Tales of the Tarantula

by Frank Terranella

  I love the idea of the family expanding since we lost my mother just 50 days before Caroline was born and we lost my stepfather a little less than a year ago. The new grandchild will refresh our numbers.

  I especially love that this child will likely have a birthday before Christmas. That means that he or she gets a double celebration in the same month. So gift givers have two shots at getting it right.

  I am especially looking forward to my older grandchildren meeting their new cousin. Bryce is five and Caroline is three, so there will be a considerable age difference by child standards. But I think they will love having a New Jersey cousin to visit.

  There’s no doubt that Father’s Day was extra special for me this year. And it will be even better next year when I will have another grandchild on my knee. I pray for an uncomplicated pregnancy for my daughter, who will be a great mother. And I know that my son-in-law Rich will be a superstar father. Anyone could see that from the way Bryce and Caroline love him. And that’s the secret of good parenting after all, isn’t it – just love them well.

  I’m still here!

  June 2019

  So last week I had surgery to remove a tumor from my bladder. I am happy to report that the surgery was successful, and I am again cancer free. But as I return to my normal life, I have to reflect on how hard Mother Nature tries to kill you once you’ve served your procreational purpose.

  As men and women pass the half-century mark it seems that the physical deterioration goes into high gear. Every day seems to bring a new ache or pain. And every year seems to bring a new doctor into the rotation.

  If you’re lucky like I am, you can dodge the bullets Mother Nature sends your way. This is not my first bout with cancer or even my second. My doctor asks whether I live in the Love Canal. But I seem to take a licking and keep on ticking. Speaking of my ticker, I have had one heart attack and two angioplasties to date. And I’m still here.

  So what is the lesson to be learned here? I think it has made me a bit more appreciative about life. I don’t take it for granted. As George Burns used to say, “These days I only buy ripe bananas.” Tomorrow is promised to no one.

  I think I actually learned that lesson 50 years ago when my father died just after his 49th birthday. But I am even more aware of it now.

  So I try to enjoy every day. Some days, like last week, it’s particularly difficult. But I am prepared to continue this game of dodgeball that Mother Nature is playing with me. Just to taunt her, I recently booked a cruise to Bermuda for next year. It’s a bit of the middle finger to show her she hasn’t broken me yet. It’s me saying, “Is that all you’ve got, you old witch?”

  And as readers of this blog know, I have a new grandchild to look forward to by the end of the year. I intend to be around to watch him or her grow up. Come on Mother Nature, you wimp, bring it on! I’m not going anywhere.

  Some thoughts on choosing leaders

  July 2019

  One side effect of turning elections into sporting contests is that now, since it’s always about winning, candidates will do whatever it takes to win. Gone are the days when platforms and principles mattered. The ends justify the means now. If a candidate sees that a flip-flop on an issue will have an electoral advantage, they flip like a gymnast. If they see that revealing some intimate fact about a candidate’s private life might boost their polling number, they will leak it.

  I want my candidate to win as much as anyone, but I want my candidate to have convictions, principles, and a defined political philosophy. I don’t want to elect someone who chooses his or her policies by putting a finger up to see which way the wind is blowing.

  The 2020 election is certainly an important one and I have heard a lot of talk among Democrats that policies don’t matter. All that matters is picking someone who can beat Trump. I think that’s wrong. Choosing a candidate just because they talk and act like a bulldog does not guarantee a win. The way Democrats win is to stand for something. “We’re not Trump” is not a winning platform. And pandering to Trump supporters is also not a winning strategy. Trying to out-Trump Trump is a mistake.

  The candidate who will win in 2020 is the one who convinces the majority of voters in states with a total of 270 electoral votes that he or she shares their values and will fight to make their lives better. But it’s not enough to merely pretend to share their values. Voters are tired of politicians who promise things on the campaign trail that they never intend to deliver. That’s why convictions and principles matter.

  I will be looking for a candidate who states his or her positions on the issues clearly and decisively. I will be looking for a candidate who does not give in to pressure when the “experts” tell him or her that their position is costing votes. There are a lot of negative things people have said about Bernie Sanders, but if you seek out video of him from the 1980s you will see that his basic positions have not changed. He has been a consistent democratic socialist in the tradition of Franklin Roosevelt. The consistent, principled candidate assures voters that what they see is what they get, like it or not. And many people will not like a candidate’s views. But at least they know what those views are today, and what they will be after the election.

  Don’t get me wrong, I am not advocating Sanders or anyone else for the presidency right now. It’s too early to choose. But ultimately, I will choose a candidate whose view of the future of this country inspires me and who I can trust to have the courage to stand by those convictions come what may.

  Candidates who rely on polls to set their positions betray their constituents. In the words of Edmund Burke: “When the leaders choose to make themselves bidders at an auction of popularity, their talents, in the construction of the state, will be of no service. They will become flatterers instead of legislators; the instruments, not the guides, of the people.”

