tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-77455264250804024872024-03-13T23:17:51.320-07:00San Francisco Ball ScribeMy name is Henry Schulman, and I was fortunate to enjoy a 40-year career as a news and sports reporter, including 33 years covering Major League Baseball for the Oakland Tribune, San Francisco Examiner and San Francisco Chronicle until my retirement in January, 2021. I hope you enjoy these thoughts and tales and share your comments after reading.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-3545761905248341782021-11-05T11:25:00.000-07:002021-11-05T11:25:28.352-07:00With seven words, Buster Posey told us exactly who he was and what he meant to the Giants, plus other recollections of the man and his career<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span>Seven words.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span>Buster Posey spoke tens of thousands of words during his 13 years as a San Francisco Giant. He needed just seven to create the quintessential Buster Moment, the few seconds that cemented who he was and how he acted as sheriff and chief executive officer of a major-league baseball team.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> It was Aug. 15, 2012, the day National League batting leader Melky Cabrera was suspended 50 games after testing positive for elevated levels of testosterone in violation of the joint league-union drug policy.</span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> The Giants had an afternoon game against the Nationals. Beforehand, reporters piled into the clubhouse to gauge reaction to what seemed like a knockout blow for a team good enough to reach the postseason for the second time in three years. </span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span>Buster emerged from the off-limits area of the clubhouse knowing the inquisition would land on his doorstep. He clearly had decided precisely what he would say when asked about Cabrera. He distilled it to seven words:</span></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="text-align: left;"><span> </span>"Ultimately, it was just a bad decision."</span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ehW13nQzLtfwqGe0pM-xINjtXunbw4sgPwInkNxJUCTTpWMvMv-bp0TvaRpSM23-6dKPtuyqBB9RRtIBkXMkX7kCPvAjOQCO-sDGLnHfuH82hDdJbmcrn993lHcMpvcTa1ExFokoGS6r/s2048/Posey%252CBuster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ehW13nQzLtfwqGe0pM-xINjtXunbw4sgPwInkNxJUCTTpWMvMv-bp0TvaRpSM23-6dKPtuyqBB9RRtIBkXMkX7kCPvAjOQCO-sDGLnHfuH82hDdJbmcrn993lHcMpvcTa1ExFokoGS6r/s320/Posey%252CBuster.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></span></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"> Understand, during his tenure Buster never said an ill word about anyone no matter how warranted. When posed with a difficult question, he could dance like Ali to avoid making waves. Now, with seven words, he punched like Ali, and we instantly understood that Buster, the unrivaled clubhouse leader, had just vocalized an entire team's disgust with a player who put himself above the team.</div></span></span></span></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> A violation of the 11th Commandment for a player of faith who took the first 10 as the word of God.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> The Giants had met after news of Cabrera's suspension. Who spoke and what they said remain a mystery, but I have to believe Buster rose to challenge the Giants to show Cabrera that they did not need him to win.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> The morning of the suspension, the Giants and Dodgers were even atop the National League West at 64-53. Without Cabrera, they went 30-15 to win the division by eight games over Los Angeles en route to a World Series championship that required wins in six postseason elimination games.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Posey, who spoke softly on Aug. 15, carried a big stick into those 45 games. He batted .348/.411/.561 en route to a Most Valuable Player award he richly deserved and a batting title that even he would admit was slightly fuzzy.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span><span>Cabrera had accrued enough at-bats before his suspension to earn the title with a .346 average, 10 points higher than Posey's, but Posey was granted the batting championship when Cabrera voluntarily relinquished it -- as if Melky had the power to alter mathematics.</span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> While that was the quintessential Buster Moment, other memories bubble to the surface in the wake of his retirement.</span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> -- When Brian Wilson struck out Nelson Cruz to cement the San Francisco Giants' first World Series championship in 2010, Buster raced to the mound toward his pitcher the way countless catchers had done before and since. Difference was, he kept turning his head toward the visiting dugout in Texas, smiling, as if to say, "This is for all of us! Get out here!"</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> -- A personal reflection: When I missed the final two months of the 2015 season undergoing treatment for Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, my fellow writers constantly told me the same thing, that Buster asked how I was doing. I was mostly forgotten within the clubhouse except in one corner, where Buster dressed.</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> You can't imagine what that meant to me. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> When I visited the clubhouse on the penultimate day of the season, mostly to bid my friends in the press a good winter, I sought out only one player -- Buster -- to thank him for keeping me in his thoughts.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> I reiterated that in a text I sent him after he announced his retirement.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> -- Buster is sneaky-funny, usually with an under-the-breath quip, often at the expense of Madison Bumgarner, the ONLY Giant who could get away with calling Buster by his given name, Gerald.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> One day, in spring training 2015, Buster took live batting practice against Bum. it was a big deal because it rarely happened in springs past. When asked about it afterward, Buster said, "Cain throws harder." </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Lest anyone doubt how funny Buster could be, his performance in the "Mi Amor" Giants ad with Sergio Romo, lives on. <iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/hX_EpMMOR8s" title="YouTube video player" width="560"></iframe></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Of all the stories I wrote about Buster, my favorite was spring training 2015, after the third title, when I showed him photos of the three championship #BusterHugs with Wilson, Romo and Bumgarner and <a href="https://www.sfgate.com/giants/article/Buster-Posey-on-his-three-World-Series-clinching-6092776.php">asked him to recollect</a> his thoughts at those moments. <br /></span></span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw5drsQJwdnBwaA9zFtCCUQK7PkVUm0jh8YrILGZ1eUu2lsl649CZ21Ckt7W4YItUJKlcyUMWKeaTIfFpMWrtkXrF1FY7VK5ac2B_eyyQbhkQthsebFE0Fa-rZgas7WRZnQBYsQgAWlUwh/s1492/buster.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1492" data-original-width="915" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw5drsQJwdnBwaA9zFtCCUQK7PkVUm0jh8YrILGZ1eUu2lsl649CZ21Ckt7W4YItUJKlcyUMWKeaTIfFpMWrtkXrF1FY7VK5ac2B_eyyQbhkQthsebFE0Fa-rZgas7WRZnQBYsQgAWlUwh/s320/buster.jpeg" width="196" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> His recollection of the Game 7 Buster Hug with Bumgarner in Kansas City, depicted here in a photo by my talented former colleague Carlos Avila Gonzalez, stood out because it bespoke the relationship between two of the club's greatest, quietest warriors with Alex Gordon standing at third base and the championship on the line:</span></span></span></span></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">The first thing when I see that picture is, I can’t believe Bumgarner just did what he did. What stands out to me is the conversation we had after (Alex) Gordon got on third, and just how calm and confident Bum was. He just said, “I got this. I’m going to get him out.” There was no other thought in his mind. It definitely made me settle in a lot more once he said that.<br /></span></i></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i> </i>So much more could be said, and will be, when the first spring training without Buster arrives, when he appears on the field in uniform for the first time as a special coach, as fans and the media debate his Hall of Fame credentials. (A topic that deserves its own blog.)<br /></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Buster said so very little about himself over the years, I did not expect we would learn much about him we did not already know during his retirement press conference, but I found his Sid Bream anecdote instructive.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> He talked about his grandfather's favorite moment, when Bream sputtered home with the clinching run of the 1992 National League Championship Series for the Atlanta Braves.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> Perhaps out of kindness, Buster did not mention that the throw that Bream outraced came from the hand of the Pirates left fielder, one Barry Bonds. Though Buster and Barry were not teammates, I consider them linked in one way.</span></span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Toward the end of his career, Bonds symbolized an unhappy period in Giants history, four straight losing seasons (three with Bonds) in which the organization placed Bonds' personal home run feat above team goals. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>Nine months after Bonds' final Giants at-bat, Brian Sabean, Bobby Evans and John Barr drafted Posey, who, with Tim Lincecum and Matt Cain, symbolized the rebirth of the Giants as contenders and, frankly, of organizational pride.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> That feeling continued unabated through the rest of Buster's career, which ended after a 107-win season and a division title over the Dodgers.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span> Now, the </span></span></span></span></span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;">difficult part for fans is wrapping their heads around Buster's permanent departure from the roster. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;">They will grieve, which is understandable, because he enriched their love of baseball and the Giants, and thus, by extension, their lives.</span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> I tend to look at events like this less melodramatically, perhaps the result of journalistic objectivity, but also knowing that everything in life is cyclical. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>A time to arrive, a time to go.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Eight words.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> I should have asked Buster for a way to say it in seven.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #111111; font-family: Lora Regular, system-ui; font-size: medium;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white;">END</span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui; font-size: 18px;"><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui; font-size: 18px;"><i><span> </span><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-stroke: 0.45px rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); background-color: white; color: #111111; font-family: "Lora Regular", system-ui; font-size: 18px;"><i><span> </span><br /></i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></p>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-73280310451281120652021-10-14T00:36:00.001-07:002021-11-05T16:12:21.406-07:00Ever want to get travel advice from a bored former baseball beat writer? Well, blackjack! Here are 21 tips on air travel, hotels, rental cars and ground transport<span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> It's Wednesday night. There's no ball. I'm bored. And I got into brief Twitter discussion about travel. It's been awhile since I've done anything useful, so I thought I'd attempt to help y'all with some travel tips based on my decades of flying to and from Giants games.</span><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Yeah, there are a bazillion travel blogs, but a lot of those are written by folks who get access to the best seats and suites because, well, they write travel blogs. I hope to offer some more practical advice now that travel is starting to come back some. I think you'll find this a pretty exhaustive set of tips.</span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Another "yeah, yeah, yeah." I mostly flew on an airline on which I had status, which comes in handy for booking, picking seats and especially when things go higgledy-piggledy at the airport. But I also flew on plenty of airlines where I had no status, and I still know a few tricks. I'm also going to limit this to domestic travel because that's what I know best.</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> One caveat: Some of these tips might not be as sound now as they were pre-COVID. If you have traveled recently and can describe your experiences -- especially if they contradict my advice -- please do so in the comments section.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> So, some tips, in no particular order, starting with flights (then on to hotels and rental cars, and one piece of advice on ground transportation): </span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> <b> 1.</b> <b>Don't dismiss the legacy carriers</b>: We've all gotten used to checking Southwest and other discount carriers for the best deals. Southwest also has a lot of fans because of its policy of not charging change fees. Nobody wants to pay hundreds for a flight then a couple hundred more if plans change, which was SOP with legacy airlines.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> COVID changed that. To win back customers they lost during the pandemic, United, America, Delta and Alaska <a href="https://www.cnbc.com/2020/09/10/major-airlines-have-canceled-change-fees-but-there-are-loopholes.html">eliminated their change fees</a> for most fare classes on domestic flights, also eliminating the biggest reason not to fly them. </span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span>It's important to check each airline's policies. For instance, some won't waive change fees for those uber-cheap no-frills fares they added to woo bargain-hunting passengers, and there are time limits for using your travel funds.<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Also, note that legacy airline prices are competitive in <i>some</i> markets. Just remember that cost isn't everything.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> <b> 2. Early-morning flights are best: </b>Flight delays daisy-chain during the day. It's common sense. The first flight in the morning is less likely to be delayed because the plane and crew have been in your city since at least the night before. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> It's not a 100 percent guarantee. Sometimes a previous-night flight arrives so late it can't leave on time the next morning before the crew gets its FAA-mandated rest. This has happened to me, but it's extremely rare.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><b> 3. Check for premium-economy upgrades: </b>Nowadays, if you don't have status on an airline you're probably going to be among the last to board, which means no overhead space, which means checking your bag at the gate, which means it'll probably end up in Cleveland even if you're not going to Cleveland.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Frequent flyers get to board first and have access to premium seats up front. A lot of those seats used to go unfilled, so airlines began offering them to the public for sale. Sometimes you get more leg room, sometimes you don't, but you always get some form of priority boarding. Before COVID, some upgrades came with free cocktails.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> These upgrades can be surprisingly cheap, depending on the length of the flight, time of day and routing. I've paid as little as $19 for one of these upgrades.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> It sucks that we now have to pay more just to sit up front and board first, but it can be worth it, especially if can snag an exit-row seat with terrific legroom.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>4. Day of the week matters: </b>This might not be as true as it once was, amid COVID, as airlines try to regain lost revenue by limiting flights and packing the ones they sell, but it's always been true that cheaper fares were available on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and late Saturdays. Maybe some of you more recently flyers can comment below on your experiences.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><b> 5. Get rolling on Hawaii, now! </b>You don't need any proof of vaccine or recent COVID tests to board a domestic flight now -- except for Hawaii. If you are planning a Hawaii trip soon, you must create an account for each traveler on the <a href="https://travel.hawaii.gov/#/">Hawaii safe website</a> and answer a boatload of questions. You can also upload your proof of vaccine. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>You can go if unvaccinated, but you'll have to take a COVID test at a site approved by the state of Hawaii within three days of your trip. With no vaccine or test, you'll have to quarantine for 10 days. And if you're thinking of submitting a phony-baloney vaccine card, <a href="https://ktla.com/news/nationworld/24-year-old-tourist-with-fake-maderna-covid-19-vaccine-card-arrested-in-hawaii-court-docs/">think again. </a><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> I just went through the website application process. It takes time. Don't wait till the last minute. You'll still have to complete an online questionnaire within 24 hours of your flight to get a QR code you will need to show when you arrive on the islands.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>6. Hubs have advantages: </b>Everyone hates flying out of O'Hare, Denver, Houston, Atlanta and Dallas, right? Right.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> But if you fly an airline to and from its hub -- United at SFO, Delta in Atlanta, American in Dallas, etc ... you get one potential benefit: If a flight gets canceled or faces a long delay you have a better chance of getting on another plane that day because the airline simply has more routing options and seating inventory than its non-hubbed competitors.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Airlines also have pilots and flight attendants on call in their biggest hub cities if needed, or at least they did before COVID-related staffing shortages. They can be summoned if the original crew gets waylaid in another city to prevent a canceled flight.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> All that said, I love flying out of smaller airports when I can because they have fewer weather and air-traffic delays. My favorite airport in the Bay Area is easily San Jose-Mineta.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><b> 7. Use social media: </b>Like all industries, airlines now employ Twitter agents to talk to customers, and it's often much faster than calling the 800 number. That can be extremely useful in a delay/cancellation to possibly get on another flight.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Even if you're in the air, you can contact airline customer service on WiFi.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> (Speaking of which, airlines are pretty good about refunds for spotty wifi on planes. They've always taken my word for it. Check the various airline websites.)