live in Philly. (Thanks to Rhyner for getting me back into Petty and Browne)
Jimi Hendrix: All Along the Watchtower? Is there anything more representative of 60's rock?
Santana: Live at Woodstock greatness.
Tom Waits: Right up there with Dylan, Springsteen, Lennon, Prine, Petty
Beethoven: Is the Moonlight Sonata the most beautiful piece of music ever written?
Emmy Lou Harris: The best in her field and still as beautiful as ever, if it's allowable to still say things like that. I saw her live three times. Twice in Fort Worth, Texas at small venues. One in Dallas at SMU where she sang with Linda Ronstadt and Dolly Parton. All great.
I've included no country music, I guess because I didn't become a listener until I was over 40. My daughter got me listening to Lyle Lovett, Robert Earl Keen, Willie Nelson and a few others. Some guys I worked with introduced me to Merle Haggard, Jerry Jeff Walker and Joe Ely. I converted to Texas-country-music after a beer-soaked pilgrimage to Gruene Hall for a live performance from Joe Ely. Good times. Saw Jerry Jeff live but never Merle Haggard. His Kern River is in my top ten favorite songs all time.
There are two kinds of people in the world: talkers and
listeners.
On a scale of one to ten, ten being your great-uncle after three martinis and zero being the cloistered Sister Mary Frances, I’m around a three,
maybe a two and half.
There’s a one physical reason I maintain silence over speech and it is simply that my vocal cords are slightly damaged; talking
loud enough for the other party to hear me is difficult. And there’s
my feeble attempt to honor the Benedictine Order’s preference for silence. And then there’s the real reason, which is, when I am talking I
get the impression that the listener doesn't give a rat's you-know-what about
what I have to say, which is understandable because I don’t either most of the
time.
And I might as well add that I have an electro-mechanical defect, that is, my brain
and my mouth are not synchronized very well. It seems there’s a delay between the
thought of a word and speaking the word. A spoken sentence for me is like a four cylinder Volkswagen Beetle sputtering down the road on two cylinders. Add
to that a healthy portion of what is now called “inner dialogue” and I’m just annoying
to listen to.
The golden-tongued have no such delay. My beloved wife, for
an example, can go from zero to sixty words per minute faster
than a Tesla Model S at a drag strip. Thought and spoken word weave into one coherent sentence,
paragraph, and story.
Not that talkers don’t have their difficult members. Who
wants to endure the monologue of the over-talker? Whole paragraphs reside in his
mind waiting to be unloaded on the unsuspecting. He is the proverbial mouth
looking for an ear.
I love a good
conversation when I can really listen to what the other person thinks and why. I
enjoy hearing words formed into sentences. I like the sound of voices. I can
listen to National Public Radio's fund-raising segments even though I am
not concentrating on the words being said. There is a pleasant cadence to the
voices. The same with baseball games broadcast on the radio. There is nothing
quite like the sound of a good baseball play-by-play man talking you through
the game, moving in and out of the silence.
The truth is talkers need listeners and listeners need
talkers. Put two listeners together and the silence can be life-sapping. Two
talkers together remind me of a high school cafeteria food fight: throw
something, duck, repeat.
There is a popular story of two famous non-talking, men of
letters, Samuel Coleridge and William Wordsworth that sums up this listener's
frame of mind. It goes like this:
"Wordsworth goes to visit Coleridge at his cottage,
walks in, sits down and does not utter a word for three hours. Neither does
Coleridge. Wordsworth then rises and, as he leaves, thanks his friend for a
perfect evening." *
The recent passing of the great Don Rickles got me reminiscing about Rickles and the comedians I've enjoyed over the years.
My earliest memory of Mr. Rickles dates to the summer of 1969. I got a summer job through a buddy of mine whose father and grandfather worked for a carpet outlet store. We were the company's carpet-hauling muscle for the summer.
My friend's father was kind enough to pick me up every day at the street-corner and we'd drive in together. One day he put a tape into the car's cassette player (very high-tech for the time) and said, "you boys will like this." We did. It was Rickles and he roasted everyone: Jews, Blacks, Catholics, Italians, Irish. My employers were Jewish and they laughed hardest at the Jewish jokes. I was hooked.
My earliest memory of comedians, in general, was watching the Ed Sullivan Show with my father who loved laughter and a good joke. His favorite comic was Alan King. I liked him too, even at that young age, but the first comedian who appealed to me as a boy was Allan Sherman and his album, My Son the Nut, and itschart-topping hit, Hello Muddah, Hello Fadduh. That was 1963. My parents owned the album. I would lay on the floor, face up, with my head to the "stereo" and play it over and over again, and even today can follow along with most of the songs.