  These are perilous times. We need leaders who think for themselves. We need politicians with both brilliant minds and compassionate hearts. We need leaders who will inspire us, rather than make us angry. We need a candidate who we can trust to be a wise and independent leader not for one third of America, but for all Americans. I pray we can find one.

  Why I’m a card-carrying member of the ACLU

  July 2019

  People being persecuted for what they believe and say, people being deported as “undesirable,” immigrants being rounded up in raids and kept in deplorable conditions. Sound familiar? Well it all happened 100 years ago in the wake of World War I and the Russian Revolution. Attorney General Mitchell Palmer led a general roundup of communist sympathizers and anti-war protesters. Thousands were arrested without warrants, brutally treated and held without regard to their constitutional rights.

  This atmosphere of intolerance caused a small group of men led by Roger Baldwin to form the American Civil Liberties Union. Its executive committee held its first official meeting on January 19, 1920. And for the last 100 years the ACLU has been the only consistent defender of the rights of all Americans under the Bill of Rights. For this reason, I wanted to have my 100th blog article celebrate 100 years of the ACLU.

  From the Scopes trial in 1925 defending a teacher’s right to teach evolution, right up to lawsuits challenging the Trump Administration’s immigration policies, the ACLU has fought the often-unpopular fights to maintain the rights guaranteed in the U.S. Constitution. Contrary to popular misconception, those fights have been in support of conservative causes as well as liberal ones. They have defended the rights of American Nazis as well as American Communists. They are not on one political side or another. They are on the side of the Constitutional rights of everyone living in the United States.

  At times the courts have sided with the ACLU to protect our rights from a power-hungry government or greedy leaders. But even when those leaders packed the courts with judges who did their bidding, the ACLU has always kept fighting for the rights of the people. They defended lawsuits against the pacifists who resisted the draft in World War I. They
defended the rights of Japanese Americans rounded up into concentration camps during World War II. They defended the rights of students to protest the Vietnam War by wearing black armbands. And they have defended the abuses perpetrated under the guise of an unjust law, ironically called the Patriot Act. This is just the latest in a pattern of attacks on civil rights under the guise of protecting us from foreign enemies, real or imagined.

  Like many people, I was ignorant of the important work of the ACLU for many years. It was not until I studied Constitutional Law in law school that I realized just how important this group was to keeping America a free country. I became a member the week I was sworn in as an attorney. I have been a “card-carrying member” ever since.

  The motto of the ACLU is “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.” The group has been vigilant for 100 years and we would be a very different country without them. We would have a much-reduced ability to enjoy “life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness” as the founders intended. So the next time you get outraged by some blatant abuse of governmental power, send some money to the only people who work every day to protect your rights. Odds are they are already on the case. Check out their current work at www.aclu.org.

  Embarking on a “hair raising” adventure

  July 2019

  If you have been following this blog, you will know that we recently sold the house where we lived for 21 years and moved to a townhouse apartment. It’s been a great move. We have a different life now, free of the demands of home ownership and within walking distance of a vibrant downtown area with great restaurants and theaters. It’s almost as if we have traded suburban life for city life. It’s a new way of living and it’s exciting.

  You probably also know that soon after we moved, I had surgery to remove a tumor from my bladder. Well thankfully the surgery was an unqualified success, and I am now a three-time cancer survivor.

  I also reached my full Social Security age a couple of months ago, and to mark the occasion, Uncle Sam offered me free money if I wanted to retire. I declined, courteously, for now. What with the new digs and a newly cancer-free body, I am enjoying my new life, and I am not ready to give up on being employed. So retirement is on my agenda now, but it’s been tabled for a few years.

  But there was one more thing I thought might be changed as part of my new life. I could change my face. No, I didn’t consider getting rid of those bags under my eyes or a nose job, but I could just grow out my beard.

  I should mention here that like most men, I have had a beard before. I grew one in college for the dual purposes of seeing what it would look like, but mostly to not have to shave. And it looked pretty awful, because I literally did nothing to groom it in any way. So my college yearbook picture shows me with a full beard. It’s a horrible photo and I have always regretted not shaving for it.

  A few weeks ago I had my surgery and was home for a few days afterwards. Since I had a catheter in and was not going anywhere, I didn’t shave. And by the time I was ready to go back to work, I had a significant beard growth. Then it occurred to me that this new life I was starting needed a new look. So I shaved only the sides of my face and kept the beard as a goatee.

  Now I should mention that my wife has been steadfastly anti-facial hair for as long as I have known her. George Steinbrenner was her hero for keeping the Yankees beard-free. But our son grew a beard a few years ago and has kept it, and our son-in-law also has had a beard. So her resistance to beards has weakened. When I told her I was going to keep the beard after my surgery, she was initially skeptical, but she said that if I wanted that as part of our new adventure in pre-retirement living she would go along.

