Sleepless Christmas Eve 2008

So here is Christmas Eve and guard duty at Fort Lewis Christmas Eve 1944 comes to mind. I had volunteered for guard duty so that a Christian GI could go to church. And as I walked the perimeter of Ft. Lewis, I could see the houses on the other side of the fence across the road, all decked out with Christmas decorations. I can still see it in my mind's eye including the people in the houses celebrating Christmas. And I remember, vividly, that overwhelming feeling of loneliness as tears streamed from my eyes. So Christmas Eve these past 64 years has always been special to this Old Jew. And I feel blessed that God put me in the army, gave me the opportunity to serve my country and still allows my tears to stream, 64 years later after a rich and fruitful life.

After being hit on Okinawa, April 12, 1945 the Army shipped my ass to the ambulatory hospital on Saipan which was not a "cool" place to be. And I'm not talking about the weather. When everyone around you is a war casualty, it's hard to elicit any sympathy because I could barely walk up that fucking hill to the mess hall. Where else would the army put the mess hall except in the most inconvenient, pain inducing location? There were Japanese soldiers with ammo still left in the hills who didn't know or care that the U.S. had taken the island. Almost every day machine gun fire would erupt from those hills, and we'd all scramble like crazy for some kind, any kind of cover. Once hit, twice shy.

When that bullet went through my leg on Okinawa, I realized for the first time that I was not omnipotent. I had lost my cherry on Okinawa. Bullet wounds do hurt and really can kill. As one did to Sgt Boggs. What really pissed everyone off was that machine gun fire coming down from the hills would come when we were in the Coke line. You absolutely lost your place in the line when scrambling. Not being too mobile meant that I was always ended up at the end of the God damn newly formed line. While on Saipan, I would go on sick call almost daily and complain about my difficulty in navigating the walk up to the fucking mess hall hill three times a day with constant discomfort (aka pain). And for awful food to boot! Those ass hole, newly minted lieutenants in their crispy, clean stateside fresh uniforms would tell me that there was nothing wrong with my leg, and that I was just bucking for a discharge. I also was accused of trying for a Section 8 discharge for mental disorder because of my bizarre behavior concerning my leg and otherwise.

A starchy clean, schmuck of a newly arrived doctor really got annoyed with me and shouted, "Do you want me to hold your leg?" To which I replied "Yeah, for as long as it would help" where upon he went off the fucking wall and threatened to have me court martialed. He did, however, send me to another doctor, a pediatrician in civilian life. He took the time and trouble to really examine my x-rays and discovered that all the bones in my knee were shattered from the impact of the bullet going through the flesh and bone of my leg. However knowing what was wrong with me didn't make mess hall hill any less steeper or shorter. And my Jewish ass really missed those ass hole Boston Irish from my outfit, so I started making noise to leave Saipan and rejoin my outfit on that other Garden Spot, Okinawa. Back I went to rejoin my anti Semitic (and who cared) buddies again.

The Great Depression/Private Equity Funds

More depression days stuff. Bear in mind that there was a resurgence in unemployment to 25% around 1936. But my genius immigrant father never seemed to miss a beat. He and my Mom were fabulous parents. We never really knew that there was a depression going on. And my needs were simple. They revolved around sports and avoiding bringing my report cards home (talk about a constant fear of impending doom). If they knew what ADD was in those days, I would still be in the third grade. I once told that to Donald Trump, about Donald Trump.

Between starting school early and skipping a grade, I graduated from high school at 16. All my friends were a few years older than me and a few years better athletically. Any street smart kid knew that if you brought the basketball, football, or baseball and bat you had to be chosen when they picked teams. My Pop understood that rule, so I always had the basketball etc., so I always got to play. Even in the worst of times my pop saw to it that I was guaranteed a slot on a team. When I showed up, all the other kids were fucked because I was the one with the ball. They had to let me play if they wanted to play at all.

Private Equity Investments
That shoe is about to fall a lot further than it has to date on further private equity fund holding valuations which will really raise hell with pension funds, endowments and foundations. I believe that the private equity funds have only begun to write down valuations of their investments which in turn will force the pension fund investors, endowments and foundations to further write down the value of their holdings in these funds, big and small. Harvard's attempt to sell their holdings in private equity funds in the secondary market at a 50% discount will, in my view, look optimistic and reaching for the stars…

Going to the World Series at Yankee Stadium in '36, '37 and '38

It cost $1.10 for bleacher seats, and we loved them and thought ourselves so lucky to be there. Buddy and I would arrive at Yankee Stadium at around 5:00 a.m. and talk baseball with everyone around us. Talk isn't quite right. We would argue our cases that our favorite ball players were the best at their positions.

They would let us into the ball park at around 11:00 a.m. and at noon out would come a marching band to entertain us. Right before the ball game started, the so called "Clown Prince of Baseball" would come out and do some stunts with a baseball in right field. He would end up at home plate with another ball player on third, and they would start to steam the ball at one another all the while closing the gap between the two. The crowd just roared with every throw.


To get the day's action started, Buddy and I would get up at 4:00 a.m. to take the subway to the ball game. We would bring sandwiches my Mom had made for us the night before and at least a pound of peanuts. We weren't going to get ripped off at Yankee Stadium and pay a dime for a lousy bag of peanuts that cost around two bits a pound at the grocery store.


My Mom would give me a $2.00 to cover the whole shebang; $1.10 to get into the game, 10¢ for carfare and all the treats you could get for 80¢. Hot dogs and cokes were a dime each...although we complained loudly that a dime for a coke was a total rip off. We weren't just "making do", we were having a great time (the term "having a blast" hadn't been invented yet). This was the Great Depression, and my Mom walloped me for the one and only time when I used the 15¢ change from buying a Sunday newspaper to buy candy.

