Thursday, June 28, 2007

Catholic School Adventures #2 - " The Bus Accident of 1963"

When I first started attending Bishop Gibbons, we rode on a big bus with all of the students in Rotterdam, who attended BG and Notre Dame. Then the boys and girls were in separate schools. For a crowded school bus it was relatively calm.

Like everything else when you're a kid there's a pecking order to things. The back of the bus was Seniors, then juniors etc.. Nick and I sat in the middle.

One morning, early in the school year, while we were stopped at a light the bus was rear ended by a small delivery van. We used to call them panel trucks. The bus driver pulled over and set the emergency flashers flashing. He got in the aisle and asked if we were all right? No one said they weren't but he walked up and down the aisle and looked at us to make sure.

He turned to us and said," Guys this is serious, so be on your best behavior." He smiled when a bunch of kids said,"Yes, Sir."

He exited the bus to talk to the guy that hit us and as soon as he did kids started falling out of their seats pretending injury.

Someone from the back told everyone that a Schenectady Police car had arrived and that the bus driver was talking to him. Shortly the two of them got on the bus. The Policeman went through the same " are you all right" thing. He told us, while standing at the back of the bus, that he was going to pass around a clip board and that he wanted our names for the police report. He handed the clip board to the Seniors in the back seat saying, "Put your John Hancock on this."

It took a while to get to the front, after which the two exited again. Almost as one the entire bus chuckled.

The Seniors kept us posted - "He's looking at it", "He's not laughing", " The bus driver looks pissed" and "Quiet down they're coming back!"
"O.K that was rather funny!" said the policeman. "Let's try it again."

Every single one of us had signed JOHN HANCOCK.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

" Alphabet Soup"

In the early '60's my father put up a backboard and hoop on the garage. We played constantly. The fireplace chimney was on the left facing the basket so long shots were straight out or to the right. We measured and painted a foul line.
For hours and hours, we played "bull shit," our version of "horse". There was room for 2 on 2 but more than that and you had to rotate people in. I played alot by myself and used to bounce the ball off the chimney, like a pass. When we played 1 on 1 we had a rule that whoever had the ball could use the chimney to pass off of.

Over time this became a problem because my father slept during the day and worked nights. I used to peek in the bedroom and if he was snoring we could play. 99% of the time this worked but when we woke him up he would come out in his boxers and yell," Jesus Christ Glenn cut it out! Grow up, God dammit and let me sleep!"

He'd leave and we'd crack up.

Dad used to call Polish people, Pollocks to him, alphabet soup because they had so many letters in their names. The kid across the street, David Klyzsmdt, used to come over once in a while. His mother used to stand in the window and watch. She always ended up calling him home. Once when we were really little and were playing cowboys and Indians, we had tied David to a tree in the backyard and left him there. Ever since she watched like a hawk.

There were six of us that day, divided into 3 teams, me and Nick, Cary and Bill DeSorbo, David and Gary Bailie. All of us but Gary went to Bishop Gibbons together. The games started innocently and got progressively tougher. During a game that Nick and I sat out, Bill crushed David into the chimney. He looked like Wile E. Coyote hitting a wall. When we rotated back in we used the move alot on David. He went home sore and in tears. He was never allowed over again.

A couple of years later, we lost the backboard forever. I was lobbing passes to Nick, who was on the garage roof behind the backboard, dunking the ball. He must have leaned on the brace too hard and the whole thing fell to the driveway. Once again we heard the litany of our youth,
"Jesus Christ you two - grow up!"

"Kiss My Bony White Ass!"

LIPS - Yes, big red sexy lips - I always wanted to have them tattooed on one of my ass cheeks; so when I told someone to " kiss my ass!" they would have a good target.

About 6 months ago, I was loaned a lift chair. It is a recliner that also will lift me into a vertical position so that I can transfer to my wheelchair. This one broke in the down position. Thank God there were people at the house that could help me out of the chair.

