Tales of the Tarantula

by Frank Terranella

  The circle of life

  January 2014

  There is no more compelling demonstration of the circle of life than the coming of a new baby. If all goes well, my family will add a new member next month. And as my son and daughter-in-law prepare for the miracle that is childbirth, I am inevitably drawn back to January 26, 1986, the day before my son was born.

  It was a Sunday, but not just any Sunday. It was Super Bowl Sunday. Super Bowl XX to be precise. Mike Ditka and the Chicago Bears defeated the New England Patriots by the score of 46–10 at the Louisiana Superdome in New Orleans, Louisiana. Quarterback Jim McMahon and running back Walter Payton led a team that featured a rookie lineman named William “Refrigerator” Perry.

  That morning of Super Bowl Sunday, my wife Pat began to feel labor pains. We were living in Clifton, New Jersey at the time, having just moved there four months before from Bergen County. That is why our obstetrician was in Englewood, nearly 20 miles away. To make matters worse, the forecast was for snow that evening.

  Pat called her doctor who said to wait a few hours and then come into Englewood Hospital. Rather than just sit home and wait, I proposed that we should both go to my office in Englewood Cliffs and she could wait there while I tied up some loose ends to ease my being away from the office for a few days. The beauty of that was that if my wife’s labor progressed more rapidly than the doctor thought, we would be only 10 minutes away from the hospital.

  Finally, we got to the hospital around game time as light snow began to fall. The hospital staff was ready for us. But we found out that our child was not yet ready to be born. Labor continued through the evening and long after the Super Bowl celebrations were over. Midnight came and went and Pat proposed that we go home and come back tomorrow. The nurses smiled knowingly and turned up the IV drip to try to move things along.

  3 a.m. came and went and then the sun rose on the two of us, both looking as miserable as we felt. There were now whispers of C-section among the nurses, but the doctor who came in at 7 a.m. looking fresh as a daisy felt that we should give natural childbirth just a few more hours.

  And so the hours dragged by. By 9 a.m. there was still nothing imminent and Pat had now been in labor for more than 24 hours. At one point that morning she looked at me with a face that combined pain with frustration. I smiled because it reminded me of an old Bill Cosby routine where the suffering wife sits up during labor and yells at her husband, “You did this to me!!”

  The clock passed 10 a.m. and by now it seemed like every other woman in the maternity corridor had already given birth. The doctor came in and upped the drugs again and as the clock hit 12 noon, there was finally some real action. Pat was rushed to the delivery room and I donned my scrubs and mask to accompany her. David arrived at 12:32 p.m.

  The nurse asked whether I wanted to cut the umbilical cord and I politely declined. After an all-night vigil, I was punchy and feared I would harm the child. So the doctor did the honors and soon afterward the nurse handed me my son. I was shaking as I held him and tears flowed freely. Meanwhile, Pat had made a remarkable recovery. She was smiling and the entire labor experience was just a distant memory. I swear that Mother Nature does this to trick women into having more children.

  As I look back at the birth of my son, I can only marvel that my child will soon be at his wife’s side as I was, and my child will soon experience the complete joy of meeting his son for the first time. It’s the circle of life and isn’t it grand.

  Beatlemania at 50

  January 2014

  I have long held that Baby Boomers are defined by the fact that they were all in school when President Kennedy was killed. And just a few months later, all Baby Boomers were witnesses to the British music invasion that began 50 years ago with the appearance of The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show.

  It was Friday, February 7, 1964 when Pan Am flight 101 arrived from Heathrow Airport carrying The Beatles. The newly-renamed Kennedy Airport was the scene as hundreds of screaming fans turned out to see the four long-haired musicians from Liverpool. The Beatles gave a press conference at which their long hair was a constant topic for questions. “When’s the last time you had a haircut,” yelled one of the reporters, “I had one yesterday,” George replied.