</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> If you're sitting on a tarmac long enough before takeoff (because of weather or mechanical delays) or after landing (because there's no open gate) and think you'll miss a connection, you can also call customer service from your seat if the captain allows it. You might get a jump on the other passengers who will wait to find an agent after deplaning.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>8. Get a credit card:</b> I just got a new card and within three months easily spent enough to qualify for a points bonus worth $1,000 in free travel for any airline or hotel. Plenty of similar offers exist.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> If you mostly fly one particular airline, getting a partnered credit card can get you earlier boarding. It does with United, which also provides one-time passes to their private lounges. Save those when you have a long layover or delay. Those lounges were a life-saver for me.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <a href="https://thepointsguy.com/cards-pm/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=cpc&utm_campaign=BRDB-thepointsguy-339177018148&utm_term=thepointsguy&utm_cmpid=1347320090&utm_adgid=68093845117&utm_tgtid=aud-401384080777:kwd-331475536697&utm_mt=p&utm_adid=339177018148&utm_dvc=c&utm_ntwk=g&utm_adpos=&utm_plcmnt=&utm_locphysid=1013623&utm_locintid=&utm_feeditemid=&utm_devicemdl=&utm_plcmnttgt=&utm_misc=&gclid=CjwKCAjwh5qLBhALEiwAioods0_Re5Zb3tNc9BAeLVhuuHB25TwDvnZwSoeIwyZb9vOPySHdpgeKWxoC2qsQAvD_BwE">This website,</a> while acknowledging that it partners with some of the credit-card companies, has a pretty objective rundown on the value of each. That site also <a href="https://thepointsguy.com/guide/monthly-valuations/">does the math </a>on what the various airline and hotel points are worth dollar-wise compared to the others. It's a pretty good service for free. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <b>HOTELS</b></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> 1. <b>Book early, but keep checking rates:</b> While a particular flight almost never gets cheaper, as the lower-priced fare "buckets" get sold, hotel rooms often do. If you book real early, the hotel usually posts its most expensive rack rate. Over time, hotels sometimes lower prices to boost demand. You can then rebook your reservations.<br /></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I spent a lot of down time in the press box rechecking rates for hotels I already had booked. (You're welcome, Chronicle.) More times than not that paid off, particularly if I was willing to go to a different hotel run by the same chain nearby.</span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Caveat: Don't expect prices to drop for popular resorts like Hawaii, especially now that more people are traveling.</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <b><i>Important note: </i></b>This applies to rental cars as well. We all know rental-car prices are sky high because the companies have fewer cars amid the pandemic. But I just rechecked my rental reservation in Hawaii and got the same car for $200 less than my original reservation. And I'll keep checking as the trip gets closer.<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <b>2. Caution with third-party booking sites: </b>The Internet has really boosted comparison shopping, with a lot of good aggregators and online travel agencies that attempt to find the best rates. These are names you know, such as Hotwire, Expedia, Kayak and the like. <br /></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> I've used these with no issues most of the time, but I had a couple of experiences where a problem arose with my reservation and the hotel directed me to the third-party booking site. That just adds a layer you might not want to deal with, especially late at night when you arrive.</span><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> If prices are similar, I prefer booking directly with the hotel or chain. It removes that layer, and these sites sometimes offer decent direct-booking discounted rates. </span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> <b>3. Call your hotel:</b> I always call the hotel the day before my reservation, first to confirm the reservation, but also to make specific requests.<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> Hotels start assigning rooms overnight, so if you want a specific location, such as a higher floor, a quiet area, something close to the pool, etc... it's best to make that request the day before and ask the employee to "put a block" on that room if possible so you won't get moved the next day when front-desk personnel start shifting income guests around.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> Without this step, your shot at getting a desired room decreases with every hour before you show up.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> <b>3a: Definitely call if you're arriving late at night, especially after midnight: </b>You don't want the hotel's night auditor to list you as a no-show. It's a paperwork hassle. And I've actually witnessed travelers arriving late to find their room had been resold. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> Yes, hotels overbook just like airlines do, and you could, as they say in the trade, "be walked," which means being sent to a different hotel in the area. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><b> 4. Breakfast? Maybe not: </b>We all love going to the breakfast room at the hotel and using that flip-over waffle machine, right? Well, every hotel I visited during the pandemic closed its breakfast room, instead offering a bag breakfast THAT HAD NO WAFFLES. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> I've heard tell of breakfast rooms reopening, though, so it pays to ask ahead of time, if that's important to you.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>5. Daily room service? Think again:</b> If you haven't stayed in a hotel during the pandemic, you're in for a surprise. Hotels no longer automatically clean your room daily, a move that initially began amid COVID when we were all afraid of passing germs through our fingers and businesses wanted to keep staff and customer a safe distance apart.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> I have a conspiracy theory that hotels are never going back to daily housekeeping, not for health reasons, but because it's cheaper and folks are getting accustomed to it.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> At the start of the pandemic, hotels I booked had absolutely no housekeeping during your stay. You could call down for clean towels and toss your dirty ones in the hallway. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Now, I've found, you can get daily housekeeping, or every other day if you prefer, but you have to ask for it.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>6. What about Airbnb? </b>I have no idea. I don't use them. I know people who swear by it, but I've also had acquaintances who shared horror stories, as recently as last week when a golf buddy arrived to find she had the wrong combination for the front-door lock and the owner was out of the country. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>RENTAL CARS</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>1. I like bigger companies: </b>If you're still reading, you've already gathered that a lot of my decision-making rests on the simple question of what happens when something goes wrong.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> With rental-car companies, especially, bigger is better, even if it's also a lot more expensive.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> I've had an "issue" or two with rental cars. There was that one encounter with a cement mixer. (Seriously.) And that time in Ireland when I had to drive on the wrong side of the road in the wrong side of the car, and well, let's just say the car was not returned in the same shape it left the lot.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> That's when I discovered you really do get what you pay for in rental-car customer service. It's a lot easier to reach someone with one of the big companies when you really need to. Hertz, Avis, etc. also have better, quicker ways to get your car faster at the airport, which I'll note in the next item.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> You might not be aware of industry consolidation. But Budget and Avis are owned by the same firm. Same with National, Enterprise and Alamo. So you could get better deals within the same outfit if you comparison-shop.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>2. Join the loyalty programs:</b> Even if you rarely rent a car, it pays to join Hertz #1 Gold, Avis Preferred, National Emerald Club, etc... These accounts allow you to forgo the paperwork or online reservation hassle each time you rent, and bypass the rental counter. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Many of the firms followed National's lead in letting loyalty members not only head directly to the lot, but also choose any car within the class they paid for. It's pretty cool.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Unlike airlines and hotels, you don't need status with the rental companies to enjoy these benefits. Just an ID number.</span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Even if you don't want to join, most of the firms have online check-in to save you time and in some cases let you bypass the counter. But, if you're using a no-name discount brand, double-check to make sure you don't need to wait in line. I've cringed at some of those lines.</span><br /></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> <b>3. To buy the CDW, or not to buy the CDW? </b>I swear some firms aren't really in the business of renting cars but selling insurance, which is understandable considering how profitable it is.<br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Enterprise has the worst hard-sell. Honest to God, one time in Arizona the Enterprise agent scared my wife so much with tales of the torture and financial repercussions that would befall her if she didn't buy the insurance she was afraid to drive the thing.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> We're talking about the Collision Damage Waiver, which has gotten expensive and in some cases can cost as much per day as the car itself. </span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> Should you buy it? Depends.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> The biggest pro is that if anything happens to the car, and you have the CDW, you are 100 percent off the hook. You just drive the battered machine to the lot, fill out some paperwork and off you go. I got, um, acquainted with the procedure during my career. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> (Our corporate rate included the CDW. Yours might as well.)</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> However, many credit cards now include CDW coverage if you use them to pay for the rental. This next part is so important I'm going to resort to ALL CAPS:</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> READ THE FINE PRINT TO SEE IF YOUR CREDIT CARD IS THE PRIMARY OR SECONDARY INSURER.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> If it's the primary insurer, it will pay all the damage, assuming your claim is accepted. If secondary, you have to go through your own insurance company or pay out of pocket, and the credit card only your regular insurance policy's deductible. Also note the rules might be different with a rental abroad.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Your own insurance company almost certainly includes rental coverage, but if you use your policy to cover the cost of an accident your rates will rise as if you wrecked your own car.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> If you are one accident away from being uninsurable, you might find the CDW worth the exorbitant cost.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b> 4. Insist on a car check before you go:</b> You are entitled to drive off the lot with a sheet of paper that describes or shows on a diagram every ding, scratch and nick on the body of the car, so you won't be accused of creating them when you return it. Look for any flaws before you take the car and make sure the person at the exit gate gives you the paperwork.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>5. Never buy the "return gas tank empty" option: </b>It sounds good in theory. Pay in advance for the gas and return it empty. Don't ever have to think about the gas. Tra la la.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Do you know how hard it is to coordinate your trip in a way that uses every drop of gas in the tank? This is a borderline sham that almost guarantees you will pay for gas you don't use.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Some rental companies do offer the alternative of filling the tank for you upon return if you agree to it in advance. The price per gallon is fairly competitive, but beware, there's usually a fee tacked on a well.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Just fill 'er up yourself near the airport if you can.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> <b>GROUND TRANSPORTATION</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <b> 1. Consider a taxicab: </b>We've all gotten accustomed to using ride-hailing services like Uber and Lyft when we arrive at the airport. Paying via app is convenient, the cars are usually more comfortable than cabs and we tend to think of them as a money-saver.</span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> But remember, Uber and Lyft can raise and lower prices by the minute. Surge pricing can blow the cost way higher than a taxi, whose rate is fixed by law. In Phoenix once during spring training, an unknowing acquaintance paid $80 for a Lyft ride that would have cost $20 in a taxi.</span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> In most airports and most times, cabs are quicker, too, because they queue just outside baggage claim.</span><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> <b>2. Rent off-airport: </b>The bigger rental firms have locations throughout the town you're visiting. You can save tons renting there because they don't charge high airport taxes and concession fees.<br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> In Phoenix, I can take a $25 cab ride to the Hertz Local Edition in Scottsdale and save over $100 in fees for a three-day rental. When making the reservation you also can choose to return the car at the airport rental center, usually for no additional charge.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> The biggest drawback of the off-airport rental is the lack of car choice.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><b>THE END</b></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> </span><br /></span></span></div>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-64076903331846979812021-08-31T13:19:00.000-07:002021-08-31T13:19:45.124-07:00Ed Asner, "Lou Grant," and my early-career taste of "The Front Page" era of newspaper journalism<p> <span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The TV show "Lou Grant" did not push me toward newspapers. By the time it debuted on Sept. 20, 1977, I had just started college pointed in that direction. But you can bet I watched all five seasons, and again in reruns, as I hoped to launch my career.</span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> The show bore some realism, aside from the literary requirement that two reporters and one photographer do all the important work at a major Los Angeles metro. This wasn't "Love Boat," where a revolving cast of guest stars could grab pen and notebook each week. </span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>I can't remember if I wanted to be Joe Rossi or Billie Newman, although I did have a crush on one of them.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Ed Asner's recent death got me nostalgic for the days I watched him as the editor Lou Grant. The show depicted a newsroom </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">that soon would die, not that anybody knew it at the time. The Internet soon killed classified ads, a newspaper life blood, sending an entire industry down a sinkhole.</span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOYHhqO_r9VuK33OaXmFALMLLKU7CC627mPJDgd4U4JPc1Zu5D8mr3pmbbN1Kpr26Ukw_Nip8Xhx2ZTPVTAMzvNDy_n0dHGF5U8g_1xA-fQN3waN6ShS_Q_ErQT-ouSyqU-jRNCVM8y9l/s512/Lou+Grant.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="340" data-original-width="512" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOYHhqO_r9VuK33OaXmFALMLLKU7CC627mPJDgd4U4JPc1Zu5D8mr3pmbbN1Kpr26Ukw_Nip8Xhx2ZTPVTAMzvNDy_n0dHGF5U8g_1xA-fQN3waN6ShS_Q_ErQT-ouSyqU-jRNCVM8y9l/s320/Lou+Grant.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Walden and Ed Asner in "Lou Grant."<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> At the same time, the Internet ignited a </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;">revolution that decentralized news dissemination, which had centered in newsrooms and network studios.</span></p><p><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> As a newspaperman, I deeply felt the crumbling of print journalism, although I came to appreciate how change was necessary on so many levels.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> The fictional Los Angeles Tribune newsroom led by Lou Grant mirrored most real ones around the country. It was very white and very male. Now cringeworthy, to be honest.</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>Although newspapers and online publications still have miles to go to create staffs that mirror an increasingly diverse population, many are making an effort. Hiring journalists of color and members of the LGBTQ community can only help raise the sagging -- some would say depressed -- level of trust that the public has in the media.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> That said, I am grateful I was able to start my career at the tail end of what I describe as "The Front Page" era, referencing a farcical play about newspaper reporters that was written in the 1920s and subsequently adapted into a variety of movies. Most of you probably remember the Walter Matthau-Jack Lemmon version from 1974.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> My first daily-newspaper editor was Lou Grant personified -- not the version from the eponymous drama, but from "The Mary Tyler Moore Show."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> B.W. was a middle-aged, balding, roly-poly graduate of a major metro newspaper who covered the Mafia then settled into a career at small papers helping young reporters make their way in the craft. Bob was also a cliché.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> He always had a bottle of cheap whiskey in one of his desk drawers and invited reporters into his office for a daytime belt. He said and did other things that would get him fired in half a minute today. While interviewing young women for reporting jobs, B.W. would sometimes emerge from his office, which had glass windows, to comment on their physical appearance.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> B.W. also conducted a lot of business from a barstool at a nearby bar, which also would not go over well in 2021.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> It's easy to look back and see how wrong all this was, but I'd be lying if I denied that working for B.W. was a load of fun for a newbie in his 20s.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> A couple of years later I went to the Oakland Tribune, which had a newsroom stuffed with oak furniture that would have been state-of-the-art in the 1920s. It also maintained old-fashioned wire machines that made a constant clickety-clack noise while spitting out stories on a continuous roll of paper, which copy clerks ripped out of the machine to distribute to editors. When a major story broke, the machine would ding four times.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Diversity was not an issue at the Tribune, which was owned by a Black man, Robert Maynard, and had a staff of editors and writers that looked more like its community. But it still had its share of old-timers, some crusty, some not.