I was loaned a second one. This one broke in the up position. Due to this about, I was forced to stay in bed and my wheelchair for two days. My wife and I decided to buy a new one to the tune of $1100. We figured it would be the smartest thing to do. WRONG!

I'm writing this sitting in my new lift chair, stuck in the reclining position, waiting for the 24 hour emergency technician to come during business hours. I've had it 6 days.
Pure Frustration is what I feel. Can't anyone build something that works?
I'll get back to you with what happens but until then - ALL YOU UNION LIFT CHAIR BUILDERS CAN JUST KISS MY BONY WHITE ASS!

Friday, June 22, 2007

"Make it Stop!"

For two days I was stuck in bed watching basic cable. No DVR and no digital. Being uncomfortable, something else started to pluck at my nerves - commercials! They continually show the same ones over and over. I especially enjoy it when they show a commercial twice or three times during the same break. And don't give a rat's ass what they say - the volume DOES go up!

I purposefully keep calling these people "they". Who the hell are the people that write this shit?
The Burger King ads are really starting to scare me. The King's coming off as a pervert. You think the writers for the King are the little AV club nerds from school? I'll bet if we could get the mug book on which kids ate paste they'd be the same kids. My guess is the same guys don't do the Victoria's Secret ads!
My recent favorite was the vehicle commercial where the "crossover" was driving along the edge of building roofs with subscript explaining that the car couldn't really do this.Paaaleeeze!
Can there really be this much erectile dysfunction and do they have to sponsor a Nascar team?
The side effect about needing to go to the ER if it stays up for four hours had to be written by a woman. First of all most adolescent, virginal boys can go days. Secondly, any adult male would be walking around pantless showing it off to his friends. " Hey guys, check this out! No she locked herself in the bathroom. Your wife around?"
I think that the FCC should make a rule that commercials have a shelf life; a fixed number of times that they can be shown. Let's say 200 times. It would be so easy a cave man could do it.

Thursday, June 21, 2007


Sorry for not writing = my lift chair broke and I'm stuck in bed!

Saturday, June 16, 2007

"The '60's Sound I Remember"

"Comin to ya, on a dusty road,

Good lov'n, I gotta truck load,

and when you get it, you got someth'in,

don't worry,'cause I'm coming.

I'm a soul man!"

Sam Moore and Dave Prater = Sam and Dave backed by Booker T and the MG's. Now that was good bar music, danc'in music, get down get drink'in music.

I hear them and I immediately envision the old Swiss Inn and De Crosta's Tavern with the local band The Fabulous 4 Speeds; Jimmy Sinese, Dave King, Joe Vellano and Rick Bazowie playing fast and loud. Dancing the skate and the frug with any girl that would with us in our drunk'in state. I had to have that liquid courage to dance.

Draft beer was 25 cents a glass or 45 cents for a mug, $1.50 for a pitcher! I went to Bishop Gibbons with Dave and Joe and knew Jim through his brother Drew. No matter where they played we went. We always had a great time.

This was the day of the Chevelle SS, Corvette, Mustang, Hurst Olds 442, GTO and all other muscle cars. Many a night, I won or lost a weekly pay check racing my 1964 327 cu. i. 325 HP Corvette on the Crosstown; rubber burning, tires screaming, gears slamm'in with some screaming girl in the passenger seat.

I enjoyed being under age and bringing my equally under age date to a club for the first time. They were always excited and nervous. Little did they know that I knew each doorman or that they said the same thing each time,"Whoa, Glenn what's this Foxy lady doing with you?" (To be a Fox or Foxy was cool at the time)

The clubs were loud, smoke and people filled. A lot of daters but more singles both male and female. A couple times I went to one bar with a date at 9 took her home at midnight and came back out with another till the bars closed at 3 a.m.. I made the mistake of doing that once with girls that knew each other - "How could you have been out with him on Friday? I was out with him on Friday!"

1965 - 67 it was Soul music that was in the clubs. Some Stones, Doors, Mitch Ryder, The Temps, Four Tops, Sam Cooke, Righteous Brothers, Otis Redding - people wanted to dance!

