"When I was young and free and my imagination had no limits, I dreamed of changing the world. As I grew older and wiser, I discovered the world would not change, so I shortened my sights somewhat and decided to change only my country. But it too, seemed immovable. As I grew into my twilight years, in one last desperate attempt, I settled for changing only my family, those closest to me, but alas, they would have none of it, And now as I lie on my deathbed, I suddenly realize, If I had only changed myself first, then by example I would have changed my family. From their inspiration and encouragement, I would then have been able to better my country and, who knows, I may have even changed the world."

Manhattan is one of the five boroughs comprising New York City. The other boroughs (parts of New York City) are Brooklyn, Queens, The Bronx, and Staten Island. The Bronx (notice, it's proper to add "the" to the name) is the only borough connected to the mainland of the United States; the other boroughs are islands, or part of islands. Manhattan and Staten Island are both islands, and Brooklyn and Queens are part of an island; Long Island. At this writing we have approximately 8,000,000 people living in this city, of all ethnic and religious backgrounds (this diversity is what makes it both rich and challenging living here; living together in relative harmony). Anyway, can you imagine Manhattan without traffic lights? If that happened today, nothing would move ... no more tourists, no more money, no more NYC.

We lived in Canarsie before we ever heard of yuppies, punks, yipppies, and hippies, when doors were never locked during the day, and if I recall correctly, never at night, a section of Brooklyn that was then a very rustic part of the city. In fact, my street was not paved which is rather unusual for the Big Apple. I don't think there's a street in this city not paved today. We didn't have much money but in those days, that was not unusual in the circles we traveled in; no one had money and we didn't know we were poor. There was no television zooming down on that "upper class" so no one knew how the other half lived. Maybe you would travel to mid-town Manhattan, see some fancy townhouses, apartment houses, and stores ... but that had nothing to do with you; these people went their way and you went yours.

When you are a child, you don't know what poverty is. As long as you have some food, some clothes to wear, and some family/friends around you, you think you are rich. So I was rich up to a point. I remember too many stories how my mother used to jump off the kitchen table trying to abort me. I know, the "great depression" and a tough time to have children; but still... maybe a strong constitution is what saved me; guess I just held on for dear life, but I overcame both the jumps and the need to be terribly wanted. What became important was not to be wanted, but to want. I've spoken with authorities on this subject and the consensus is that when a person stops wanting, wants nothing anymore, that person is ready to die.

"I could tell that my parents hated me; my bathtub toys were a toaster and a radio." I'm only kidding; that's a famous line of Rodney Dangerfield. Of course, there's another idea that occurs to me, and that is my claustrophobia. Could it be, is it possible, that this claustrophobia is from life in the womb. With my mother's smoking cigarettes and her trying to throw me out, living in a small closed space never appealed to me. On the other hand ... well, there are other Freudian connotations that I'd rather not go into here (my young grandchildren might be reading this but those familiar with his theories will understand).

This is an aside: after some personal observations of the varying successes in psychoanalysis, I've learned to look at it with a doubtful eye. Someone once asked Noam Chomsky, the famed linguist, if he was ever psychoanalyzed. His answer: "I do not think psychoanalysis has a scientific basis. If we can't explain why a cockroach decides to turn left, how can we explain why a human being decides to do something?" If my psychology teachers could only hear me now!!!

Boring, (yawnnnn) who cares, why do I have to read this anyway? Well, you don't. But in case you decide to, here's the rest of the story...Once born, I was very well taken care of; I really lacked no material things. Ate very well, clothes clean and neat, and had the fanciest baby carriage on the block (one of those huge coach carriages, wooden sides, chrome all over, and a leather-like material as a reversible hood; I don't know if they make them anymore).

The only lack I really had, which I realized after entering high school, was that real conversation about matters other than the weather were lacking in my home. All I witnessed was smoking and card playing. So my verbal skills, and the exchange of ideas, were not my strengths in growing up. Other than those deficiencies, I lacked nothing important. Much of what children possess today is not necessarily of value; they are things ... and the important things are not usually things.

I should note here that there are all kinds of poverty, most often it's thought of as financial; that's a strong fall-out of the American culture. But then there's cultural poverty, social poverty, sense of humor poverty (I would say lack of humor is a serious impoverishment; it's like an impoverished soul; never my problem), and the list goes on. One strength I always had was the ability to step out of myself, turn around, look at myself, and laugh (I think that's rich). So I was poor here, rich there; in toto, no serious complaining. And if I did complain, not only would it not have helped, but also then I'd criticize myself for gross ingratitude (to me a serious fault). Then I can think of it this way: my garbage can was probably eating better than thirty percent of the people in this world. I think in America we can all say that.