The Great Depression

In the early 30's, when there were lots of abandoned construction sites we would find 2x4's and attach roller skate wheels to either end making a "skate board", the forerunner of today's store bought skate board. Or we would go into the storage space of an apartment house where they kept old unused baby carriages. We would steal one, take the axels and wheels off and attach them to our 2x4, and we had a going gussie.

Racial hatred was the order of the day with anti Semitism and hating blacks in the forefront. Father Coughlin, in Detroit was on the radio with venomous anti Semitism. The Germans had the Bund and controlled Yorktown in Manhattan. An organization called America First (who was it that famously said that "Patriotism is often the last refuge of scoundrels?) The Irish kids would come into Jewish neighborhoods for the sole purpose of beating the hell out of the Jewish kids. Walking to and from school was an exercise in courage. Not getting the shit knocked out of you was the goal.

But again, we didn't know any better. We just thought that was life. We weren't "making do", we were living life as we knew it to the fullest. One of my friends had a brother who was with the Dutch Schultz Gang. Dutch Schultz was an infamous gangster who was, I believe, murdered in a barbershop chair. My friend's brother decided that we should learn how to defend ourselves so he gave us boxing lessons. Didn't help. The Irish kids still beat the shit out of us Jews. But those lessons stood me in good stead in the Army where I ended up in a Boston Irish outfit from hard nose Scollay Square. Couldn't seem to get away from the Irish whose dedication in life seemed to be the beat the shit out of Jews. Wasn't any different in the Army but by then I was ready, able and willing to fight and never "lost one". Always, silently thanked Norman's brother who was murdered with Dutch Schultz.

Yeah I Was There For The Great Depression

Yeah I was there.

I remember buying the N.Y. Daily News and The Mirror for 2¢ each. The New York Times cost a nickel. We had 4 evening papers in NY; The Sun, World Telegram, N.Y. Post and the Journal. My father's fur business went through bankruptcy. The movies cost 10¢ except on Saturdays when you got a double feature for 15¢. An allowance? How ridiculous. You got nickels, dimes and the occasional two bits by asking, most times pleading. My parents were fabulous and almost always succumbed to my entreaties fora dime for the movies and a nickel for candy. For big occasions, the family would go downtown together from our home in the Bronx to go the Yiddish Theatre. A huge treat.

The bleachers at Yankee Stadium cost 55¢ including for double headers. I saw Babe Ruth, Lou Gerigh, Tony Lazzari, Frankie Crosetti. Baseball was a "way out" for everyone except blacks and the occasional Jew (Hank Greenberg a Jewish idol, married a Gimbel). Jews who married Shiksas were often ostracized as were the Shiksas.

But boxing was for blacks and Jews. Tennis, skiing and golf were for the wealthy. We thought that there was some "wrong" with tennis players or else why were they dressed in white. The six day bike race at the Garden was a big thrill. Going to the Garden for the rodeo was a real highlight.

We played stick ball, stoop ball, king of the hill, roller skate hockey and kick the can in the street. Pitching pennies against the stoop was "big time". Today you seldom see groups of kids playing in their neighborhoods or even in the school yards after school. We would rush home, drop off our books and meet our friends. I got my first bike when I was 12 (1935) It was a used bike, and I was so excited. Later on an Uncle bought me a new one. We were sure that he was rich beyond belief. It was a RollFast with balloon white wall tires. 

The Irish dominated the Police Department and the Italians controlled the Department of Sanitation. And the Jews drove the cabs and opined incessantly. They could talk about anything for 30 minutes even if they didn't know anything about it (as I can as well). Horse and wagons would come down the streets loaded with fruits and vegetables that were being hawked by the wagoneer. A big pizza cost 50¢ and a Pepsi to go with it was either a nickel or a dime. Ice cream cones were a nickel with a double scoop a dime. A banana split with every thing but the kitchen sink and free sex cost 25¢ (huge "treat"). You bought kosher pickels by reaching into the pickel barrel and pulling the pickels out. Bakeries really made bread (rye, corn, white and pumpernickel) and bagels were truly water bagels, not baked bread and very Jewish. I carried milk home in a big bucket. My mother could buy chickens with or without the feathers. Plucking a chicken made a hell of mess. Some stores carried live chickens and you would choose one and they were killed while you watched. It was almost as bad as sitting in the front row and watching a circumcision. Puke inducing. We would build bonfires in the street with wood left over from abandoned construction sites, steal potatoes and throw them into the fire for cooking. We called them "mickies". Walking through the five and dime (aka Woolworth's) stealing pencils and erasers that you couldn't bring home was big time. A new pencil evoked questions at home and school so we hid them and never even used them. I went to P.S. 105 and P.S. 83. The grade schools had summer sports programs and we could go to the Yankee Stadium, get seats in nose bleed country, the upper left field grandstand. Cost? A five and dime for the subway ride, coming and going. We waited outside of the player's exits after the ball game just to get a glimpse of our heros close up. Then, the counselor in charge of us would round us up and home we'd go. Television wasn't invented. Every thing that mattered was out of doors. We played baseball on empty lots. Get out on most Saturdays and Sundays at 7:00 early enough to grab a "field to play at least 18 innings and then go and have a two bit pizza and a nickel Pepsi. When the covers would come off the baseballs we would wrap them in electrical tape and continue to use them. Like hitting and throwing a heavy rock. But we didn't care because we didn't know any better and just having the baseball was the big event....