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I sat aside a reporter named Bill Eaton, a soft-spoken man in his 60s who captivated me with stories about his airplane and flying and always had a supply of grape Bubble Yum that he shared liberally. Bill died of a heart attack ishortly after remarrying, which saddened me immensely.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Not long after, the Tribune made me a baseball writer. That essentially ended my days of working inside newsrooms. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Nostalgia is quite the hallucinogen. It can create euphoric memories while blocking our ability to reason that things can be much better today. It's OK now and then to be Abe Simpson yelling at clouds as long as you don't go on about how much bigger and fluffier the clouds were 50 years ago.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> Ed Asner was a great actor and "Lou Grant" was a great show. And I'm grateful I got a taste of the newsroom life that he and the show depicted before it disappeared into a 21st century that demanded more equality and diverse thoughout.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> Today we have newsrooms real and virtual that pump out copy from a diverse array of people that we could not have foreseen 40 years ago. A lot of it is crap; more of it is very good. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I just hope that 40 years hence today's young reporters can say that journalism got a lot better during their career spans, as it did mine, and that the cynical distrust of earnest people who carry pens, notebooks and cameras will have disappeared into the ether as well.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span>--30--</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-75794588282333168652021-04-02T15:01:00.003-07:002021-04-02T15:05:24.406-07:00On senior discounts, our screwed-up society and reaching an inevitable nexus<p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> <span> At a Noah's this morning, the kid behind the counter gave me an unsolicited 10 percent senior discount on my bagel sandwich. The clichéd response would have been indignation, a harrumph and a demand to see the manager.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> Not here. I was like, "Score! That's 60 more cents to toss into my Hair Club for Men fund."</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> Bring it on, corporate America. Dear landlord, if you're reading this, how about 10 percent off my rent? Hey, Artichoke Joe's. Gimme $100 in chips for $90. I'm old. I've earned it."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> People tell me I look younger than 60, but the Noah's clerk can be excused. I was unshaven, and had just finished a two-mile power walk and desperately needed to pee. Maybe the last thing that got me the discount. With apologies to Simon and Garfunkle, the senior-citizen theme song could be, "Hello bathroom my old friend."</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> I don't feel 60, whatever that's supposed to feel like. I've dropped nearly 20 pounds post-retirement and resumed a regular walking regimen. Fitness seems like a common-sense priority for anyone who alights from the figurative treadmill of the daily work grind, not just to potentially extend life, but to make retirement pursuits more enjoyable.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Still, turning 60 hit me harder than 50 did, and more mentally than physically. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> You do the math and realize how much of your life has passed compared to how much remains. The temptation to brood over mortality sometimes overpowers your gratitude and mantra that every year after surviving cancer is a gift. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> The despair of moving into my seventh decade is really not a function of the ever-louder TICK TICK TICK of life's clock, however. Most of the time I am blessed with the perspective that comes with good health -- physical and financial -- and the zen of the unrelenting cycle of life and death that comes to all beings, planets and galaxies. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>We all die. You'd have to have quite an ego to take it personally.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> It took me awhile to divine the true source of the intermittent despair. It has everything to do with my second-favorite topic beyond baseball -- politics.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> We white</span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">, straight males have enjoyed a privilege of ignorance, sheltered from the breadth of the racism, misogyny, sexism and anti-gay hatred that still make life miserable for so many Americans. That ended with Barack Obama's ascent to the presidency in 2009, for it smoked out all the creepy-crawlies who felt aggrieved by the maturity this country showed in moving forward.</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> By the time Donald Trump befouled 1600 Pennsylvania Ave. in 2017, the state of America had become all too clear. On Jan. 6, 2021, when the nation survived a white-supremacist coup attempt, nobody could deny how backwards we have gone.</span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Therein lies the nexus with my impending senior-citizenry.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> I know our society is fucked up. I know it will be repaired. But the realization that I won't live to see it hit me like a Wile E. Coyote anvil to the head. </span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Granted, this is selfish. Working to improve life for the next generation is our sacred duty, right? Designing and laying the foundation for a beautiful building should be just as rewarding as seeing it gleam in the skyline, no?</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> But I still wonder how Gaudi felt when he knew he would never see a Sunday service in his masterpiece, the Sagrada Familia. Was he OK with that? Saddened?</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> The pursuit of instant gratification is ignoble, but difficult to shake just the same.</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> We who will not live to see the society we idealize have a recourse. We can get off our butts and do what we can to accelerate the process. Now, in retirement, I hope to find my way there. My initial weapon is social media, saying what's on my mind and hoping I can make at least one person think.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> You can help us, youngsters. Keep feeding us bagels at 10 percent off so we have the energy to help enrich your lives down the road.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-52288453037166785692021-03-20T14:15:00.005-07:002021-03-20T16:43:44.326-07:00Time for my first post-retirement mailbag! <p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <span> I miss doing mailbags now that I'm retired from covering the Giants, so I asked my Twitter followers to send me questions about anything not related to the 2021 Giants, whom former colleague Susan Slusser are covering so well.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> I got a lot of questions about my 30 years on the beat, especially food and travel. I answered a bunch, starting with a question from former beat-mate Kerry Crowley.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><b> Q: @ko_crowley: What's your ideal three-city, National League road trip? On a newspaper budget, which hotels would you stay at and what bars/restaurants would you visit?</b><b><br /></b></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> A: On <i>your </i>newspaper's budget? Does Motel 6 have a loyalty program? </span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I kid. I kid.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I've gotten this question a lot, usually not from overachieving Gen-Zers with bad haircuts, but Kerry's question had no spelling errors so I picked it to bat leadoff.</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> I would go with New York, Chicago, San Diego. The first two should be obvious. These are two of the world's great cities, alive with people, great places to eat and drink (back in the days when one could do that) and in Chicago, of course, Wrigley Field. I went there dozens of times, and the awe and mystique of being there never disappeared.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> San Diego is a terrific city and perhaps the only place I'd settle if I chose to leave the Bay Area. The baseball vibe around Petco Park is almost Wrigley-like. The Gaslamp Quarter houses all sorts of food and drink. An abundance of young folks make it vibrant, especially on weekends.</span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> As for hotels and food/drink:</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> New York: Unfortunately, my two favorite haunts (Foley's, Finnerty's) are no more. Trying to pick one bar or restaurant in this city is challenging. If I were there for one night, I'd dine at La Nonna in Little Italy because it offers the menu of now-closed Pellegrino's next door. Amazing Italian cuisine, and Mulberry Street is a trip back in time. I don't have a favorite hotel in New York, but I like staying in Chelsea. Good neighborhood and central.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Chicago: Lou Malnati's for pizza. You'll thank me. The Lodge is a small bar on Division Street that used to be a big player/coach/writer hangout and still has a unique vibe (and great jukebox) for those who want to escape the thump-thump-thump of the bigger places in on Division. And at least once you have to go to the Billy Goat Tavern, the inspiration for John Belushi's "cheezborger, chips, Pepsi" skit on Saturday Night Live. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">I like staying in the North River section.</span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> San Diego: Cafe Sevilla in the Gaslamp is an amazing tapas place with a great wine selection. If you ever meet Kerry, ask him about the time he almost called an ambulance for me there. I like the Hilton Gaslamp hotel, a short walk from the ballpark with a nice, understated Italian place around the corner (Toscana) that has good breakfast and coffee in the morning.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> <b> Q: @alexsensei: Any good stories about the crazy travel schedule for beat writers?</b><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> A: Craziest day was Game 162 in Denver in 1998. The Giants rose that day unsure if they would fly to Atlanta to start the National League Division Series, Chicago or New York for a one-game play-in or home after being eliminated. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> It came down to the Giants-Rockies, Cubs-Astros and Mets-Braves games because the Giants and Cubs opened the day tied at 89-72 for what then was a lone National League wild card. The Mets were a longer shot at 88-73.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> And we all had to fly that night to get to New York or Chicago, or the day after for Atlanta, and really spent most of the day ignoring the Giants-Rockies games with our heads buried in airline websites.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> Newspapers do not like to pay day-of-flight rates, so we all used every ounce of our sneakiness and knowledge of flaws in airline ticketing conventions to buy flights for every city. (The airlines have long since gotten wise and now use website algorithms to prevent such shenanigans.)</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> We lucked out when the Mets fell behind early and it was clear they'd be eliminated, so New York was out. Naturally, though, our game in Denver and Cubs-Astros in Houston were nuts, and with every twist and turn at Coors Field or the Astrodome we'd be yelling, "We're going to Chicago!" "We're going to Atlanta!" "We're going home!"</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> When the Giants took a 7-0 lead in the fifth inning it became clear that we were going to Atlanta for the Division Series -- until the Rockies came back for six in the bottom half. The racking of press box nerves intensified as our game moved into the ninth inning at 8-8 and Cubs-Astros spun into extras at 3-3.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> At the very moment Neifi Perez homered off Robb Nen in Denver to beat the Giants 9-8, the Astros scored a run in the 11th off former Giants closer Rod Beck to bet the Cubs, which meant a one-game playoff at Wrigley Field.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> Beck saved that one, and the Giants were eliminated.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> I had much worse travel days, but none as nuts.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><b style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> Q: @milesdividendmd: Ted Cruz: Love him or adore him?</b></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> A: He makes me laugh every time I see him because....</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Wait, I thought you asked about Ted <i>Lasso.</i><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Ted Cruz is a hump.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b> Q: @almajir: What do you miss the least about covering baseball?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><b> </b> A: Zoom group interviews and the lack of personal interaction with players.</span><span style="font-family: arial;"> But since that is temporary, I have a broader answer.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> I won't miss the silly "who tweeted it first?" race that has become a cottage sub-genre of sportswriting. Scoops are now measured in seconds. You'll often see a "so-and-so has signed with the this or that team, I have learned" 30 seconds before the team announces it to everyone.</span><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> When Twitter arrived, we on the beat tried to add a measure of civility to the pregame manager interviews by asking reporters not to tweet news such as injuries and lineup changes until the group session was done, because it seemed rude to make the skipper talk finish his answer while staring at 20 reporters typing into their phones.</span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> The only time I remember breaking the rule was when Bruce Bochy announced his retirement. We all did. After a while I gave up caring because there was no way to stop this rudeness. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Fortunately, my editors at The Chronicle realized good sportswriting was not about who tweeted first, but the follow-up reporting and analysis that added important perspective.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><b> Q: @seharmon: What do you miss most about being on the beat?</b></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span> A: The flip side to the previous question has an easy answer. I miss the press-box camaraderie with fellow scribes and talking ball in the dugout during batting practice with whatever baseball folk happened by.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> In a press box, you laugh more in one night than most people do in a month at other jobs. I never took that for granted. Now, I have to laugh at Kerry's haircuts remotely.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> <b>Q: @kelly7552: Have you ever had an uncomfortable experience as a Jewish sportswriter?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> A: Nah. The pain from the circumcision was gone by the time I covered my first game.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> Seriously, though, no. I can't remember any issue like that.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> <b>Q: @gingerkid1616: </b></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><b>Do you think it’s fair that some players who accomplished more in let’s say 5-6 years of their career than most ever do or take 15-20 years to accomplish are not voted into HOF because they didn’t have 10-15 good years due to injury etc...?</b></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"> A: I love this question because it underscores how ball writers, like any electorate, travel many routes to arrive at their ballots.<b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span> I probably land in a minority who believe that anyone who impacted the game in a major way regardless of stats should qualify, which is why I voted for Tommy John every year. When you volunteer to be a guinea pig for a radical surgery that would change the game so radically, you deserve a plaque.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span> John won 288 games but earned what I view is a silly epithet as a "compiler," whose stats are less valued because he gathered them over such a long career. But Jesus, if you can pitch for 26 seasons bisected by an experimental elbow rebuild now eponymous, they should create a Hall of Fame around <i>you.</i></span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span><span> <span> As to the question, Sandy Koufax was elected on the first ballot after six remarkable seasons that followed six that were "meh." So there is a precedent. But nowadays most voters want to see at least 10 years of greatness. Without that they land in the "Hall of Very Good."</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span><span><span> I feel the Hall has room for six great years <i>and </i>26 steady ones.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><b> </b><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b> Q: @gillee: Is there an embarrassing @extrabaggs story you are hoping to pay him back with? </b></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> A: Do I have stories? </span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>Absolutely. </span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>Can I ever tell them? </span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>No.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Andy has something on me that he and I term the "nuclear option," great for blackmail. Why do you think I'm always ripping on Kerry instead?</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> OK, I'd probably do that anyway.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> <b> Q: @grobbex2: Bonds vs. Kent dugout fight. Anything you can tell us we don't already know?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">A: After the game, Barry Bonds bolted from the tiny clubhouse at Jack Murphy Stadium as if the place were on fire. But Jeff Kent stood by his locker waiting for us. He was smart. He knew that with Bonds gone he owned the narrative. David Bell, the subject of the fight, wouldn't talk.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"> Kent did the writers another huge favor. He refused to talk until the television cameras left. I don't know why he did that, but we hated the TV cameras because the stations often sent them without reporters, so they would collect video based on our questions. They were enjoying the fruits of our work.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> At first they wouldn't leave, and here's the part none of us will forget.</span><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> The Giants had a young media-relations guy named Matt Hodson (now with the Twins), His bosses felt this would be a nice, easy assignment for a newbie to go on his first solo trip. It lasted just three days in San Diego. What could happen?</span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> Then, of course, the 2000 and 2001 National League Most Valuable Players went at it in the dugout, a fracas shown on TV.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> "Hoddie" became an animal. He started screaming at the TV guys when they wouldn't back away from Kent's locker. "You heard him! Back off!" They tried to sneak video and audio from the other side of the clubhouse, but Hoddie drove them off.</span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> We learned, of course, that Bonds was actually the "good guy" in the fight protecting Bell from Kent's haranguing over a defensive play on the field.