Jonathan Winters was another old favorite of mine. Winters is rightly called a comic genius and the inspiration to the more widely-known genius, Robin Williams, who could make me laugh as well. In the 60s, I loved Steve Allen and his talk show skits, and Dick Cavett, although the latter wasn't a comedian, per se, but his quick wit as an interviewer appealed to me as did the king of late night interviews, Johnny Carson.
In the early 70s, Steve Martin turned the comic world upside down for the baby-boomers with his satirical skits, Wild and Crazy Guys, and King Tut. Martin and the talented group of Saturday Night Live satirists brought something new to TV comedy. They walk in the footsteps of Mel Brooks, Norman Lear, and Woody Allen. Billy Crystal combines qualities of both Mel Brooks' satire and the storytelling of Alan King (see the movie Mr. Saturday Night).
I'm not old enough to have seen Charlie Chaplin in silent-theater although I did watch re-runs on television, but never quite got him. I did get his comedic descendants, The Three Stooges. I'm old enough to have seen comedy change from slapstick to joke-telling to satire. And like all art forms, it has its highs and lows.
I was never a big fan of Lucille Ball or Jerry Lewis even though I recognize the talent, it just doesn't make me laugh. The old Dave Letterman shows I thought were funny. I did like some of Carole Burnett's work. I generally don't care for female stand-ups. My favorite female comic is Julia Louis-Dreyfus, although in the TV sitcom Veep, funny she is, but listening to a female use the F word a half dozen times an episode puts me off. Language, humor and everything else that is a part of daily life say something about who we are and what we value, and Veep descends into the banality of street jargon. That being said, her work in Seinfeld is as good as it gets. Hilariously funny.
I probably should add my favorite, more recent sitcoms, Office and Parks and Recreation, which I think are very funny, and cleverly written and performed, and which added another comic element to the sitcom, the acknowledgment of the third-party observer by the actors.
We find something funny for various reasons but it's almost always a "fracture" in reality as in an understated or exaggerated word, expression, or action, or a common frustration, or the accidental minor misfortunes of others. Humor like romance can't be analyzed and enjoyed simultaneously, it can't be commanded, and it's another one of those hard to define qualities that separate the homo-sapien from the lower animals. Cows don't stand around and tell jokes.
I like the self-deprecating humor of the Jewish comedians: Rickles, Sherman, King, Brooks, Allen, and Crystal, which has its origin, I think, in the Jewish pathos (see the movie Fiddler on the Roof).
The one Catholic boy that fits perfectly into the tradition mentioned above and who I have overlooked is the great Jackie Gleason.
One last song from Sherman which shows his cleverness with words, and which, I think, still stands today as a pretty funny tune (of course, the video's images were added later).
I've been known to use a little hyperbole from time to time. This is not one of those times.
Fort Worth has a new coffee shop and it's in the Meadowbrook area. I mention the location because we Eastsiders have grown accustomed to driving miles to get a decent cup of fresh coffee. No mas.
Not hyperbole: This is the best cappuccino I've had this side of the Mississippi.
Coffee Folk opened last weekend serving coffee from a beautifully renovated trailer just outside the Firehouse Pottery. Coffee Folk's roaster is Spella Cafe from Portland, Oregon. Of Spella the New York Times wrote, "the best espresso in Portland." I mention that because the Coffee Folk folk are serious about procuring good coffee.
My first visit was today, Saturday, their second weekend open. My wife and daughter had been and reported to me that the coffee was very good, my expectations were high.
I liked it so much I returned an hour later for a second cup.
I'm not a coffee snob but I do appreciate when coffee's done right. For me, the high watermark is a cappuccino from La Colombe in Philadelphia. Every time I order a macchiato, espresso, or cappuccino, it's compared to La Colombe's. If La Colombe is a 10 on a good day everything else in these United States has been less, until today. The Coffee Folk cappuccino was as good and maybe a little bit better than La Colombe's. I'll admit the tipping point in that opinion may be that Coffee Folk is a bicycle ride from my house. And that there is a secondary enjoyment to this coffee bar for those of us in Meadowbrook who have endured less than stellar food and restaurant availability, and that is seeing and conversing with dozens of neighbors who are enjoying good coffee as well.
But the coffee is the centerpiece of this table and the coffee is good.
Thank you Coffee Folk.
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Coffee Folk is just outside at the Fireside Pottery at the corner of Meadowbrook and Oakland Boulevards, Fort Worth, Texas. For now they're open Friday and Saturday only. Coffee Folk also serves a small selection of fresh pastries from Rooster Bakery in Fort Worth and a selection of teas.
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----------------------------------------------------------------------- Photo credits Top: Rebecca Smith Bottom: Jaime Brabander / The Plumbing Place
Paul McCartney composed this whimsical love song when he was sixteen years old. Eight years later "64" would become an unexpected hit and take its place in the most significant album in the history of 60's rock and roll.