  A little later that day, thousands flocked to the Plaza Hotel where The Beatles were staying. Meanwhile, WINS, WMCA and WABC went wall-to-wall Beatles as John, Paul, George and Ringo called in to the various New York disk jockeys. Chief among these was Murray the K, who managed to talk himself into the Beatles suite for a live broadcast. Thereafter, Murray liked to call himself the 5th Beatle.

  The Beatles hysteria continued all weekend with its climax Sunday night on The Ed Sullivan Show. It’s hard to describe The Ed Sullivan Show to people who never saw it. I suppose it followed the vaudeville model of something for everyone. And so it was not unusual for Ed to introduce an opera singer followed by a comedian followed by a rock group followed by a troupe of acrobats, jugglers or trained animals.

  Anyway, on the evening of February 9, 1964, everyone knew that the Beatles were making their U.S. debut and the audience was filled with screaming teens. The Ed Sullivan Show was the hottest ticket in town that night. I remember seeing that Walter Cronkite’s daughter was in the audience. Those of us without CBS connections had to make do watching on television.

  Ed was a smart showman who knew he had pulled off a coup in booking the Beatles. He was known as “Old Stoneface” because he rarely smiled on his show. But Ed was all smiles that night. When he said “Here they are – the Beatles” the screams from the audience surely pinned the needle on the studio sound meter and Ed put his hands over his ears. The Beatles themselves were barely audible over the noise. This would be the norm for the next two years every time the group performed.

  During the course of their performance, the CBS staff put up identifications (as if we needed them) of the four Beatles under close-ups of each one. That included a second line under John Lennon’s name that said, “Sorry girls, he’s married.”

  I remember that the Beatles actually appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show three weeks in a row (the third performance was on tape). In between they appeared at Carnegie Hall and in Washington, DC. Beatlemania in the U.S. was under way.

  That summer, their first film, A Hard Day’s Night, was released and the same screams that always followed the Fab Four were heard in movie theaters throughout the country.

  Beatlemania was one of the hallmarks of the youth of Baby Boomers. And now it’s 50 years in the past. Can you believe it?

  A reunion in Charlotte

  January 2014

  After more than half a century on the planet, the odds are that each of us has made some friends with whom we have lost touch for many years. The amazing thing is that when we finally get together, often it seems like no time has passed at all. I found out recently that the good friend phenomenon extends to some family members as well.

  Those who read this blog regularly may remember that in 2013, after 40 years, I met up with my cousin in Denmark who shares the same name. Well, it so happens that he has two brothers, Joe and Kevin, who I also have not seen for long periods of time. I last saw my cousin Joe in 1987 and my cousin Kevin in 1977. There was no reason for the lack of personal contact; we were all just living our lives. Our common grandparents had died and we just lost touch.

  So when my cousin Joe’s wife Loretta contacted me via Facebook a few years back, it was a pleasant surprise. Joe had married Loretta after the last time I had seen him and so Loretta and I had never met. But she found me on Facebook and we kept in touch that way.

  Then, in December 2013, Loretta let me know she was planning a surprise 65th birthday party for Joe. She didn’t expect me to come; she was just hoping I would write a message that she would place in a book of good wishes she was preparing to give Joe for his birthday. But I recognized that we are all at an age when we can’t be sure there will ever be another opportunity to ge
t together. Illness or other impediments might make it impossible sometime soon. So after talking it over with my wife, we decided to fly for the weekend from New Jersey down to Charlotte, North Carolina, where Joe and Loretta make their home.

  We were booked to fly down early on Saturday morning and home on Sunday night. That Thursday night, a snowstorm hit New Jersey. On Friday we dug out from the six inches of snow and packed our bags. Saturday morning we awoke to a temperature of 8 degrees and headed to the airport with our fingers crossed that the flight would not be cancelled. It turned out that not only did the flight leave on time, we arrived early. The 38 degree temperature we were greeted with in Charlotte seemed tropical by comparison.