When we went on a real bender we would go to Albany to the after hours clubs and get down with the brothers and sisters. That was real soul music; Bubba and Alena Dobbs, Cocco Diaz, Pops Brown and Missy Dufrain. Many a Saturday morning we ended up at Berical's Diner about 7 a.m. for breakfast totally trashed.

One time Ray Poteralski and I woke up in his 1966 Mustang Fastback parked in a rest area on the New Jersey Turnpike. He remembered something about us wanting to go to Philadelphia.
It was a wild time!
"I'm a Soulman, day, da da, ta, da da da da da!
A Soulman!"

Friday, June 15, 2007

"Going for a Ride"

Back in the '50's and early '60's it was a common thing for my parent's to throw us in the car to "go for a ride." Sometimes there would be an actual destination, sometimes just a general direction. A lot depended on available time. Little time short ride, long time long ride. Often we'd bring friends with us.

My mother would say,"We're going to Glens Falls to see Aunt Margaret and Uncle Jim" or we're going up the new Northway." That was fun because we never knew how much further they would be. I can remember when it stopped at Lake George. We'd go to the farm in Argyle or to Cobleskill to visit Aunt Lil and Uncle Ted. All this pre - dated I88, I87, I90, so it took longer then.

My all time favorite ride story, with my parents, was when I was in 3rd grade. My teacher, Miss Di Michael's asked the class if we were doing anything special over the Spring vacation. I told her and the class that we were going to Peru to visit my father's relatives. She was excited for me and asked if we were flying? She reacted strangely when I informed her we were driving.

Little did I know that there was a Peru, New York! Hell, I was only 7 or 8.

Thursday, June 14, 2007

" They are Watching You"

Kids don't start smoking because advertising is geared for them, any more than they eat sugary cereals due to it either! They do it because their parents smoke and buy the cereals.

It always starts with the parents - young children's role models. Few parents want to take responsibility though.

When I was a kid, I started smoking by taking the longest cigarette butts out of the ash trays. I then moved on to just stealing them from my parents. Most every adult I knew smoked. It was the 1950's.

I started sneaking puffs on the butts when I was about 8 years old and by the time I was a teen I was smoking almost a pack a day. Finally, I quit in the mid - 70's. Still that was a 15 year habit.

The idea that I had a problem popped into my head when one morning I realized that I was smoking "IN THE SHOWER." My wife never smoked and I found myself smoking only outside the house. I eventually quit - cigarettes.

Cigars - now that's something else. Both my parent's families were cigar smokers. I grew up being told that nothing was better than a cigar and scotch on the rocks to relax. I was way a head of the curve when the cigar craze hit! When trout fishing in the Adirondacks it is imperative to smoke a cigar to keep the black flies away.

My favorite "daily" cigar is a Dominican Cuesta Rey robusto and my special all time favorite is a Cuban Montecristo Pyramid #2. Yeah Daddy! A double shot of single malt with one good sized ice cube and it's heaven.

But I digress!

I can close this one quickly - getting turned on to tobacco is just like drugs -it is either a family member or friend that gives you the start. Also, have you ever seen a drinker or druggy that didn't smoke? This is why tobacco is considered a gateway drug. This is one of the Partnership for a Drug free America projects. They are trying to educate parents that they teach everything!

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Catholic School Adventures #1-" Murph the Serf"

I got too believe - even the Pope has a bad day, once in a while!

I attended Bishop Gibbons High School because, and I quote," ..He's one of those boys that needs discipline and a hard hand to over see it..." Well, I can assure you , that the Order of the Irish Christian Brothers could kick ass and take names. All in the name of God of course.

The students were all boys and ran the gamut from little weak momma's boys right through socio - paths.

When I attended you had to wear a suit or sport coat and tie. We all had cardinal and gold book bags, representative of our school colors.

Oh yeah, my friend Nick Marino attended too.