  So I have kept the beard for nearly a month now and I have had some compliments in my office. One co-worker said it made me look younger, which was encouraging. And I really have had no outright negative comments. My brother, who has had a mustache for years, questioned why I would want to do this in the heat of summer, but I honestly have not found the heat to be an issue. I think the greater issue is eating with hair growing above and below your mouth. But I am getting used to that.

  It’s nice to have a new look to go with my new townhouse life. I like it for now. We’ll see if I tire of it. Thankfully my phone’s facial ID software still recognizes me. I hope that my grandchildren will as well.

  A male co-worker of mine who knew that I had just moved, looked at my beard last week and said, “What are you in the witness protection program?” I laughed and told him that it was just a new look to go with my new life he said, “Promise me you won’t grow one of those little pony tails.” I didn’t promise. Sometimes you have to shake up your life just to remind yourself how good life is.

  A weekend with echoes of the 1960s

  July 2019

  Many days I feel every one of my 66 years and wish I could be 21 again. But there are some times when I am glad to be as old as I am. This past weekend was one of those times. Having been around in the 1960s provides me with a special enjoyment in reliving the memories of man’s first steps on the moon. And having grown up with the music of the 1960s provides an emotional tie to the score of a new movie.

  On July 20, 1969, I was a 16-year-old who had grown up with the space program. I was privileged to watch all of the Mercury, Gemini and Apollo space missions. Like many people my age, I cheered on the progress from sub-orbital to orbital missions, to space walks and then the first trips to circle the moon. We had complete confidence that our NASA heroes would soon be walking on the moon. But when it finally happened, it was thrilling.

  That Sunday in July 1969 we were all glued to our televisions. Mine was still black and white, but that didn’t matter. Much of the NASA video was as well. In late afternoon we held our breath along with the people at mission control as Neil Armstrong guided the lunar lander to the surface of the moon.

  Then came the first historic moment of the day. Armstrong’s voice reported “Houston, Tranquility Base here, the Eagle has landed” and we cheered. On CBS, the ghostly pictures on the television suddenly included a blinking caption in large letters that said: “MAN ON THE MOON.” Later we would find out that Armstrong landed with only 17 seconds worth of fuel left.

  We took a break for dinner and then went back to the television, waiting patiently for the big event – the first steps on the moon. Just before 11:00 p.m., the hatch of the Eagle was opened and Armstrong started down the steps. As his feet hit the moon’s surface, it was difficult to make out everything he said. We caught “one small step for man” but then there was a break in the audio and the second part flew by so quickly that even Walter Cronkite couldn’t make it out. About a minute later, presumably after someone in the control room played back the videotape, he told us what Armstrong had said.

  But it really didn’t matter what he had said. It was the images being sent back that mattered. The TV showed Armstrong on a barren lunar surface with the caption: “First live pictures from the moon.” It hit me that a man was walking on the surface of a foreign world for the first time in human history! A few minutes later, Montclair native Buzz Aldrin joined him, and together they put up an American flag. Aldrin described what he saw as “magnificent desolation.”

  Even then I felt privileged to be a witness to world history. It was like being able to watch explorers like Magellan, Cook and Columbus reach their destinations. In fact, like these explorers, we thought that Armstrong’s steps were the first of many in a distant land. We expected people to be living on the moon by the end of the century. But that didn’t happen, and we are all worse off for that failure of vision and perseverance.

  It was great to mark something old, the first steps of man on the moon so long ago. And to finish off the weekend, I saw something new as well. For the first time in my life I was able to walk to a movie theater from my home.

  The film I saw was called Yesterday. It is a love letter to the music that was the soundtrack of my youth. I am of course talking about the music of the Beatle
s. Richard Curtis, who also wrote Love Actually, has created a beautiful film that answers the question “what if the Beatles had never existed?”. Curtis expertly weaves a tale that is chock full of those great songs, but also chock full of the romantic comedy magic of which he is a grand wizard.

  It was a good weekend to be a Baby Boomer.

  Imagining some quality time with mom at her favorite place

  July 2019

  In 1928, “Abe” Rutt and his wife Anna opened a roadside hot dog stand in Clifton called Rutt’s Hut. More than 90 years later, the hot dogs are still being deep fried there.

  .

  Recently found picture of my mother taken in the early 1930s

  Coincidentally, my mother, Margaret D’Arrigo, was also born in 1928 in the next town over, Passaic. Eventually the family moved to Clifton, within walking distance of Rutt’s Hut. I don’t know how old my mother was when she first was taken to Rutt’s Hut. But whenever it was, it obviously made a strong impression on her. She feasted on Rutt’s Hut hot dogs her entire life.

  I don’t use the word “feasted” casually. When you asked this woman, who had dined at fine restaurants from Maine to California and even in Italy, what her favorite food was, the answer was always, “Rutt’s Hut hot dogs.” For her, going to Rutt’s Hut was akin to a religious experience. That’s why in March 2014, the entire family “dined” at Rutt’s Hut to celebrate my mother’s 86th birthday. That included my one-month old grandson, Bryce. Mom died just a year and a half later.