  That night we found our way to the site of the surprise party and were greeted by Joe’s daughter, Leslie. My wife and I had met up with Leslie in 2012, but before that, we had not seen her since she was six. It’s interesting to see how kids turn out and Leslie has turned out great. Of course, I missed all the drama years in between 6 and 32. I think that old adage about not wanting to see how the sausage is made applies to kids as well. It’s the end product that matters.

  Soon, other guests arrived, including my cousin Kevin. As soon as he walked into the room I knew him, even though I had not seen him in almost 37 years. We embraced and began to catch up on each other’s lives. Kevin introduced his wife, Pat, and I introduced my wife, Pat. It was a “Pat Terranella meet Pat Terranella” moment that reminded me of my meeting with the other Frank Terranella in Denmark last year. Kevin and I found that we both married our Pats in the same year – 1978.

  Then came the main event. My cousin Joe entered the room to a thunderous “Surprise!” and a round of “Happy Birthday.” I was standing towards the back of the room with my cousin Kevin. Joe immediately spotted me and called out my name. As with Kevin, we embraced and began the process of updating each other.

  It was amazing how the years fell away. We were soon reminiscing about our youth spent at Lake Hopatcong and remembering our common grandparents. By the end of the night, it was just as if Kevin, Joe and I had seen each other regularly for all those decades.

  I was happy we had made the effort to fly in for the party. It felt good to re-establish some old relationships. It felt that the karmic balance had been restored and I think our grandfather, the senior Frank Terranella, was smiling down on “his boys.”

  But of course, no good deed goes unpunished. Our flight back was delayed seven hours and we got home at 3:30 a.m. Monday morning. Maybe our next reunion will be in New Jersey.

  The second time around (revisiting great pleasures)

  January 2014

  A nice thing about being over 50 is that you can have a second (or third) crack at experiences like great vacation spots, fabulous restaurants and exciting shows. It’s fun to compare the experiences we remember from many years ago with the after-50 experience.

  I sometimes find that time has not been good to a particular resort or restaurant or that a revival of an old favorite show does not live up to expectations. Memories always tend to forget the mediocre and magnify the good or bad. And often it’s difficult for my over-50 self to have the same pleasurable experience I had 30 or 40 years ago. But every once in a while the restaurant, beach or show is as good as I remember, or better.

  I had that experience recently when my daughter took me to see the Broadway revival of Pippin. I was 19 years old back in 1972 when I saw the original production of Pippin with Ben Vereen and John Rubinstein. I remember I was home on Thanksgiving break from college and I went into Manhattan alone and bought front mezzanine tickets for $12.

  I still get chills remembering the sustained opening note in the orchestra as the curtain opened to a stage full of smoke and Ben Vereen appeared dressed in black leading the cast onstage. “Join us,” he sang, “We’ve got magic to do.” And boy, did they! Bob Fosse’s dancers were mesmerizing. Stephen Schwartz’s music was phenomenal. Pippin was the show that got me hooked on musicals.

  Fast forward 41 years and I now have a 26-year-old daughter. This daughter happens upon some tickets to Pippin. She knows that her father is crazy about the show (because she was raised listening to the original cast album). She invites him to join her to see the first Broadway revival of the show.

  This Broadway revival directed by Diane Paulus re-imagines the show. The cast is full of talented circus performers who juggle fire, tumble, perform balancing acts and what look to be dangerous feats high above the stage. Back in 1972, Pippin was searching for meaning in his life. In 2014, he has figuratively run away and joined the circus.

  Anyway, as I sat in my seat listening to the start of the show I felt again the excitement I felt at 19. Oh sure, there are lots of changes. The role Ben Vereen played is now played brilliantly by a woman, Patina Miller, and the smoke is gone from the opening number. The show now begins with the curtain down. The cast peeks through the curtain at first and beckon us with their hands to “Join Us.” And then comes the drop-dead moment when the curtain flies out and the circus set is revealed. Suddenly I had the biggest smile on my face and tears appeared in my eyes. Here was artistry that touched my over-50 soul just as profoundly as it did when I was a teenager. There was “Magic to Do” again. But this time I was not alone, a young woman who I had raised to love theater was enjoying it with me. That increased the enjoyment to another level.