When I first started we rode a regular school bus but the numbers went up and the home district, Mohonasen, had to re - route some buses. We ended up riding in a small van - yes - the short bus! This actually worked out to our benefit because we were the driver's first run. He'd pick us up early and drop us off at Mike's Diner, now the Blue Ribbon. We'd have coffee and a couple of cigarettes and walk to school.

This daily activity got me my first head smack from Brother Murphy my homeroom teacher. Apparently he watched us walk in to school from his classroom windows where he had seen me taking my last puffs on a cigarette.

As I entered the room he cuffed me good upside the head. It hurt and I recoiled away from him bringing up my hands. I thought it was another kid. When I saw it was Murph I couldn't get my hands down fast enough.

He walked up to me. He was a small man but tough. "You made two mistakes my laddie. Do you with your veritable desert of a mind know what they were?" I shook my head no. He swatted me again. By now all the other students were in their seats watching. "Does your mother, the fine Miss Dorothy, know that you smoke?" I didn't respond because I didn't have a clue how he knew my mother's first name. "Did I deaf'in you boy?"

"No, sir," I answered.

"I'm your equal boy. Don't call me sir. Anyone know his second mistake?" He asked the class.

" He raised his hands to you, Brother." One of them answered.

"And young Mr. Di Lella, how would you be knowing that?"

"I did it once," he said.

Brother Murphy told me to take my seat. He then lectured the class, mostly for my benefit, about how if a man or woman of the cloth ever struck it you, that you are to take it like a man as God meant it.

He leaned over my desk and told me that if I ever did either again that I would sorely regret it!

What did I learn that day? Not to smoke outside of Mike's in the morning!

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


I recently heard a line in a movie that reminded me of what we did as teens, " ....let's sit down have a few drinks, tell lies and call up some women!" Pretty much that's what we were doing in our gameroom bar the night this happened.

It was a Friday because my father was bowling. He bowled in the old Schenectady Classic League at Towne Bowling Academy. They bowled at 8 p.m. each Friday night. My Dad was a good bowler. He consistently averaged over 200 and he took it seriously. He participated during the time when bowling teams wore the wild shirts with their name on the front and the sponsor's name on the back. I remember black with red letters, red with white letters but my all time favorite bowling shirt was when my Dad bowled on the Towne T.V. team. The first year they had dove gray shirt bodies with charcoal grey arms and black lettering. The next year was the best - pink bodies, dark grey sleeves and lettering. The sponsor had sent his wife to order the shirts.

There was other paraphernalia too. You had to have stylish shoes, a brightly colored towel for your hands and the obligatory custom lettered bowling ball bag. My Dad's bag was tan with "Bud Nichols" painted on both sides, along with a picture of a bowling pin.

When the gameroom bar was first built, we had very little furniture. There were 4 barstools, a card table and 4 chairs on one side of the room and a pool table on the other. The vertical metal poles had been boxed in and benches were built around them for seating.

I was sitting on the far bench and Nick was lining up a shot on the table when the door at the top of the stairs slammed open and my father's bowling bag came flying down the stairs. It hit the cellar floor, tile over concrete, bounced twice and hit the far wall with a bang. We then heard my father open the kitchen door entering we heard my mother ask," what was that, Bud?"

Dad answered," It was my God damn bowling ball. I hope the son of a bitch broke!"

My mother told him that we were down there. He yelled down, "You guys alright?" We told him we were fine.

" Yeah, well screw you two - don't piss me off tonight!" A father's concern for his child's well being = priceless.

This all happened in a split second. We cracked up laughing.

Friday, June 8, 2007

"Jesus Christ, you freak'n Pigs!"