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b> SOME QUICKIES</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b> @RayHorwath1: Do you prefer the Oh Henry candy bar to a Baby Ruth? </b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Baby Ruth by a mile. I don't like Oh Henrys.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>@margiehmb: When it is all safe again to travel, where's the first place you'll go out of state? Out of country?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Maui, then Italy. I blame Stanley Tucci for the latter.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>@SamTass: Do you plan on ever taking road trips to attend baseball games now in retirement?</b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Yes, maybe even San Diego and Denver in September -- leisure only.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b>@be_a_backstop: How many rental bikes/scooters lying on the middle of the sidewalk have you thrown into the bay?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> Moi? That's not ecologically correct. Next mailbag, ask me how many I lifted off the sidewalk or wheelchair curb cuts and tossed them into bushes.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"> <b> @gmanderson88: Any substance to the rumor that you are practicing trombone in preparation for joining your high school bandmates on a reunion tour, maybe play another Super Bowl?</b><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span> No, I live in an apartment building and some of the neighbors own guns. As for the Super Bowl, Lady Gaga and Bruno Mars have my contact info.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> ENDO</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><b><br /></b></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #38444d; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-21182615900924694552021-03-04T16:35:00.007-08:002021-06-01T00:06:08.500-07:00Fans of the Pink Pony, Don and Charlie's and the Italian Grotto in Scottsdale need to start new traditions<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span> </span>My good friend and former colleague John Shea went on a doleful nostalgia tour after he arrived in Scottsdale for spring training the other day. He texted a string of photos that showed the Pink Pony, Don and Charlie's, and the Italian Grotto in various stages of afterlife.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> The shuttered Pony still had the outline of its name on the building, faded though legible, with the ground-to-roof painting of a baseball on its north side. </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> The Grotto still had its signage affixed to the signature red-painted, clapboard facade, one noting that it was established in 1977, plus a banner promising a new Italian bistro COMING SOON.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> <br /></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> Don and Charlie's...well, if you loved the place, steer clear of the corner of 75th Ave. and Indian School Road, where a half-built boutique hotel rises where the restaurant was demolished.<br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span> The Pony, Don and Charlie's and the Grotto were the holy trinity of hangouts for generations of Cactus League visitors. All three are history.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>And you know what? That's OK.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span> </span>You probably figured this blog was headed in a different direction, a lament of the loss of younger days, special memories and friendships. <br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;"><span><span> </span>But I won't go there. <br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span>I </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">am as nostalgic as anyone (mostly for my hair) and I will miss all three restaurants. But mostly I'll miss seeing their proprietors, and this is where a tour of memories crashes headlong into the realities of age and mortality -- for people, places and things.<br /></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> <br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>What made these eateries and drinkeries special was not the caricatures of patrons, mostly long-tone, that adorned the walls of the Pony, nor the millions of dollars of sports memorabilia that filled every empty space of Don and Charlie's -- even the ceilings. Nor was it the incredible Italian food at the Grotto, which disproved the adage that a tourist att</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">raction and mouth-watering cooking somehow are mutually exclusive.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>These restaurants were an extension of the people who largely created them and held onto them until they could hold on no longer.</span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhye9y8h_k5ZcQ1nP5qlG3EFvXm2xV43oPac9Td4jAVPeC2ClbKYsswJX8LDBaMGAJChSnHp6uhLEcCFo2BcCVwdkX4LB8iLYuy5n9wdK376d3q2qfbcL8gtJHW6P6UXYcJBJXpHi_3RAVl/s2048/IMG_2750.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhye9y8h_k5ZcQ1nP5qlG3EFvXm2xV43oPac9Td4jAVPeC2ClbKYsswJX8LDBaMGAJChSnHp6uhLEcCFo2BcCVwdkX4LB8iLYuy5n9wdK376d3q2qfbcL8gtJHW6P6UXYcJBJXpHi_3RAVl/s320/IMG_2750.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The Pink Pony </span><i style="font-family: arial;">was </i><span style="font-family: arial;">Charlie and Gwen</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">Briley. Charlie did not actually open the restaurant. He tended bar there before buying it around 1950. There, the likes of Joe DiMaggio, Mickey Mantle and other baseball greats sat in booths with other baseball folk telling tall tales (and a few truthful ones) as they bit into some of the best steak and chops in the Valley.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> <span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span><span> </span>One of the best moments of my baseball life happened there, when I was invited to dine with Joan Ryan, Stephanie Salter and others in a booth with Bill Rigney, the baseball lifer who managed the Giants when they moved west, and again for a forgettable 1976 season.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>"Rig" was one of the game's best storytellers. I was not a pup at the time but was still mesmerized. I couldn't tell you one of those stories now. My mental hard drives aren't what they used to be.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>Gwen ran the Pony for six years after Charlie's death in 2002 before selling. Others tried to keep it going. One restaurant group inadvisably attempted to turn it upscale, with gourmet food and modern furnishings alongside some of the old memorabilia, which were displayed as an afterthought.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> <span> </span>How did that go? </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> You saw the photo.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span>By then, Don and Charlie's long had supplanted the Pony as the IT place in Scottsdale. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZpGNRpWTIRljvgfS2hsTR1JbYyWih5UIS8v6JCUTGD4U4zNini2Cdg0viSmVQmszbd5Jksmw3tKiKJ1Qa50FYlU5a4UWjTx0chbRzS_fyjYLByXI3IbxUH4sS93Yc2H7jva0GGp0mzjM/s2048/IMG_6401.jpeg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRZpGNRpWTIRljvgfS2hsTR1JbYyWih5UIS8v6JCUTGD4U4zNini2Cdg0viSmVQmszbd5Jksmw3tKiKJ1Qa50FYlU5a4UWjTx0chbRzS_fyjYLByXI3IbxUH4sS93Yc2H7jva0GGp0mzjM/w345-h240/IMG_6401.jpeg" width="345" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;">The hotel being built where Don and Charlie's once stood</span>.</td></tr></tbody></table></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;">Don Carson, a Chicagoan whose family still runs and old-school, wood-paneled steakhouse in the Second City called Carson's, moved to Arizona and opened "D&C" in 1981 with a partner not named Charlie. In fact, there was no Charlie. As Don tells it, the name was a joke to annoy an associate named Charles who hated being addressed with the nickname.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>D&C was a great spot for baseball people because Don ensured they could eat without being bothered. Scouts, players, GMs, broadcasters.... More nights than not Bud Selig and Bob Uecker dined there. They are among Don's best friends.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>Fans might think it a sacrilege that Don sold the building to a hotel developer, but he earned the rest after 38 years and wanted to provide for his family. He was in his mid-70s when the restaurant closed in 2019 after he enduring a list of orthopedic maladies that no single human should experience.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>Don and Charlies without Don Carson seems unfathomable to me. Maybe I view it differently because we are friends. It's more personal, and I did have the luxury of eating 8 million D&C ribs.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>The Grotto's closure surprised a lot of us. We arrived in Arizona last spring to see it shuttered. It, too, had a single, legendary owner, a New Yorker named Garry Horowitz, who talked in the raspy voice of a longtime smoker and was -- how shall we say it? -- colorful.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCc4WA8eZWGcg0sc45FEh3_nr_lbAC4_z6Im7kUS4qMuwQ8_hlQZVEJChlTxJTBG5io5TozxbwO0AuzIFTsu2CA7bV4eyNXk51MAOzKP40cbDoLxoEuafKeWGbaoSIe1chzFJ3UFlGacrW/s2048/IMG_9903.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCc4WA8eZWGcg0sc45FEh3_nr_lbAC4_z6Im7kUS4qMuwQ8_hlQZVEJChlTxJTBG5io5TozxbwO0AuzIFTsu2CA7bV4eyNXk51MAOzKP40cbDoLxoEuafKeWGbaoSIe1chzFJ3UFlGacrW/s320/IMG_9903.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium;">With his temper he had no compunction against ejecting diners for sins such as sending a dish back to the kitchen. Some of the Grotto's crowd-sourced reviews online were hilarious, noting that the food was great but the owner nutty. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>But Garry was loyal to his friends and employees, many of whom worked there for decades and returned multiple times after they quit or were fired.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span>Garry came to Giants practices and games religiously. Near the end of each spring he would call me over to say, in his unmistakable New York accent, "I think they're gonna be OK, but they need one more <i>playuh.</i>"<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>The Grotto was a favorite of my late friend Pedro Gomez, who died unexpectedly on Super Bowl Sunday, and any nostalgia that drips from this piece comes from my heartsickness that Pedro is gone.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>Again, though, imagining the Grotto without Garry is a stretch.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>Times change. Memories endure. But the day comes for the next generation to create its own memories in its own places. Dining has changed since the Pony, D&C and the Grotto came to be. Steaks, chops and big Italian meals, though wonderful, are not what most younger folk have in mind. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> My friend Alex Pavlovic, a millennial, loves a particular salad place. Kerry Crowley, who was born three months ago, indulged me in a few trips to D&C but enjoys his healthy food as well. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> For decades, Giants beat writers christened spring training with a group dinner at D&C. That disappeared long before the structure did.</span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span> </span>I do feel for those who for years promised themselves they would go to Scottsdale one day and have the ribs at Don and Charlie's. I get it. That they cannot do.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> They need to start new traditions. </span>The rest of us are not too old to follow them. Traditions are about people as much as institutions, especially at these three joints.<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: medium;"> I</span></span><span style="font-size: medium;">'ll miss them, but won't mourn them.</span></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-58381735352650201412021-02-17T15:23:00.000-08:002021-02-17T15:23:52.882-08:00Laughing Through the Horror<p> <span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of the funniest American comics is Emo Philips, a Chicagoan whose unique shtick marries a childlike persona with humor that can be silly, biting and intellectual.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-8fa8cbae-7fff-67b7-01d6-3926bb3e1548"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Emo starts his act with some variation of this this joke:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"When I was in high school I went to my prom. My mother said, 'You should wear your grandfather's tuxedo.' I said, 'That's a good idea,' so I grabbed a shovel…"</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That's not the Emo joke that brings me back to this blog.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's this one:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">"My sister married a German man. When he came to visit I took him to a bagel shop. He said, "This is delicious. We can't get bagels like this in Germany,' and I said, 'Well who's fault is </span><span style="font-size: 13pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">that</span><span style="font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">?'"</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I howled the first time I saw that joke on video and again when he told it at the Punch Line a few years back, which might seem an add reaction from the son of two Holocaust survivors.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ab6wMeqpr3s" width="320" youtube-src-id="Ab6wMeqpr3s"></iframe></span></div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br />I laughed because I knew my father would, even if he did spend three years in a variety of concentration camps, and I knew my father would laugh because it would not have been the first time.</span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dad had thin, straight, dark hair. My sister and I used to comb part of it down his forehead, in a slant. One of us would hold the comb in a way that only a small part was visible and we'd hold it between his nose and mouth, like a mustache.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He seriously looked like Hitler, and on cue, he would launch into a loud German rant that sounded exactly like the führer at one of his rallies. It was hilarious, and he enjoyed doing it to make us laugh -- a man, mind you, who lost most of his family in the camps and spent years wondering if he would live to see tomorrow.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Few camp survivors remain. Some are interviewed, and many say that humor was an important coping mechanics, which is unbelievable considering the horrors and losses they endured.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We've all seen photos of concentration-camp prisoners squeezed together on their "beds," nothing more than wooden bunks, as if they were sardines in a can. Sadly, we've also seen photos of these emaciated men and women upon their liberation.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never asked my dad specifically if he and his cellmates found ways to laugh, but it's hard to imagine surviving so many months and years without siphoning what humor remained deep within their souls to stay sane.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dad died in 2008, at 81. When my mom died in December, at 88, we had to empty her apartment. My sister Janie took all the photo albums and loose pictures, and she found a remarkable artifact, the earliest photo of Dad we had seen.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It was an ID picture affixed to a document from the United States government declaring that he was liberated from the camps, where he was held as a "political prisoner," and officially stateless. </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The paper allowed him entry into a displaced-person's camp in Germany, where he remained for a time before emigrating here.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWLptnag8a_HjKUjvHxUQ8kM3bSxai3x5IeX22WXYsQdo3-PAcQ3-il_WgrdRO-yao9PTKA1jxCAu38wMOztr_YFpdRqvAU3QrAxoi7UwAv90p9aHUvYIr9qrFFClUAwGT0XR-0Tz2DF2/s2048/dad+2+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1613" data-original-width="2048" height="504" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVWLptnag8a_HjKUjvHxUQ8kM3bSxai3x5IeX22WXYsQdo3-PAcQ3-il_WgrdRO-yao9PTKA1jxCAu38wMOztr_YFpdRqvAU3QrAxoi7UwAv90p9aHUvYIr9qrFFClUAwGT0XR-0Tz2DF2/w640-h504/dad+2+%25282%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's a remarkable document, dated in September, 1945, mere months after his liberation from Theresienstadt in Czechoslovakia. He was 18. (The May 20, 1926 birthdate was wrong. He was born six months later.)</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The document suggests he had a number tattooed on his arm, which is odd, because he didn't. In the photo he looks relatively healthy, doubtlessly benefiting from the food and medical care the Allies provided in the months after liberation.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When Janie saw the photo she made an astute observation: that pained look on my father's face that hardly masked the torture and pain that still must have welled within.</span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2o6tI1I85U76J1wLZwcfHLarOkyrOOJ7jIRdNAYEIEDvl4m8cAC57ejfEuPPLryRKz8mSHvghgMX2TcQzYuqwd5_-P8QSN0xXDwMWnniuoYfisjIYOuJ0ughlnhuE-AbMWJyN7Nd0Yed/s2032/100_0483+%25281%2529.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1524" data-original-width="2032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL2o6tI1I85U76J1wLZwcfHLarOkyrOOJ7jIRdNAYEIEDvl4m8cAC57ejfEuPPLryRKz8mSHvghgMX2TcQzYuqwd5_-P8QSN0xXDwMWnniuoYfisjIYOuJ0ughlnhuE-AbMWJyN7Nd0Yed/w320-h240/100_0483+%25281%2529.jpg" title="Ella and Ben Schulman, 2005" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ella and Ben Schulman, 2005</td></tr></tbody></table><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span>This was not the visage I remember from our decades together. Of course he exhibited anger, sadness and every other human emotion, but unless I missed it because I wasn't astute enough to seek it, I don't recall seeing the expression that he had, as Binem Schulman, in that black-and-white photo affixed to a wrinkled, tarnished document.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Human beings have a remarkable ability to overcome, or at least mask, the tragedies that befall them.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Dad seemed to succeed quite well until his final years, when his dementia brought him back to World War II.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Before that, he laughed a lot, and understanding the way Jewish people have used centuries of oppression as comedy material, it suddenly was not a </span><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">stretch to imagine him and others like him turning to humor in the camps at times to dull the remaining senses.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 18pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 13pt; text-indent: 18pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never asked if that was so. Now I wish I had.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 13pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com18Burlingame, CA, USA37.5778696 -122.348099.2676357638211542 -157.50434 65.888103436178852 -87.19184tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-64806836624231591862016-08-13T14:56:00.000-07:002016-08-13T15:02:02.411-07:00Celebration<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
<i>Dear readers, I wrote this for the Oakland Tribune in August, 1991, 25 years ago this month.</i></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
*****</div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are 9 years old and it is August,
and you understand nothing about dog days and stretch drives and pennant fever.