How often do we take for granted the good done for us by our spouse, family, friends, and of course G-d himself? How often do we not even notice the good provided by others? We enjoy food, clothing, health, air, vision, taste.... without even noticing it. What I did notice as a child was the many elementary schools I had to attend; this was not good as there was no continuity in my learning.

One problem I had was that we were always moving; sometimes moving back and forth to and from the same place, or same neighborhood. This meant changing elementary schools five different times. Not too much stability for making those childhood friendships. That, along with being an only child for fourteen years, put me in a position to be somewhat socially self-sufficient. Socially self sufficient, but not necessarily socially skilled; big difference there. Even now, when writing this, I am very able to enjoy my own company doing whatever I enjoy doing. Of course, with years, one can become more socially-skilled; you see things, you know things (if your eyes are open) that younger people haven't yet seen, and don't yet know; an advantage of age.

My early recollections from those first fourteen years are many:

Maternal grandpa, Max, was a tailor, and had his shop on East 92 Street near Avenue L. This location was a most convenient place for me. After lunch or 3PM dismissal from school, I would always pass this store for an opportunity to relieve myself; I always had to do it, and don't know how I would have survived without grandpa being a tailor half block from the school. Do you ever look back and say that there must have been a power looking over you all the time and seeing that your important needs were always met? I do, and it is also another source of great happiness, which we should always teach our children. Opportunities for happiness should never be overlooked.

Grandpa wasn't really interested in his work; he never had jobs ready on time and I remember people always complaining to him in the store. He loved to be home, playing cards with his friends, talk more about that later. I also heard that when younger, he liked "doing the town" visiting all the nightclubs in the Jewish part of the city. Anyway, while visiting that tailor shop, I must have picked up some skills since I've never been uncomfortable with a needle and thread.

Around the corner from the store was Conte's Service Station (lots of brothers who shared that station and I think did rather well). Stores at that time never had those heavy steel gates; that all came after the blackouts and riots of the late 1960's. First time we saw them we thought they were ugly. One can become accustomed to anything I suppose, and that "getting used to", also can become a problem. I still think they're ugly.

Then there was my barber, Mr. Palermo, who loved opera and we shared many an aria together (between clips). He also had a mandolin hanging on the wall allowing me to pick a couple of tunes. The boys then used to prim themselves with a pompadour wave in the front (Italian kids loved the DA *duck's ass* in the back). These hairstyles later succumbed to crew cuts in the late 50's. On the second floor, above that tonsorial delight, was my dentist, Dr. Premisler, who was just starting his practice. He was originally a Canarsie boy (a friend of Sandra's father, my uncle Jack), and he eventually built up to have his own building; and thanks to his vigilance, I was able to grow up to have my own teeth.

This love of opera remained with me for many years, my favorites being the works Verdi for "grand opera" and for "romance" (the curse of "romance" would always overwhelm me) for that I had Giacomo Puccini. It's difficult to say which is best; they are all of the romantic genre and when in my twenties seemed to be a way of sublimating many emotions new to me. It must have been important for me, as during the opera season I'd see an opera maybe once a week. Didn't cost much to see the New York City Opera Company, especially when one was seated in the upper gallery, way back in (there was a name for it and I forget). The opera I probably saw the most was La Boheme, and the part that move me the most was the last three arias of the first act (in particular "Oh Suave Fanciulla") and those final chords at the end of Act 4 when the curtain closes after Mimi dies. Took a time for me to realize that those chords and melody came from an aria Mimi sings during that last act.

Here I was 26 running to see the operas while when Pietro Mascagni was 26 he wrote Cavalleria Rusticana. Imagine writing that Intermezzo at age 26. Mascagni wrote fifteen other stage works and over 100 other compositions, but this is the only well known work he wrote (always plays as a companion to I Pagliacci), but when you write an opera like Cavalleria Rusticana, you don't have to do much else. And at age 26? (damn, damn, damn, what have I been doing all this time). Sorry to say that he was overshadowed by his contemporary, Puccini, and tainted by his association with the fascist regime of Mussolini; for the latter I cannot forgive him. Again, how do we separate the man from the art he creates, the producer from the product; this question always interested me.

At the same time I became interested in classical music in general and started a good size record collection, long playing records (to me 50 albums was a good size collection; a teacher in my school, Bernie, had a collection of the old 78rpm records that filled a floor to ceiling bookcase along an entire wall). I wonder what eventually happens to all these collections that people have. What fascinated me originally in the classical selections were the many popular tunes taken from these scores; example: "Going Home" from Dvorak's Largo is another example. I once read that Dvorak got the melody from a Negro spiritual that he heard while in America. Well, I thought I'd say something about it.