I refer, of course, to the song, "When I'm 64," and the album, Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band. "When I'm 64" was released in 1966 as the B-side of the juke-box single, featuring "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds." In1967 it was placed on the Sergeant Peppers album.
Everyone back then loved the Beatles. They were a sensation that even they couldn't explain. At first it was all fun, a fusion of Buddy Holly, Elvis, Carl Perkins, The Everly Brothers, Chuck Berry and Little Richard by a British guitar-playing quartet and hits like "Twist and Shout."
Then something happened and art imitated and abetted the changing world.*
In 1965, the Beatles produced the transitional album Rubber Soul, the first album where John, Paul, George and Ringo had complete control of the music, and, where the Beatles produced songs like "Norwegian Wood." "Twist and Shout" it wasn't. A year or so later, the Beatles went "all in" with Sergeant Peppers. Everything about it was different from the iconic album cover, to the full orchestra, to songs like "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" and with it rock and roll had the permanent imprint of the psychedelic age. Fifteen million albums were sold worldwide. It was a tidal wave.
The White Album followed in 1968, a double album set, and so also the beginning of the end of that short-lived musical era. The despair of John Lennon, and to a lesser degree the other members, permeates the album in songs like "I'm So Tired," "Revolution 1," and "Revolution 9." Notwithstanding, some of their best music is found in the White Album: Harrison's "While My Guitar Gently Weeps" and McCartney's "Blackbird." (Sidebar: Now, fifty years later, the Musak version of "You Say You Want a Revolution" plays in continuous loop on elevators across America, leading me to think that Lennon's despair was not so misguided.) Abbey Road and Let it Be, released in 1969 and my favorite albums, were the final albums for the Beatles and with few exceptions for 60's music in general. By the time you get to Led Zeppelin and "Stairway to Heaven" in 1971 it's over. Indeed, many of its luminaries were gone: Hendrix, Morrison, and Joplin come to mind, and the Beatles as a band were no more.
Many of us who came of age in 60's were formed in some way by the music of the Beatles. I was 15 when the song "When I'm 64" was released on Sergeant Peppers.
I'm 64 today.
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*Sorry for the gross simplification but you try to explain the 60's in a sentence or two.
The Cape May-Lewes Ferry celebrates 50 years of service this year. That's fifty years moving passengers and vehicles across the Delaware Bay from Cape May, New Jersey to Lewes, Delaware and back. By my calculation that puts the start date at 1964. I started riding the ferry in 1965. I was thirteen.
The 1964 ferry was a bulky boat made of thick sheet metal, half-dollar sized rivets, layers of paint, chipped off paint and rust and driven by a diesel engine that you felt and heard and that shot a plume of black smoke into the summer sky (top picture). What kid could resist it?
The highlight of a ferry ride for me in 1964, besides the joy of being at almost-open sea, was watching that big old thing dock. It was there that the ship's size and weight was appreciated. Under the captains guidance, the ship slowly drifted sideways until its metal bumper guard met the dozens of telephone-pole pilings driven into the sea bottom. The pilings bent under the mass of ship as it creaked along the wood towards the landing.
Today, ferry-goers ride in tonier ships (color photo) and docking is as smooth as silk. The old telephone poles have been replaced with neatly grouped pilings with smooth plasticized cushions. Hardly as much fun but I still watch it dock when I ride the ferry.
My most vivid memory of Cape May-Lewes ferry travel was one summer day in 1965 when my buddy Billy Velvel and I hitchhiked the five or so miles from our home in Rehoboth Beach to Lewes, purchased round trip tickets for a quarter, and then hitchhiked from Cape May up the Jersey coast to Wildwood. It's very likely that neither of us had any more money than the cost of the ferry ride and that both of us were shoeless.
I mention that because on this particular trip the hitchhiking failed us on our return to Cape May and that last ferry ride home to Lewes. We ran, hitchhiked, and ran some more hoping and praying that we we didn't miss the boat. There would be hell to pay with my parents if we did because a) they didn't know we were across the bay in New Jersey, and b) mom or dad would have to make the four hour drive around the bay to pick us up. And then there was the problem of knowing how we could even call them. Failure to make the return trip was certain death for me. (See image below)
Thankfully, we made it with just a couple minutes to spare.
I get to the beach these days once or twice a year to visit family and to enjoy all that is enjoyable about the eastern shore. And more often than not, I stop by and visit the ferry and every couple of years I take the trip from Lewes to Cape May and back. I'm never, ever disappointed.
Except at the end because the trip is over, and because I still want to see the old, fat ferry crunch the old, creaky telephone poles.
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A few days ago was the first day of summer, the solstice, or sun standing still.
Its beginning brings to mind a time when summer unofficially began on the last day of school. A time when summer meant endless play for what seemed like endless days. As a young boy we'd play baseball at the park down the street until it got so dark one could hear the ball but not see it, and at the older but still youthful age of seventeen we'd play basketball in the parking lot of the local high school long past sunset.