You only know that come Sunday, for the first time in your life, you will see
baseball played in three dimensions, not behind a flat, black-and-white screen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You ride shotgun in your father's '59
Chevy Bel Air, the one with the tail fins that look like Catwoman's eyes. The
tickets sit in an envelope that won't leave your hands. Stuck there. As the
signs for the ballpark appear, you crane your neck every which way to steal
your first glance of a major-league baseball stadium<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-indent: 0.2in;">Your dad makes the final turn and it appears
before your eyes in one bold stroke. Your brain can't process the image fast
enough. They showed you pictures of the Taj Mahal in the third grade, but the
Indian palace is nothing more than a Lego project compared to the ballpark, its
perfectly rounded frame, the flags stationed beyond center field, the thousands
of cars that surround it like moths around a porch light.</span></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
Once inside your senses are simply
overpowered by grass as green as green should be, a diamond as perfect as
anything your mother has shown you through a jewelry-store window, the smell of
hotdogs being grilled, vendors tossing double bags of roasted peanuts to
patrons 20 years away and the patrons chucking quarters back, the fat lady next
to you scratching her pencil across a scorebook you don't understand while
taking up both armrests, your first view of a real fly ball and how it seems to
hang in the air eternally, the sound of 30,000 people cheering as one.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
Your dad is sitting next to you. Your
team loses 3-2, but it's hard to be disappointed. It's a day you'll never
forget, your first major-league baseball game.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You celebrate August.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
*****<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are 14 years old and you do
understand dog days and stretch drives and pennant fever. You are at the
stadium with your dad, this time chauffeured in a 1970 Impala . . . no tail
fins, just a lot of car. The stadium looks smaller but the hot dogs smell s
juicy as ever. You think less about your father next to you and more about your
little sister at home, and revel in the knowledge that you're here and she's
not.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
The final score means more because you
know your team is fighting for a pennant. A win, and you feel good on the ride
home; a loss, and you sulk. Later in the evening you and your father argue
about whether you can have money for this or permission to do that, and you go
to bed angry.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are 23 years old and you love 400
miles from home. Baseball is more than a pastime, it's an obsession. You visit
a different ballpark than the one from your youth and you go with friends. You
use your own money and your own car. The stadium is just a building, the hot
dogs just an expense. You don't think much about your father; you hardly talk
to him. Your new team stinks, but you go every week because it is late summer
and it is where you should be.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You celebrate August and you celebrate
the game, because it is bigger than you or your father or your friends or your
team.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
*****<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are 28 years old and you write about
baseball for a living. You still live 400 miles from your youth, but you talk
to your dad more. Old bad feelings are wisely forgotten as youth matures into
adulthood. It is November and you are back home, and you use your connections
to score two 50-yard-line seats to the NFL team that you watched with your
father when the leaves turneded brown. Because of your job, you can't spend
August afternoons together anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You pull into the stadium in your car, a
little Honda, two of which could have fit into your dad's Impala. You sit and watch
the game, and the enjoyment on his face as he watched the game, knowing full
well his spark is not drawn from the field, but from you, and the fact that
your are there.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are 31 years old and it is August.
You are sitting in the baseball press box covering a game and the phone rungs.
It's your father, from 400 miles away, and he's watching the game on cable. He
wants to know about a certain play, why the umpire ruled the way he did. He
wants to know why his favorite team, the one you watched together in days gone
by, has started to stumble.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You are struck by a warm feeling that
things are good, even if you are not close. You look out your press box window
and see fathers and sons.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
You see the game unfold before them, and
you celebrate August.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
*****</div>
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<i style="text-indent: 0.2in;">Postscript: The father and the son had 40 more years together after that first ballgame before the father passed away, beloved, after a long and interesting life.</i></div>
<div class="body" style="text-indent: .2in;">
<i style="text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></i></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSDP_L-43SACdAbTOMd7b44qT7iXayRzRjL5ISiR7NEua0yNHmah_4yvIeTC1wIqEQyVIn3z-fnxO_FnVlvVIcxmv4D7Zq_rTjRwLB6_p-xTvzr80M5XUFzfNd459YCby1zH8-CsoFZGm/s1600/100_1511.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkSDP_L-43SACdAbTOMd7b44qT7iXayRzRjL5ISiR7NEua0yNHmah_4yvIeTC1wIqEQyVIn3z-fnxO_FnVlvVIcxmv4D7Zq_rTjRwLB6_p-xTvzr80M5XUFzfNd459YCby1zH8-CsoFZGm/s400/100_1511.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ella, Henry and Ben Schulman, 2008. Two months later, Ben left us.</td></tr>
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<i style="text-indent: 0.2in;"><br /></i></div>
Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-52711113268982975152015-03-29T10:19:00.001-07:002015-03-29T10:19:41.276-07:00Giants make major cuts, pick their backup catcher<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Andrew Susac, gone.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Hunter Strickland, gone.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Juan Perez, gone.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
All three members of the Giants 2014 World Series team were optioned to Triple-A Sacramento on Sunday morning, as the front office all but set the 25-man roster.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Hector Sanchez appears to be the backup catcher, winning a job he wondered if he ever would do again after a series of concussions last year.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Nonroster invitee Justin Maxwell apparently will make the team as a backup outfielder, although neither he nor Sanchez has been told they are on the team.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Strickland's chances of making the team were dim from the beginning of spring training because there really was one bullpen job up for grabs, and two candidates, Jean Machi and George Kontos, are out of major-league options.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
That decision remains, as well as a backup infield slot for either Ehire Adrianza or Matt Duffy. Duffy has minor-league options. Adrianza does not.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Susac clearly was caught off guard by the decision to start the year in Triple-A.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
"It's bittersweet, I guess," he said. "It's frustrating. I"m not happy about it, but I'm not going to let it get me down. That's not my personality. I can see the reasons behind it. It will be nice to get consistent at-bats when I come up, if I come up."</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Susac was an integral part of the World Series championship team. He hit .273 in 95 plate appearances as Buster Posey's backup and caught well, but the 25-year-old had less than 1,000 plate appearances in the minors and no doubt want him to get more game-calling experience.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Sanchez entered camp as a long shot. After concussions shut him down last season, he went to winter ball in Venezuela and was asked by the Giants not to catch, just hit. He admitted Sunday morning that when he got to camp he was fatigued just catching bullpen sessions.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
But now, he said, his body feels good.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
Asked if he thought he might not catch again after last year, he said, "Yes, absolutely. In my mind, I can't play anymore baseball. I was just trying to be focused in the offseason, just to get ready an do what I have to do to be a catcher. I just want to do what I love."</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
The Giants made other moves that were expected.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
They optioned Adam Duvall and Gary Brown to Sacrament. They also reassigned to minor-league camp nonroster catcher, infielder Guillermo Quiroz, infielder Brandon Hicks, and pitchers Juan Gutierrez and Brett Bochy.</div>
<div style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.3em;">
<br /></div>
Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-18532623138316318842013-08-06T14:15:00.000-07:002013-08-06T14:15:10.108-07:00When it's bird versus cop, the feathers will flyYeah, the San Francisco Ball Scribe blog is back after a mere three-year hiatus. Sorry it took so long. I had a cold.<br />
<br />
Actually, I had more than a cold. I had a lot of things happen in my life that made it hard for me to be funny. I lost my passion for a lot of things, including this little modest attempt at humor and insight into the life of a major-league beat writer.<br />
<br />
I have felt a lot better lately and wondered how I could reintroduce this blog, which ended so abruptly. I was kind of stuck...until the pelican came into my life.<br />
<br />
This pelican:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaI8Q1OorQWS8HIhIcnnTyzm6xrXDPO5M2ILFBQUQzfrtdKJjip-4uw48A4oR5F7McaFAciJKpnE1bNBLKUzRweFwMST1w7dQc5hRVvN0voVCGJlA0_ynoPpECgVjwtShrgGle4z9gz3qX/s1600/photo-23+-+Version+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaI8Q1OorQWS8HIhIcnnTyzm6xrXDPO5M2ILFBQUQzfrtdKJjip-4uw48A4oR5F7McaFAciJKpnE1bNBLKUzRweFwMST1w7dQc5hRVvN0voVCGJlA0_ynoPpECgVjwtShrgGle4z9gz3qX/s320/photo-23+-+Version+2.JPG" width="264" /></a></div>
Or whatever the hell bird this is supposed to be.<br />
<br />
First off, I apologize for the fuzziness of the picture. I was laughing my head off when I took it Sunday.<br />
<br />
Here's the scene: I and my fellow scribes are inside the tunnel at Tropicana Field in St. Petersburg waiting to be let into the clubhouse for our postgame chat with Bruce Bochy. Usually we wait about 10 minutes after the final out before we are let inside.<br />
<br />
Later that day, a college baseball game was to be played in the stadium and this bird apparently is a mascot for one of the teams.<br />
<br />
The Pelican and his "handler," the guy in the rainbow shirt, were just moseying inside the tunnel when this security guard intercepted them. The bird apparently failed to produce the proper credentials to be inside that tunnel.<br />
<br />
I'm not exactly sure what that credential would look like, but I sure as hell would like to be there when they shoot the photo for it. I imagine the bird flapping its wings and running in circles and the photographer yelling, "Stand still, dammit."<br />
<br />
The best part about this was the way the pelican was pacing back and forth with its arms folded as his handler got on the phone trying to reach the proper authorities, and I love the expression on the bird's face -- the perfect indignation for this entire episode.<br />
<br />
I really wanted to walk over and say, "Hey, buddy, don't lay an egg!" But this wasn't my fight.<br />
<br />
I also have to love the vigor and determination with which the security guard was doing her job. I seriously doubt she thought that this was the start of a great Al Qaeda plot, but she had rules to follow and no blob of feathers was going to sneak past her. The ever-increasing anger of Rainbow Guy the longer this went on made it even funnier.<br />
<br />
So, we writers are watching all this and busting a gut. That's a problem, because the Giants lost a one-run game, and anytime the team you cover loses you are expected to show decorum when you walk into the manager's office for the postgame interview. We call it the "game face."<br />
<br />
We didn't have our game faces on, and the longer this bird-versus-cop standoff went on the harder it became to make an effort of solemnity.<br />
<br />
Finally, a woman who works for the Rays strode along the tunnel and told the security guard the bird and rainbow guy were OK. The guard protested about the lack of credential but finally gave in.<br />
<br />
We thought we would have a few moments to gather ourselves, but this then this fellow below, completely unrelated to the Pelican, happened by, and now we writers are peeing our pants laughing.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWz0fJXzp9uI8gk_amR-z-kBz5Ydgn89wyA-d75cKKk0w2GVuyveDLoh7L8yj0xIe_gD330221YVG5PbmsRB7x5szEwKvzZRhdFekWVw0JcDkCGwx-dmG0s_LnmgdFflguz9rbIrFoNDAD/s1600/photo-24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWz0fJXzp9uI8gk_amR-z-kBz5Ydgn89wyA-d75cKKk0w2GVuyveDLoh7L8yj0xIe_gD330221YVG5PbmsRB7x5szEwKvzZRhdFekWVw0JcDkCGwx-dmG0s_LnmgdFflguz9rbIrFoNDAD/s320/photo-24.JPG" width="320" /></a>The best part about the photo is the security guard at the clubhouse door, watching this scene as if he were a funeral director during a memorial service.<br />
<br />
No smiles, no laughs, as if he sees this creature a hundred times a day.<br />
<br />
I'm a pretty jolly fellow, and I have a tough time keeping a straight face when I get into a laughing fit. I really thought for a moment I'd have to stay outside before going into Bochy's office.<br />
<br />
But I lucked out. General manager Brian Sabean was on the trip and he apparently went into Bochy's office after the loss for a talk with the manager. We were kept out of Bochy's office for a good 15 minutes, maybe more.<br />
<br />
Usually we'd be angry about that. Not on this day. We were grateful.<br />
<br />
Now, I'm just trying to imagine pelican going home after the game, sitting on the couch, pulling his head off (or leaving it on, if that's how he rolls), popping open a cold one and telling his significant other, "Man, you wouldn't believe this hard-ass security guard I had to deal with."<br />
<br />