One night in the summer of 1963, Nick slept over night. I remember this because I was still in my old 1st floor bedroom. Later that year I moved to the big upstairs bedroom when my brother left for college.
My bedroom had a big double bed and a dresser, that's all. A spartan life for me. The headboard, a bookcase, was against the back wall and we faced the doorway.
It had to be a weekend because my father was home. He worked the 3rd shift at the GE from 11 p.m to 7a.m.. We had played pool in the basement, watched t.v., had some pizza and popcorn before heading to bed about 11-1130.
Like any set of teens my father had to come in to tell us to "shut up!" a few times. About midnight a fart fest broke out. There were "freeeps", "beeeerts", "raaaaaaaaaaaaaats"and a couple of harmless "phuuts." Honestly, it was the "phuuts" that got us laughing. We couldn't stop.
That's when my father slammed the door open and yelled," You stop............. Jesus Christ, you freak'n pigs crack a window in here! " In the background we could hear my mother,"Bud! Bud! What's the matter, Bud?"
"Dottie, these kids are freak'n pigs! Jesus H. Christ Almighty, Glenn!"
Nick and I lost it totally then.
Some time around 330-4 a.m. my brother came home after a night of drinking and stopped in the doorway on his way to the bathroom. All he said was," Oh man, what died in here?"
Nick and I were off again.
This was a story repeated over and over. A true "you had to be there". After my mother passed in 2001, we moved into the house I grew up in.
Forty four (44) years after the fart fest, I get diagnosed with ALS and we have to renovate our house to accommodate my electric wheelchair. Along that side of the house was my parent's bedroom, a bathroom and my old bedroom.
We gutted the whole side and made it into one bedroom and a huge handicapped accessible bathroom. My childhood bedroom space became the bathroom. Some how, in a sick adolescent way, it seems appropriate.

Thursday, June 7, 2007

"Like a Woodchuck Chuck'n"

How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?

Meaningless, just a tongue twister like Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear.

I had a substitute Hospice Nurse yesterday come to the house to take a sterile urine sample. The woman never stopped talking. I started looking for gills on her neck cause I swear she never breathed once.

This woman had no filter at all. What ever thought popped in to her head immediately came out of her mouth.

She had that 50 I.Q. stare and a nervous giggle like laugh. So it went like," I've got to take some urine, ho ho hee hee. Just a, hee,hee little."

When I went into the bathroom she explained to me that I'd have to clean myself with antiseptic first to guarantee that it would be sterile. After she handed me 6 large Q- tip like things with antiseptic I told her that 6 seemed a bit much. "Ho, ho, hee, hee one is good. Hee, hee whatever you need." 6 could have stained my entire back yard deck! I used 2, 1 seemed small.

She left me to do what I needed to do.

When she returned is when she really got weird. With my hands the way they are I can't always get my pants all the way up. They're up but they don't feel up. So I asked her to help pull them up a little more.

It wasn't what she did next but what she said.

Now before I tell what she said, let me explain that I usually wear athletic shorts and a t-shirt around the house. No one's around so I can be a slob. Yesterday, I had on a pair of baggy shorts with that bathing suit lining thing in it. So, I guess, I can see her confusion.

She pulled my shorts up and yanked here and there...... I started to feel like those kids on tv where two guys hold them and another gives a super wedgie.

I asked her as calmly as I could in this situation,"What the hell are you doing?"

And here's what she says to me."Well I couldn't hee,hee tell if you had two or three pairs of hee, ho, ho shorts on."

1 - I get - shorts only = 1

2- shorts + underwear = 2

3 - I have no clue!

Who the hell wears three pairs of shorts?

Hee, hee, ho.

Wednesday, June 6, 2007

"Cowboy Down!"