The last day of school was like standing on a cliff overlooking an ocean that went on forever. We knew the ocean ended in September but for now land was out of site... and mind. Thankfully, I still see and hear that hopefulness in my grandchildren and I cringe at the utilitarian notions of year-round schools, whatever that utility may be.
Back then there were no electronics to keep a child inside and television was a black and white, three-channel medium whose day time broadcasts consisted of soaps, game shows, and westerns. Air-conditioning, that which keeps any sensible person inside these summer days, was still a few years away, so to escape the house-held heat we children sat outside in the shade, and for the fortunate near a lake, the ocean, or a swimming pool.
Most of the time cooling off was done with the hose and a sprinkler. I recall lying on the sidewalk after getting doused and listening to the water sizzle on the hot concrete right under my ear. There were activities but almost none generated by mom and dad who had an easy solution for lying around the house causing trouble which was "find something to do or I'll find something for you" which meant work.
Boredom was a part of summer life and accepted. It seems children aren't allowed to be bored today, every moment of their lives filled with some constructive activity to make them a better person, or athlete, or artist, or scientist. I recall summer days riding our bikes as far as we could from home trying to get lost. The only purpose was the adventure of finding our way home. Now to be fair to today's mothers, my mother expected us to roam the neighborhood all day, knowing that we would be home for dinner.
When all the bike riding and ball playing were done we'd sit with a friend on a step or a swing, not saying much or doing much but altogether happy knowing we weren't in school. That was summer for us. And the beach. There was always the beach.
It is nostalgia, I know, and romantic, I know, but on these first days of summer it does recall the memory of waiting for that last bell to ring on that last class on that last day of school . . . and jumping into summer.
Marian after dinner and all smiles after a very enjoyable evening
Every once in a while I receive an invitation to sample the fare of a new, soon-to-open restaurant. Such was the case Friday night when Marian and I attended a media-event for the new Rafain Brazilian Steakhouse at West 7th (opening Tuesday, June 24).
A Brazilian Steakhouse as you well know is a little different than the American version. The primary observable difference being that servers carry skewers of assorted cooked meats from table to table. And the Brazilian Steakhouse always features a salad bar, unlimited servings, and fixed pricing. It works well and is particularly enjoyable with a group although Marian and I enjoy it just as much as a couple.
But about this steakhouse. . .
The "salad bar" at Refain Brazilian Steakhouse is better described as a salad/antipasto bar. It's really not fair to call it just a salad bar. There is the assortment of traditional salad fare: romaine, iceburg and other lettuce varieties, but also fresh vegetables like whole steamed asparagus, steamed broccoli, a selection of breads and olives, and traditional antipasto items like albacore tuna salad, raw salmon, and blocks of assorted cheeses. And more, fifty items in all. I loved the cucumbers, tomatoes, and herbs in a light vinaigrette and the red onions in balsamic vinegar.
Now, it's easy to have a salad bar with a selection of 50 items. It's not easy to have a salad bar where the food is displayed handsomely and where each individual item is prepared properly, kept at the appropriate temperature, and can stand on its own if chosen by itself. That's difficult because it takes time and oversight and someone caring. Refain does it very well.
But of course this is a steakhouse and, as I mentioned, in Brazilian churrascaria style, diners are served by gauchos with skewers of assorted cooked meats. Normally, I would keep close to the skewers of beef, but I wanted to try a little of everything so I did: Parmesan crusted pork, bacon-wrapped chicken breast, lamb, filet-mignon, spicy Brazilian sausage (was that ever good) and just when I was gasping for air, slices of roasted pineapple lightly dusted on the sides with cinnamon. By the way, most important to me: the meats are served right-off-the-grill hot. Brazilian-style is charcoal grilled which gives a smoky flavor and a little crust.
Lest I forget, add to each table a serving of polenta, piping hot bread rolls with a center of melted Parmesan, and mashed potatoes. All good.
But dining is more than good food and drink, it is good company, good conversation, and a comfortable, relaxed setting. In our view, besides the great food, Refain's provides the right setting and a helpful staff for a completely enjoyable evening.
This is the second restaurant in the U.S. for the Refain family (the other is in Dallas) who also own and operate a handful of restaurants in Brazil as well as a convention hotel in Brazil.
Refain Brazilian Steakhouse
2932 Crockett Street, Fort Worth, TX 76107
Opens Tuesday, June 24 for dinner. Opening for lunch at a later date.
Price: $31-$50 (price-fixed). Unlimited servings.
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Marian with the first serving of lamb (I think)
My first serving from the salad bar, the fried polenta is the dish behind the salad plate
The salad bar
Marian with Restaurant Manager, Donilo Magalhaes (sorry for the out focus shot)
Marian with some hitchhiker she picked up on I-30.