It's enough to make a good bird molt.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-54588751249966156812011-04-26T16:04:00.000-07:002011-04-26T16:06:21.972-07:00Rain delay contest entries<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" width="395"><tbody><tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"><td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt; width: 165pt;" height="17" width="220">bradleydennis</td> <td class="xl24" style="width: 131pt;" width="175">0</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">CooperKnowledge</td> <td class="xl24">0</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">cowsarecool220</td> <td class="xl25">0</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">dcfischer44</td> <td class="xl25">0</td> </tr> <tr 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style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">RookTakesPwn</td> <td class="xl24">610</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">ErikLaPaglia</td> <td class="xl24">630</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">Elsalsurfer</td> <td class="xl25">645</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">kevin_linn</td> <td class="xl25">645</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">MrT126</td> <td class="xl25">660</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">JPFlem</td> <td class="xl25">677</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">eatveitmoreSFG</td> <td class="xl25">696</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">SFGIANTS55</td> <td class="xl24">716</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">nkaon</td> <td class="xl25">720</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">GMENN</td> <td class="xl25">900</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">montrev</td> <td class="xl24">1020</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">Kchimni</td> <td class="xl25">1050</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">RS571</td> <td class="xl25">1290</td> </tr> <tr style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17"> <td class="xl24" style="height: 12.75pt;" height="17">drywit</td> <td class="xl25">1620</td></tr></tbody></table>Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-18504412572872004872010-09-08T00:59:00.000-07:002010-09-08T10:23:29.168-07:00The best e-mail I've received in a long timeSome time ago, I blogged about buying my 78-year-old mother a device called the Mailbug, whose only purpose is to send and receive text-only e-mails. It's popular with seniors who don't have computers because it's easy to use.<br /><br />She used it to send me an e-mail after tonight's games. a 6-3 Giants win over Arizona and the Padres' 2-1 victory against Los Angeles. I will share it in its entirety. You should know that she has never been to a professional baseball game, will not watch one on TV, and could not explain a single rule about the sport, which is what made this so precious.<br /><br />Here it is:<br /><br />To: Henry Schulman<br /><br />From: Ella Schulman<br /><br />Subject: Dodgers<br /><br />"It looks like they can't hit a side of a barn from one foot away. It is up to the Giants to keep winning, like they are doing.<br /><br />"Mom."<br /><br />I should introduce her to Lasorda.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-43844634193986921392010-09-04T12:01:00.000-07:002010-09-04T12:43:54.548-07:00Celebrating life on the road not taken<div style="text-align: left;">My first real time away from home was my junior year at college. I went to Cal, where campus cops looked the other way at marijuana, dorm-room fridges were stocked with cheap beer and there was a 50-50 chance that any mushroom you consumed was not the kind you could procure at Berkeley Bowl.<br /></div><br />So I had to laugh the following summer when I returned home to Los Angeles, my dad offered me a shot of whiskey and my mom said, "Ben, don't teach him to drink." Parents are the bomb, aren't they?<br /><br />I think of that every time I visit my mom in Los Angeles, as I did this week. Though alone now, she still rattles around the same rent-controlled, three-bedroom apartment to which we moved during my senior year of high school. It's a nice place that I actually discovered because I was a fat little boy.<br /><br />My folks were looking to move to a bigger place. One Sunday morning I grabbed the keys so I could drive five blocks (shaddup!) to Winchell's donuts, even though I needed to stuff more fried sugar cakes into my maw as much as people in Barrow, Alaska, need sunscreen. I had to turn right onto Havenhurst Drive, and being a good little motorist I looked to my left for traffic and saw the for-rent sign.<br /><br />My folks were not drinkers. Both of their fathers were a little too enamored with the drop and neither wanted to follow the same path. So I found it funny that after I moved away for good my parents bought one of those standalone bars with two stools and storage shelves behind for all the bottles they received as gifts and never opened. They stuck it right in my old room. I'm pretty sure there used to be a "Dogs Playing Poker" painting behind the bar. Maybe my mom sent it to Sotheby's for appraisal.<br /><br />Visiting my old room reminds me of how close I came to moving back home after college. I had a political science degree, which oddly enough opened few doors to $100,000-a-year jobs. I had no job lined up aside from the few dollars I earned covering Berkeley City Hall for the Daily Cal. Days before I was to load my worldly possessions into my orange Datsun B-210 for the drive down I-5, I got a tip that the Chronicle needed a Berkeley stringer. I phoned the editor in charge and he hired me over the phone. I'd get a $200 monthly retainer plus a few bucks for each story that got published, and let me tell you, when you get paid by the piece you become a real noodnik ("Hey, editor, two garbage cans near Wheeler Hall went up in flames. You want 500 words?"). Good thing there was no caller ID back then or he'd have blackballed my number.<br /><br />So I stayed in Berkeley, renting a place with my buddies Steve and Gene above a Chinese restaurant on San Pablo Avenue. For half a year, I subsisted on Daily Cal and Chronicle stringer money and even managed to save a few bucks. I used those clips to get a sort of internship in Sacramento, which helped me land a job at a weekly paper in the Central Valley and so on and so on to my current gig covering the Giants at the Chronicle.<br /><br />The decision I made that June day in 1981, to stay in Northern California despite the fear of being broke and no mom-and-dad cushion (and nobody to teach me to drink), proved to be an even bigger cornerstone in my life than I would have imagined. Because I managed to keep myself clothed and swimming in glazed donuts, I learned that it's OK to take risks.<br /><br />How different my life would have been had I returned to Los Angeles. Dad would have turned me into a full-fledged alkie and the 'rents would have persuaded me to give up this ridiculous notion of writing for a living.<br /><br />Being Jewish in Los Angeles is akin to being in the Mafia in New York. Whenever I needed something -- a suit, a bike -- my dad would say, "Don't go to the store. I know a guy..." I'm sure one of those "guys" would have employed me in a respectable trade. At this moment, I could be the top-selling wall-to-wall carpet salesman in the West San Fernando Valley territory.<br /><br />Nothing wrong with that. You can't cut a mean rug on the dance floor without the rug. And I'll bet I'd be happy, too, because I'd be so close to family and not even realize how much of a dump Los Angeles really is.<br /><br />The moral: Don't be afraid of the dark. Take a chance. Follow Robert Frost's advice and choose the road not taken.<br /><br />Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go teach a couple of baseball writers to drink.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-10553728822016475592010-08-23T22:25:00.001-07:002010-08-23T23:05:19.331-07:00My name is Henry Schulman and I am a newspapermanGod I love that word, "newspaperman." Yeah, it's sexist. It harkens and era when newsrooms were full of men aside from the writers for the "women's pages" and the rare trailblazing woman who didn't gave a rat's backside about fitting into the old boy's network and went to work for newspapers because she loved the thought of it. We are lucky indeed that so many great women now work as journalists.<br /><br />Yeah, I'm a reporter, and a sportswriter, and a scribe, and a hack, and a baseball writer, and I love being all of them. But a newspaperman is different. He is someone who might have worked with Hildy Johnson in "The Front Page," who smoke and drank and reveled in the camaraderie and actually garnered respect from the public, which saw newspapers as an important watchdog that fought corruption and toiled for the little guy.<br /><br />I knew newspapermen. The teacher for my first college news writing class was a man named Maynard Hicks. He must have been a 80 then, and that was more than 30 years ago, and he told stories about working in newsrooms of the 20s and 30s, an era when the Internet and even television would have been laughed off as science fiction, when newspapers were king, when big cities like San Francisco had a half-dozen of them and all were important.<br /><br />I first got the bug in high school, when Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein brought down President Nixon. God, that was a heady time for the business. Two guys holding 50-cent pens and two-dollar notebooks asked the right questions and brought down a corrupt president. Who wouldn't want to be Woodward and Bernstein<br /><br />As a high school journalist I toured the Los Angeles Times in the old Times-Mirror building in downtown Los Angeles. The first sensation was the smell of the ink as soon as you walked into the lobby. The presses were in the building. It was like liquor to me. Writing for the Fairfax High Gazette, I listed the winners of the recent swim meet and editorialized about the need for new band uniforms. Not exactly Watergate, but my name appeared atop it and it felt so good.<br /><br />Fast forward to age 25, when I got hired at the Oakland Tribune. The Trib Tower in Oakland was the LA Times all over again, an old building, presses downstairs, the smell of ink and, best of all, working with older cats who back in the day were real <span style="font-style: italic;">newspapermen.</span> My desk mate was old-timey guy who smoked cigars in the newsroom. I didn't care. I loved the scent. Then, smoking was banned in the newsroom. he bought cases of grape Bubble Yum to ease the withdrawal and told me I could grab as much as I wanted. One morning, I walked into the newsroom and learned that he died the night before. He had just gotten married. Another newspaperman gone.<br /><br />A great story from the Trib. There was a newspaperman there who liked the sauce. In his later years, he did rewrite. Reporters who covered accidents, murders, government meetings, etc. phoned in and dictate stories. One reporter was covering a meeting in Berkeley at which activists were complaining about stronghand tactics by immigration officials. The reporter phoned in a quote that went something like, "We're tired of the INS coming in here and disrupting our town." In the paper the next day, the rewrite man had written, "We're tired of the iron ass coming in here and disrupting our town." Got by all the editors, too.<br /><br />Another great story from the Trib, from before I got there. It used to be an afternoon paper. One Saturday morning, word came into the sports department that a former Cal athletic coach, Nibs Price, had passed away. With time short, the editor ordered one reporter to write a quick obit, another to fish for a photo from the library and a third to write the headline. It all got slapped together in a hurry, and an real old-time news guy who still employed colorful language of yore wrote a headline that read, "Death Calls Nibs Price." It ran over a photo of Price on the telephone.<br /><br />As my old friend and editor John Simmonds used to say when telling this story, "No, Nibs, don't answer it!"<br /><br />In 1992, the Trib died. Actually, it got sold to a cost-slashing company named Media News, which was worse than death. I wound up at the San Francisco Examiner, once the flagship of the Newspaperman of Newspapermen, William Randolph Hearst. but times were changing. We typed our stories on video-display terminals. Drinking was discouraged. Old newspapermen were pushed out in favor of hotshot kids with master's degrees in journalism. Some were fantastic. Others couldn't find a good story in a Shakespeare library, but by gum, they had that diploma.<br /><br />There was a time a reporter earned his "master's degree" by working in the cop shop, when veterans would test the mettle of the neophyte by showing him gory crime-scene photos.<br /><br />This is not just me channeling Herb Caen. There is a fundamental shift in this business I love. Instant opinion is welcomed, even encouraged, fact-checking be damned. I can live with the end of the printed newspaper. After all, I drive a motor vehicle, not a horse and buggy. But I cannot countenance the demise of newspapermen -- and women. With athletes, they say the name on the front of the jersey means more than the name on the back. It was the same in newspapers. The name on the masthead meant more than the byline. Yeah, there were stars, but really, it was all about telling a story, righting a wrong. Not selling a personality.<br /><br />I have been blessed to write about baseball for the last 22 years. I am proud of my work and my vocation.<br /><br />But, please, if you happen to blog or Tweet my obituary someday, please do me one last honor and call me a newspaperman.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-65437065624616162172010-08-18T12:06:00.000-07:002010-08-18T12:35:04.150-07:00Ode to a cheesesteakLet me say straight off that if the Israelites had gone through Philadelphia before writing their dietary laws, the mixing of meat and dairy would be kosher today. They probably would have run across an ancient cheesesteak place and tasted the perfect blending of cow flesh and provolone.<br /><br />My arteries are begging me for mercy at the moment, but I'm giving them no quarter. I'm in Philly. There are cheesesteaks here. I love cheesesteaks. I am going to eat cheesesteaks -- more than one. If my arteries don't like it, they can go live inside a vegan.<br /><br />Not all cheesesteaks are built alike. There are three famous places in Philly. Two of them, Pat's King of Steaks and Geno's, reside on the same corner in South Philly. Legend has it that Pat's invented the cheesesteak. There's another on South Street called Jim's. They are cheesesteak factories that get a lot of pub in tourist magazines. I'm sure many folks love their product; I am not among them. When I order a cheesesteak, I don't want to be served a barely warm sandwich with the cheese slapped on haphazardly and not melted. Can't blame the shops. They're making a billion at a time.<br /><br />At Jim's you stand in a long line and watch the steaks prepared. It's considered a delicacy here to apply a liberal quantity of Cheez Whiz on a steak in lieu of provolone. Vats of the stuff line the kitchen. Excuse me, but yecch. Imagine sitting down at the House of Prime Rib to a luscious, thick slab, medium rare, then dipping it into a bucket of French's mustard.<br /><br />D'Allesandro's. Now THAT is a cheesesteak. It's a tiny shop in the Roxborough neighborhood in North Philly. I found it by Googling "best cheesesteak Philadelphia no goddamn Cheez Whiz." God bless Google.<br /><br />First off, the folks running it are real nice, even in a hurry. Behind the counter, workers chop the steak as you order it and cook it naked for a good while. Then -- and here is what makes these steaks better than the rest -- they top the meat with the provolone and let the cheese melt completely. Meat and cheese become entwined as one, like young lovers. Then, the roll is placed over the concoction, and the cheese is allowed to melt onto the bread.<br /><br />Excuse me. I need a moment . . .<br /><br />OK, I'm back.<br /><br />My friend Pete picked me up downtown and drove me to D'Allesandro's this afternoon. I like my steak "without:" meat, cheese, bread. Pete went with mushrooms, onions and something liquid and red. Now, to me that's akin to painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa, but I'm not going to judge. Pete's a native New Jerseyer. Grew up 10 minutes from here.<br /><br />I have to go to work now. It's difficult. Leaving D'Allesandro's for a year, watching it shrink in the rearview mirror, must be what it feels like for a kid going off to boot camp and giving his girl one final kiss before the bus pulls away.<br /><br />Till 2011, ma cherie frommage.