Twice I saw horrible face first falls. Both eventually were funny.
I don't remember his name but we called him"Says He". When he told a story or a joke instead of saying he said or Glenn said, he would interject says he.
We were small game hunting along the railroad tracks along Countyline Road. George was walking in the gravel along the left side of the tracks, Nick and I were in the gravel on the right side and "Says He" was walking the railroad ties between the tracks.
We were on our way to where we were going to hunt so we were just talking while we walked. "Says He" was a big guy, 6'2" and about 225. It was a nice fall morning but it was chilly. We all wore some form of hunting boot. He had on leather boots with vibrom soles. These soles looked like snow tire treads. They are comfortable, good on snow and ice but not great on railroad ties.
He must have caught a tread on a tie. It looked like he had just stumbled - a little. Then for some unknown reason he began to pick up speed. Picture the John Wayne walk but faster. He was all over the place and about 20 yards away he did a face plant right in the middle of the tracks. His gun went one way and his hat another.
Nick and I had started after him as soon as he accelerated. Now at this time in my life I smoked and was over weight but not enough to be sucking wind like I was. After stopping, I realized that I was out of breath from laughing. It was better than any Chevy Chase pratfall.
We stood there laughing like fools. He got up a little worse from wear, there were gravel cuts on his face and embedded in his hands. His shotgun had some chunks out of the stock but he appeared alright.
We still imitate his fall.
The second was not the least bit funny when it happened but it was a couple of days later.
Kathy and I had attended the Letchworth Central Senior Ball with the Superintendent, Elementary Principal and their wives so we were all dressed up. The men were in tuxedos and the women in nice dresses. Mike had invited us to their house after the ball so we stopped in for an drink.
Everyone always parked behind the house. They had a huge horse shoe shaped gravel driveway that you could enter or exit from either side of the house. The front of the house was on street level but the back was at basement level so you had to climb these landscape tie stairs to the back deck. As we started down the stairs my wife's high heel caught - she did just like "Says He"
but down hill landing in a gravel driveway.
It scared the hell out of me! Mike and I ran down to get her up. Her legs were scratched up pretty bad as were her hands but the worst injury was to the side of her head. We could immediately see it swelling. Pat, Mike's wife helped to clean her up and put an ice bag on her face.
The next morning, Sunday, she had a bright blue and black eye almost swollen shut. On Monday we had to go to a meeting at the bank to complete our mortgage paperwork. As High School Principal we had to live in the district. Since I had taken the day off, we were dressed casually and Kathy wore sun glasses to both protect and to hide her black eye.
The Bank Manager ushered us in to his office. Making small talk he said that his nephew had said that he liked me as the new principal and that I was tough but fair. Just as he looked up my wife removed her sun glasses to put her regular glasses on as she said,"Tell me about it." He looked at her eye then me, back to her - by now both Kathy and I started laughing!

Tuesday, June 5, 2007

"Up on Cripple Creek"

This is Cripple Creek, Colorado on August 3, 2004. That's not snow it's ice! All day as we drove upwards through the Rocky Mountains we saw dark storm clouds in the distance. I thought it was thunder clouds.

About ten miles from our camp site, it started to spit ice and as we pulled in to register it came down even harder. As we were filling out the paperwork my wife mentioned the weather and asked if it was normal. The lady told her that every afternoon this time of year it rained, snowed or iced each day. Her husband told us that summer fell only on July 4th.

After hooking up the water, electric and sewer I went in and touched off the furnace.

I miss traveling in our motorhome. Each day is different and you never know what you'll find along the way. We bought a book titled "The Next Exit" which did just that. It told us about gas,eating, shopping camp sites and local attractions. You just go to whatever state you are in and look up the route number and exit. This book and billboards helped us find neat places like
1886 Town, the Great Divide Sky Ride, Lou Tauber's Western Clothing in Casper, Wyoming (bought my cowboy boots here) and Flaming Gorge. On the way to see Holister, California, we made a wrong turn and found one of the original Spanish Missions. It was beautiful.

We've bought rattle snake skin wallets, and key chains with rattle snake heads, a hunting knife with snake skin pummel and sheath, handmade Native American jewelry, sand paintings and in Felton, California just north of Santa Cruz I bought a hand carved redwood bear. The list of useless things goes on but they're wonderful memories of road trips.

Some where in Iowa we stopped at an Indian casino that was surrounded by 1000's of aces of corn. It looked bizarre. It was also mandatory to stop in Wendover, Nevada ( I call it bend over) and Reno and Las Vegas. But my all time special Nevada stop was Winnemucca. One place outside of Nevada that I love to gamble is Deadwood, South Dakota. Kevin Costner owns a casino and hotel named The Midnight Star that's really nice. It's sports bar had excellent food but it was slow. We learned how to play 3 card poker here since they do not have craps in South Dakota.