  The rest of the show was full of great moments that brought back memories of the original production. Tovah Feldshuh at 62 was much more animated than Irene Ryan was in 1972. And Rachel Bay Jones was a lot funnier than Jill Clayburgh was in the original cast as Pippin’s love interest. All in all, the new version equaled or topped the original production in almost every way, and that’s saying a lot.

  Revisiting great experiences from our youth can be perilous for the over-50 crowd. But every once in a while, we are lucky enough to recreate the magic. And when that happens, the enjoyment seems to increase geometrically. It puts a new spin on the phrase “senior moment.” Sometimes things are better the second time around.

  Letter to my grandson on the day he is born

  February 9, 2014

  Dear Bryce:

  You are just a few hours old as I write this. You surprised us by arriving three weeks early, but that’s just like your father. He came early too. I guess you were anxious to explore the world that you could only hear for months from the dark place where you were.

  Well, as you will see, it’s a mixed bag of a world. On the one hand, you have been born into a nation full of guns, drugs and greed. But on the other hand, your nation is full of very good people who fight every day to solve its problems. Perhaps by the time you reach my age in 2075 the good people will have succeeded in righting some of the wrongs.

  You will grow up in a world very different from the one I grew up in. I was in college before I touched a computer keyboard; you will be using a computer before you can walk. I grew up in a world where television consisted of seven channels; you will grow up in a world with hundreds of television choices and the ability to watch what you want when you want. I grew up with news coming primarily from newspapers; your generation will see news on paper as archaic as papyrus scrolls.

  But some things will probably not change. For all of its history, mankind has had an affinity for war. I think it’s inbred in the species. I just hope that your generation can avoid the nuclear war that has been the world’s greatest fear since I was your age. I also fear that prejudice will remain with us. I know that your parents will teach you to treat everyone with respect, no matter what they look like. So I know you will never hate anyone just because they are different from you.

  I hope that you live long enough to see grandchildren and great grandchildren. The joy of new life is so invigorating. I hope that just before you turn 87 you remember me as you raise a glass to toast the year 2100. I can’t imagine what the world will be like then, but I’m fairly sure that everything I write now will still ex
ist in some database then. It’s a tiny bit of immortality for all writers like me.

  I hope that we will have solved the global warming problem by then. Perhaps we will have abandoned fossil fuels and harnessed solar or wind power and made it practical. Perhaps you will have computers implanted into your brains. I hope that cancer will be extinct as you enter the 22nd century.

  But more than anything else, I hope that you will have had a life you can be proud of. I hope that you will always remember that the greatest joy comes from what you do for others. I hope that you will be a man for others, what our Jewish friends call a mensch. I hope that you will not be afraid to love and to express it freely and often. And most of all, I wish you joy every day of your life. God bless you, Bryce David. Have a great life!

  With lots of love (and tears in my eyes),

  Your grandfather Frank

  A child is born, a lovely soul is lost

  February 2014

  As regular readers of this blog know, a few weeks ago my first grandchild was born. Bryce David is doing fine, gaining weight on mother’s milk. Life is new for him and the long and winding road of life stretches out before him. I’m sure he will enjoy the ride. But as some sort of cosmic balance, on the very day that we gained a Terranella, we lost one.

  You may recall last year that I visited my cousin in Copenhagen who shares the same name with me. While we were there, we got to spend some time with my cousin’s wife, Karin. Karin is the reason my American-born cousin has lived in Denmark for the past 40 odd years. Frank was seduced by the charms of a free-spirited Danish girl and gave up a life in America to enjoy a long and happy marriage with her.