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-91031581924704238922010-08-10T14:41:00.000-07:002010-08-10T16:59:30.216-07:00An achy back, Barry Bonds and the reason I'm still aliveI have a bad back. I've had one for the last six years or so. This is a story about a back spasm that might have saved my life, and Barry Bonds is very much a part of this tale.<br /><br />Let's hark to those very dark days of yesteryear, 2005, and Bonds' terrible offseason. This was the height of the BALCO scandal, and my colleagues at the Chronicle, Mark Fainaru-Wada and Lance Williams, seemed to be publishing damaging information about the slugger every week. At the same time, Bonds had his knee scoped after the 2004 season and had to have it scoped again during spring training of 2005.<br /><br />As an aside, allow me to explain my role in the Chronicle's steroids investigation. Mark and Lance would dig up incriminating information. Mark invariably would phone me in the evening and explain what they were going to publish the next day. When I saw his number pop up on my phone, I started to get the shakes. My job was to go to Bonds, present him with the info and ask if he wanted to comment. As you can imagine, that did wonders for my relationship with Bonds. To this day, when I'm kicking back at his pad in Los Angeles drinking his best hooch while we discuss which clubs to hit that night, we still laugh about it.<br /><br />Even I wasn't prepared for what our paper published on March 20, 2005. Mark and Lance reported that Bonds' former girlfriend, Kimberly Bell, told the BALCO grand jury what she knew about Bonds' alleged steroid use. In fact, Ms. Bell spoke to our reporters and provided evidence of their liaison. One document was a hotel receipt from the Westin Oaks in Houston, where the Giants stayed. The room was Ms. Bell's, and the receipt included the name of the Giants' then-traveling secretary, Reggie Younger. The implication was that Bonds had Younger book the room for her.<br /><br />On March 19, I had a fortuitous back spasm in the press box at Scottsdale Stadium while watching the Giants play the Padres. I remember the opponent because former San Diego Union-Tribune beat writer Tom Krasovic had to carry my stuff to the car for me. I went to my condo for the usual treatment, ice then heat. When I awoke the next morning my back was still killing me and I decided not to go the stadium for the morning interview sessions. That was a good thing.<br /><br />Mr. Younger saw the article that morning, and according to witnesses he bounded down the stairs into the clubhouse in a eye-bugged fury yelling, "Where's Henry. I'm going to kill him!" Never mind that I didn't write the article nor even know what it was going to say. I was the face of the Chronicle. I honestly don't know if Mr. Younger would have physically attacked me, but he was a large man, and given the state of my back I would have been defenseless.<br /><br />Mark and Lance would have to admit -- and if I recall Mark did admit -- they did not go out of their way to let Mr. Younger know he was going to appear in a BALCO story linked as he was. The writers did not call me this time asking to get a comment, and their attempt to reach Mr. Younger was half-hearted. They phoned the Giants' offices in San Francisco on the previous Friday afternoon. Not being baseball writers, perhaps they did not know Mr. Younger would be in Arizona, not California.<br /><br />Bonds was not in Arizona, though. He had returned to the Bay Area for the second of what would be three knee operations. He returned two days after the story ran, on crutches. That was the day of the famous "picnic table" press conference in which Bonds, with his son Nikloai seated next to him as a prop, quietly told reporters (in obvious reference to the Kimberly Bell story), "You wanted me to jump off the bridge. <a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aRpHRvB2-nkP8NIH3ivL147vetRROtFuKNVuhYCMY-iPB2dP021k_s3is8A6YclWasre_jgzlw640pVqr5Z3-A5JO92CaK-_jMXQXWY3f8VkNzaurOJbeph58-N3Q-XU0cbALorciuSk/s1600/mn_giants_bonds_casa.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4aRpHRvB2-nkP8NIH3ivL147vetRROtFuKNVuhYCMY-iPB2dP021k_s3is8A6YclWasre_jgzlw640pVqr5Z3-A5JO92CaK-_jMXQXWY3f8VkNzaurOJbeph58-N3Q-XU0cbALorciuSk/s320/mn_giants_bonds_casa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503912908837477154" border="0" /></a>I finally jumped. You wanted to bring me down. You finally have brought me and my family down. You've finally done it, everybody, all of you. So now go pick a different person. I'm done. I'll do the best I can."<br /><br />Well, he didn't tell <span style="font-style: italic;">every </span>reporter that. As Bonds emerged from the clubhouse and greeted a group of us, I decided I would be the one to ask Bonds if he would speak, fully knowing the storm that would follow. One of my baseball writing mentors, Kit Stier, told me if you (or your paper) write something that angers a player, your face should be the first he sees the next day. It shows you're not scared. It shows you stand behind your work.<br /><br />I said, "Barry, can we get you for a few minutes?"<br /><br />"I'm never talking to you for the rest of my life," Bonds said.<br /><br />So I walked away from the group to let the interview proceed as Bonds told a Giants PR man in reference to me, "Make sure he doesn't listen in."<br /><br />As Bonds and Nikolai sat atop the picnic table, I stood along the stadium gate watching from 30 feet away. A woman waiting to get into the stadium for the game shouted at me from outside, "Why don't you leave that poor man alone?" I looked at her and said, "You see me talking to him?"<br /><br />The ESPN boys were nice enough to drive me to their satellite uplink facility and let me watch the videotape of the entire press conference. I wrote my story with the disclaimer that I saw it on tape.<br /><br />Later that season, Bonds came to realize -- or somebody told him -- that despite my affiliation with the eventual "Game of Shadows" authors who wrote those stories for the Chronicle, I had nothing to do with it aside from receiving my paychecks from the same firm. My relationship with Bonds, never great to begin with, did not deteriorate from there. He did talk to me that season and every season thereafter until the Giants "retired" him in 2007.<br /><br />I got to watch him set the all-time home run record that year. If not for a back spasm, I might have had to read about it from the beyond, in the Beelezebub Times.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-77862491363763382982010-08-06T16:57:00.000-07:002010-08-06T17:40:20.515-07:00What's in a name? A lot if "24" says itIn my opinion, the two best sportswriters working today are Tom Verducci and Joe Posnanski, now both at Sports Illustrated. Verducci usually writes about baseball, but Posnanski writes about everything. If you care about baseball, anything he writes on the game is a must-read.<br /><br />I just finished Joe's "<a href="http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/article/magazine/MAG1172566/index.htm">where are they now" profile </a>of Stan Musial in the current edition of SI. It is another remarkable effort from this writer.<br /><br />One portion hit home for me. In the story, my friend and longtime St. Louis baseball writer Rick Hummel describes the first time Musial ever called him, "Rick." He was flabbergasted. I had a similar moment with Willie Mays.<br /><br />Mays is not good with names, but you knew that. He got his nickname because he would see teammates as a rookie and yell, "Say, hey" because he couldn't remember. In my time knowing Willie, the only writer he ever called by name was Nick Peters, recently retired and winner of the J.G. Spink Award (Hall of Fame). To Willie, everyone else is, "Hey, writer."<br /><br />A couple of springs ago, I was standing near the table in the Scottsdale Stadium clubhouse where Mays holds court. He wanted to ask me something and said, "Hey, Henry...." I was floored. I knew I'd arrived.<br /><br />Will Clark calls me by name, too, but it's like, "Hey, Henry, what kind of s-- are you trying to stir up in here?" Barry Bonds called me by name, too, only he thought my name was #%$&^!@!. Just kidding, Barry, wherever you are. Matt Cain called me by name during the last homestand as he was throwing an aerobie around the stands with Madison Bumgarner. Cain came up the press box, held up the hollowed-out Frisbee-like thing and said, "Hey, Henry. Looks like a donut, doesn't it? You like that. Don't you?<br /><br />If you can read the Posnanski piece on Stan the Man, do it. It's terrific.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-78278323835114503462010-08-03T15:55:00.001-07:002010-08-03T17:05:35.690-07:00Ten things I wish I hadn't doneIn the underrated Albert Brooks film "Defending Your Life," Brooks is on trial in an afterlife waystation after he is killed in an accident in L.A. The trial is to determine whether he has conquered his mortal fears and therefore eligible to move to a more evolved state of existence. During the trial, the prosecutor shows vignettes of Brooks' life on a big screen, including a montage of stupid things he had done. It looks like a slapstick reel, and the two judges in the courtroom start snickering.<br /><br />The prosecutors could create a pretty good slapstick reel for me, too. Here is a random list of 10 real-life scenes from my life:<br /><br />1) When I was about 10, I used to take a running start and leap on a chair in the center of my bedroom so I could fly like Superman. Once, I placed the chair directly in the doorway, smacked my head on the jamb and nearly knocked myself out.<br /><br />2) When I was 25, I asked a woman to a Pat Metheny concert (shaddup!). She said yes, but when I went to get tickets they were sold out. I asked her if she wanted to do something else and she said, "Oh, no, that's OK." Three years later we did go on a date, and we eventually got married. Pat Metheny was not on the wedding mix. I outgrew him by then.<br /><br />3) As a sophomore at Cal State Northridge I played in the Matador marching band. Just before the pregame show at Cal Poly San Luis Obispo, I bent over and split the back of my black toreador pants right down the seam, exposing my tighty whities. I had to ask the really hot wife of our band director, over whom I routinely drooled, to re-sew the seam in front of my band mates. She and I later went to a Pat Matheny concert.<br /><br />4a) As a rookie ball writer in 1988, I was covering the Mets-Dodgers National League Championship Series. Dodger Tim Belcher threw a gem in Game 2 at Dodger Stadium. I ran into the home clubhouse, saw a huge scrum of writers surrounding a player and asked, "Was that the best you've seen Belcher pitch this year?" All the writers stared at me as if I were an idiot. So did the player. It was Belcher.<br /><br />4b) Twenty-two years later -- last Saturday, if you must know -- I asked Buster Posey how good Barry Zito's stuff looked from behind the plate. Posey said he wouldn't know. He played first base that day.<br /><br />5) When I was 15, my family and our neighbors went to Lake Tahoe. My sister and her friend got me to wear a T-shirt that read, "Hi. I'm Henry from Los Angeles," thinking it would help me make friends. All it did was make people hope I was getting the special education I needed.<br /><br />6) At Cal, I routinely played in all-night poker games during finals week, which explains why I'm a sportswriter today.<br /><br />7) In my mid-20s, I played in a semi-regular touch football game with colleagues at the Oakland Tribune. Though I weighed over 200 pounds, I volunteered to play cornerback. I was chasing a receiver on a "go" route. Knowing I was beaten, I just raised my arms and started waving them hoping the receiver wouldn't see the ball, which is patently illegal. My penalty was greater than 15 yards: The football hit me in the back, I toppled to the ground, tore cartilage in my left knee, sprained the anterior-cruciate ligament and, for good measure, fractured my right arm hitting the ground.<br /><br />8) In my 20s, I had a date with a woman I really liked. I took her to a museum in San Francisco to see an Ansel Adams exhibit and to dinner. We had a great time. She actually asked me what was next on our date. I took her to my place and . . . insisted she watch my new "Reefer Madness" video. Never saw her again.<br /><br />9) When I was in college, lots of folks had a bumper sticker that read, "Warning, I stop for small animals." I bought one for my car that read, "Warning, I speed up to run over small animals." The resulting vandalism to my Datsun B-210 was both expected and ruthless.<br /><br />10) Actually bought a Pat Metheny album.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-40369676779148332952010-07-29T12:29:00.000-07:002010-07-29T12:54:00.350-07:00Behind my Twitter feud with @dylanohernandezI've never been in a blood feud before. This is fun.<br /><br />Those of you who follow me on Twitter (@hankschulman) have been amused and/or annoyed with the barrage of insults between me and Dylan Hernandez, the Dodgers beat writer for the Los Angeles Times.<br /><br />Some background: Dylan and I are good friends. He used to write for the San Jose Mercury News, and as soon as I met him I knew he was going places. He's a talented writer who speaks Japanese and Spanish, which naturally makes him an attractive commodity in the baseball-writing world. That the Times hired him when he was relatively young was no surprise.<br /><br />I mentored Dylan some when he was at the Merc, answering a lot of questions about the job and guiding him when he asked. We've stayed good friends since he left the Bay Area.<br /><br />As for the feud, it began when the Giants played the Dodgers in Los Angeles in April. I was eating a couple of Dodger Dogs in the press box before the game (shaddup!) and Dylan, as a lark, Tweeted a wise-ass comment about my eating habits. I Tweeted a wise-ass response. Dylan had just gotten onto Twitter while I already had more than 2,000 followers and noticed a spike in new followers after our little exchange. So he came to me and said, "Let's insult each other on Twitter all weekend so I can pick up more."<br /><br />I thought he was kidding, but Dylan is a bulldog reporter and wouldn't stop. He kept Tweeting jokes about my food intake, and I had to respond with insults about his height (hey, we didn't have a referee to say, "No punches below the belt." Dylan started to enjoy the repartee and his rising Twitter base.<br /><br />The thing has taken on a life of its own. Not only does Dylan maintain a steady barrage of fat jokes, his acolytes have taken up the cause. A few mornings ago, Dylan Tweeted, "I'm eating breakfast, or as @hankschulman calls it, "fifth dinner." The subject then turned to cake, and one of his followers wrote, "At @hankschulman's house, there is no such thing as a piece of cake. There is only whole cake." Another wrote, "@hankschulman is married? To a woman? I can't imagine cake gets through the front-door threshold in that house."<br /><br />I howled out loud at the "whole cake" line. There really must be a bunch of folks in Twitterdom who think I weight three and a half bills. Truth is, I'm not as overweight as folks think, and Dylan is not the inebriate and life-hating nihilist that I have suggested in some of my Tweets.<br /><br />Some folks are annoyed with the feud. One Tweeted that Dylan and I should get a room. Another said he was de-following me because the insultweets were cluttering his inbox. I'd like to think it adds a little spice to the Dodgers-Giants rivalry.<br /><br />And I dare say I'm winning by the most objective standard -- Twitter followers.<br /><br />@hankschulman 3,680<br />@dylanohernandez 2,213<br /><br />Wrap that in a rasher of bacon and eat it, Dylan.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-54803862108015643982010-07-20T14:58:00.000-07:002010-07-20T15:53:05.839-07:00Hide the women and children -- Mom now has emailToday marks the 41st anniversary of the first moon walk, or, for you nut jobs, the 41st anniversary of the day Neil Armstrong pretended to walk on the moon in a New Mexico sound stage.