Cracker Barrel Restaurants were our favorite food stops. We also would look for truck stops and diners with a lot of trucks, especially for breakfast. I tried a lot of different things to eat across the US. I had Elk and Buffalo steak, rattlesnake, fish burritos, the biggest freak'n omelet I've ever seen, the hottest habanajo peppers and my all time favorite was at a barb-b-q at our son's in Santa Cruz where he served home made grilled ham & cheese, jalopeno pepper and chedder cheese filled sausages.

I think the trips were just an under cover freeding frenzy. I sure miss it!

Monday, June 4, 2007

" Lock the Bastard Up! "

It's waayyyyy past the time to start holding these multi - millionaire thug athletes accountable for their behavior. The team owners have accountability too! They hire these classless socially illiterate people and then want to make excuses for them. They knew what was up when they drafted them.

They groom the athlete's sense of entitlement by kissing their asses before they're hired. Then want to make the excuse that they are from a single parent inner city project family - "well you can just BITE ME!" You knew they had a baby's momma and about their sealed juvey record. The freak'n Governor pardoned Allen Iverson so he could play. They get caught with guns, drugs, women, felons, have DUI's and DWI'S, they go into the stands and assault people..........
and the conversation is about IF something should be done.

I was a coach, classroom teacher and school administrator, so I speak from experience. Many inner city single parent athletes are great kids with wonderful homes and phenomenal parental
guidance, so there is a choice for colleges and professional teams. Any educator, in any school, anywhere, can tell you about a student's potential. We know at an early age which families support their children and which don't. Can it change over time - yes - but it usually doesn't. By highschool really good athletes are already honing their sense of entitlement. Teachers do not grade them the same as others, administrators cut them slack and other students build their ego's.

Many colleges nurture their teams by having a family like environment - firm but fair! Why not spend a few million on this pro teams? Ask how Emmet Smith, Jerry Rice, LeBron James, Kareem Abdul Jabar....................... did it. There are alot of sucessful pro role models - use them to help the others.

The message that they get is "as long as I produce I can do whatever I want" and the teams encourage this behavior by not doing anything. Sure they fine them or suspend them and they lose money but what is a few thousand to a guy that makes millions?

My opinion - if Mike Vick is found guilty of staging dog fights and burying the bodies - fire the bastard and put him in a pit handcuffed with 5 or 6 steaks hung around his neck and a couple racks of ribs around his ass and throw some pit bulls in after him. See how he likes it!

Sunday, June 3, 2007

"Ovature, Curtain, Lights!"

"Ovature, curtain, lights!

This is it!

We'll hit the heights and oh what heights we'll hit!

On with the show this is it"

{Insert cane twirl here}

June 2nd was the annual ALS WALK in Albany and we raised about $3000. My God Daughter raised $1600 and my wife and others from HFF raised another $1400.
June 9th is the HOME FUNDING FINDERS BAR - B - QUE. They have raffled gift baskets, sold raffle tickets, barb-b-que tickets and will be auctioning 4 Yankee tickets. One crazy s.o.b. purchased 100 raffle tickets at $10 each! So hopefully we can get another $4 -$5000. It should be a fun event.
Everything for the HFF fund raiser was donated. People solicited items for the raffle prizes and even the Yankee tickets were donated. The gift baskets were made up by individuals who gave their time and purchased whatever went into the basket. One gracious lady offered her home for the picnic site.
Alot of time, energy and work went in to plan and facilitate this day. Volunteer fundraising at it's purest form - friends helping each other.
Having ALS, I don't get out much, so I haven't met alot of the people working on the picnic plans. Those I do know I watch and can see the joy it gives them to participate and give. I've said it before and will again, I'm sure, people can be wonderful, even when they don't know those they are helping.
I think it's fabulous what this group of people has done for the Regional ALS Center. They will improve the quality of life for ALS patients in our area. I want to thank each one and let them know that it is deeply appreciated.