<br /><br />It was highly appropriate, then, that today I watched my 77-year-old mother send her first-ever email, because I honestly thought I would pilot a rocket ship to Mars before this ever happened.<br /><br />Some senior citizens embrace technology. Not at my parents' house. My mom and dad welcomed new technology like the clap. I had to buy their first CD player. If you visit my old room you can touch an actual working eight-track player. All my old tapes are still there, too. I guess my mom assumes I'll someday have an urge to listen to "Funktion at the Junction" again.<br /><br />Anyway, there is this wonderful device called the Mailbug, which is sold by a South Bay company. It's a simple electronic device whose sole purpose is sending and delivery emails. It has a full keyboard, a small LED screen and a dial-up modem that connects to your phone. One recent morning, while I was drunk, I decided Mom should have a Mailbug, mainly so she could communicate with her grandchildren. They, of course, can respond through their iPod Touches or the laptops that their private school required my sister to buy.<br /><br />It was a magnanimous gift on my part, for now I've provided Mom another medium she can use to complain how infrequently I call her.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span>I set it up today and showed her how to use this fairly foolproof device. There is no button on the Mailbug that can cause a hard drive to self-immolate, or worse, send my embarrassing baby photos to a distribution list of thousands. You can write an email, read an email and send an email, no pictures, just words.<br /><br />I discovered a problem almost immediately. My mother has 2-inch fingernails, because you never know when you'll have to gouge the eyes out of a felon who barges into Edna's Hair Salon on Santa Monica Boulevard and demand that each septuagenarian hand over her lottery scratcher money.<br /><br />Mom is as hunt-and-peck typist, and with her nails each peck sounded like a shotgun retort. That's not something I'll have to worry about much because, as she will tell you, I won't visit her enough to be bothered by her typing anyway.<br /><br />She'll get the hang off it. She's a smart woman, though so technologically behind I imagine in the near future I will spend hours reminding her how to send an email that would take you or I 2 minutes to write. The bigger issue is what I have unleashed. All those complaints about her sore legs and indigestion and how she had to wait 40 minutes for the doctor and how it really might be a good idea if she took up driving again (God help us) now will be converted into binary zeroes and ones and sent through the ether, dropping into my and my sisters' inboxes as daily, or even hourly, nagmail.<br /><br />Don't get me wrong. We love Mom, and ever since Dad passed 2 years ago she has gotten very lonely. We know we are all she has. I'd even love to set up a personal computer with a camera in her living room so she could enjoy video conferences with her grandchildren, but she'd be Miss Jane Pittman's age before she understood how to operate it.<br /><br />Now that Mom has email, I can't wait for her to start getting spam. She'll be aghast the first time she pops open an email titled, "Enlarge your penis." She'll phone me and ask why somebody would send that to her. I'd explain the concept of spam. Then she'd hang up and forward it to me with a note asking if it was something I might be interested in.<br /><br />God bless the Mailbug -- I think.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-38580747254106247642010-07-02T10:46:00.000-07:002010-07-02T11:51:17.624-07:00An old scribe's lamentAs the great 19th century entertainer Lili Von Shtupp once sang, "I'm tired."<br /><br />I'm wondering if I'm getting too old for this game. Yesterday, I rose at 5 a.m. after a few hours sleep and caught a flight to Denver. When I got to my hotel I had just enough time to order room service and take a half-hour nap before cabbing downtown to get a rental car and driving to Coors Field, where a long night's work was waiting after the Bengie Molina trade.<br /><br />I was gassed. I really wanted to sidle up to a player who trusts me and say, "Look, I know you guys still have that amphetamine-laced coffee in the back. Howsabout you bring me a cup, and next time you commit an error I'll blame it on shoddy groundskeeping?" I got through the day, but it was tough, and I'm a little surprised my stuff in the paper today was as lucid as it was (shaddup!).<br /><br />I'm in decent shape for 50 and a guy my size (shaddup Dylan Hernandez). I know I could stand to lose a few pounds and say "no" to the sexy siren song of a voluptuous buttermilk doughnut bar. As my friend Gonzo always used to say under his breath when he saw a real fatty, "Hey, mix in a salad once in a while."<br /><br />As I was struggling to keep my eyes open in the press box 3 hours before game time, my competition bounded in. Andy flew in an hour before I did with just as little sleep but reported he had plenty of time for a workout in the hotel gym before he did a great phone interview with Bengie Molina, wrote a couple of blogs then came to the ballpark. He was still there when I left. If I had more energy, I might have strangled him and thrown his corpse into the humidor where they keep the baseballs.<br /><br />Andy is a hell of a reporter, a terrific blogger and one of the funniest guys I know. He is also 15 years younger than I am. Sometimes at work I look at him and see the Energizer Bunny. Then I look in the mirror and see a lot of bags under my eyes and wonder how much longer I can do this.<br /><br />Thing is, I love this job and can't imagine doing anything else. Well, that's a lie. If a casting director approached me and said, "You! You're the only man who can play Cameron Diaz's love interest in my next movie, and she gets naked A LOT," I'd turn in my Chronicle pass key so fast I might injure the security guy I threw it to. Other than that, there is nothing better than chronicling a team through a baseball season with all the attendant metaphors for life: the ups and downs, triumphs and tragedies plus all the free gum I snatch in the clubhouse. Please don't tell Murph.<br /><br />In a tremendous gem of casting, John Sayles picked the great writer and documentarian Studs Turkel to play Hugh Fullerton in the baseball movie "Eight Men Out." In the film, Fullerton is the gumshoe reporter who breaks the story that the 1919 Chicago White Sox (or Black Sox) threw the World Series against Cincinnati for money.<br /><br />I looked it up. Terkel was 76 years old when that movie was released in 1988. Maybe in those days a guy that old could be a baseball writer, but not now, not with the blogging and the Tweeting and the post-9/11 travel.<br /><br />I do have something to shoot for. The great and wonderful Bob Stevens was the Chronicle's full-time Giants writer from the time they moved to California in 1958 through about 1978. That's 21 seasons. This is my 13th season as the Giants writer for the Chronicle. If I can hang in there for another eight, I'll catch Bob for longevity. He was a wonderful man, and I know what he would say from beyond if I did catch him: "You fat bastard. You think you're as good as I was?" No, not really. I'm sure he would be just as supportive to me in the afterlife as he was in real life. He was one of the nicest men I knew.<br /><br />It's a lofty goal. My only fear is that when I achieve it I'll have to ask Miss Diaz to hold my arm up so I can accept the congratulatory handshakes.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-55406299090269622732010-06-27T19:42:00.000-07:002010-06-27T20:04:13.411-07:00No more left turns on the road, pleaseI can't stand political correctness. There are so many things we want to say but can't, even if they're obvious, for fear of jarring someone's sensibilities.<br /><br />Here is a for-instance. We all know there is one minority group that absolutely does not know how to drive a car. But it's somehow wrong to say it even if we see it every day and the evidence is overwhelming. Well, I don't care about political correctness. I'm going to take this minority group to task right here, right now:<br /><br />There is nothing scarier on the the road than a liberal.<br /><br />You know what I'm talking about. You're driving down Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley with a hankering for a Top Dog. All of a sudden a '77 Gremlin cuts you off and starts driving 15 miles under the speed limit and you know what you're dealing with right away, because the back fender is jammed with 15 bumper stickers that say things like, "Get out of Iraq now," and "Make Marijuana Legal," and "Keep Abortion Safe."<br /><br />All sentiments I agree with, I should say. Truth be told, I'm more liberal than conservative, but there must be something about those bumper stickers that weighs a car down to the speed of a limping turtle.<br /><br />I have no use for those firearm folks who aren't all that thrilled with parts of the First or Fourteenth amendments but consider the Second Amendment sacrosanct, you know, the ones who would fight a law barring handguns in a kindergarten. But I'll get behind a truck with a gun rack because, by gum, I know the driver will accelerate to freeway speed on the on-ramp.<br /><br />What is it about liberal drivers? Do they think the gas they don't burn by going from zero to 60 in three days will preserve the ozone layer for another few years? Do they view traffic laws as just one more attempt by "the man" to keep them down? Are they oblivious to the road as they mull their next hunger strike?<br /><br />Tell you what. I have no use for Sarah Palin or these Tea Party demagogues, but if they can find the accelerator without having to look at the owner's manual, I might just have to sign up.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-3176389571619031922010-06-18T22:37:00.001-07:002010-06-18T23:12:04.140-07:00Travelog Toronto: A police state with smoked meatCanadians have a good sense of humor. As evidence I offer John Candy and Mike Myers. Face it, a guy who dresses up in a "Laugh In" outfit with fake buck teeth and calls his apartment a shagadelic pad, well, that's comedy genius.<br /><br />They call their dollar coins "loonies" because of the odd-looking bird that appears on it. (No, dummy, not Queen Elizabeth. The loon on the back.) When they devised a two-dollar coin, those, of course, became "twonies." I wish the United States would adopt coins for every denomination less than five dollars, if only to see how strip-club patrons would affix the coins to the dancers.<br /><br />One thing does test the Canadian sense of humor: their perception of how the United States views their country. They see us as condescending blowhards who think of Canada as nothing more than a colony of beer-guzzling hosers who like arctic temperatures and 110-yard-long football fields. Maybe that's because we <span style="font-style: italic;">are</span> condescending blowhards who think of Canada as nothing more than a colony of beer-guzzling hosers who like arctic temperatures and 110-yard-long football fields.<br /><br />So, imagine the collective Canadian sneer this week when the U.S. State Department issued a warning for Americans to stay out of downtown Toronto next week when the G20 summit of world leaders takes place. These summits attract huge demonstrations that often turn violent. I might join them, because everyone knows that in bingo its "B20," not "G20." That's not right.<br /><br />Essentially, the State Department lumped Toronto with other inadvisable destinations such as Tehran, Pyongyang and the delicatessen one cave over from Osama bin Laden's in the mountains of Pakistan.<br /><br />But hey, maybe our government has seen what I've seen the last two days. Officials in downtown Toronto have lain miles of concrete barriers topped by high chain-link fences, either to keep protesters out or to pen them in should they get out of hand. Every key street corner is manned by three or four cops. And none of the summit participants even have gotten here yet. There are dozens of coppers hanging around the Rogers Centre, where the Giants are playing the Blue Jays. Maybe they were sent there to investigate why third-base coach Tim Flannery waved Aubrey Huff home in tonight's game when he clearly was going to be out by 10 feet.<br /><br />Just kidding, Flan.<br /><br />I'm glad I'm going to be out of here before all the chaos. I just hope Dunn's deli is safe. I found it today on King Street,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0xUoo32EqRfm6IFPFohXcsBFpm0yWcJUKn8K_KR6S4T-7rk24O-c7x01nM3h6AiQm3AIuNpbKJ3Hebs-72h_KFjF72LlMhuDsipOEuuQqpIr5eCkWe-c9Hj2iLKittnAk6qtRCeFPetC/s1600/smokedmeat.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 246px; height: 174px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0xUoo32EqRfm6IFPFohXcsBFpm0yWcJUKn8K_KR6S4T-7rk24O-c7x01nM3h6AiQm3AIuNpbKJ3Hebs-72h_KFjF72LlMhuDsipOEuuQqpIr5eCkWe-c9Hj2iLKittnAk6qtRCeFPetC/s320/smokedmeat.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484360644589728946" border="0" /></a> and I'm glad I did. It's a Montreal deli that serves smoked meat (left), which is sort of like Canada's version of pastrami. I had a smoked-meat sandwich today and it reminded me of my wonderful trips to Montreal when the Expos played there. (By the way, if you want to see real contempt for Americans, go to French-speaking Canada.)<br /><br />After lunch, I wandered into a coffee place called Second Cup. I assumed that meant my second cup would be on the house. The barista, probably for the 400th time this week, disabused me of the notion. But I enjoyed both cups as I sat outside on a brilliant spring afternoon watching a lunch-hour crowd buzzing about, hoping they all stay safe and sound next week when people are toppling buses and setting them on fire and destroying . . . no, wait a minute, that was Los Angeles after the Lakers won the NBA title last night.<br /><br />Maybe the State Department should take notice and add L.A. to the list. I bet the good-humored Canadians would get a good chuckle out of that.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-28802065836916401582010-06-15T09:22:00.000-07:002010-06-15T09:44:15.740-07:00Flushed with sorrow about my futureI am a very depressed newspaperman this morning. It finally hit me, on this 15th day of June in the year of our lord 2010, that my livelihood is doomed. By this time next year, I better know how to make a double mocachino pronto if I want to earn enough money to pay my bills and continue to add to my miniature troll collection.<br /><br />I have been one of the staunchest advocates of the print newspaper and very Pollyanna about it survival until The Revelation hit me this morning while I was completing my daily <span style="font-style: italic;">indoor </span>constitutional: That bastard Steve Jobs finally created a product that will end my stellar career (Shaddup! And this time I mean it!)<br /><br />My mantra always has been, "Until they develop a product that lets you read the comics in the john, people will still want to buy newspapers." Now, people don't have to.<br /><br />A vision burrowed its way into my head. Attached to the wall of my bathroom to the left or right of the commode, whichever is more convenient, could be one of those scissor-type extenders that often hold mirrors. But instead of a mirror it could hold an iPad just 2 feet in front of my face. Rather than clutch a newspaper to see exactly what Dagwood will put on his sandwich and wonder what Liz the vet sees in Garfield's master Jon, I can sit there with my hands free until it's time to flip the screen to "Luann."<br /><br />With the comics read, I can check my stocks, examine my daily schedule, Tweet my innermost thoughts and track all flights around the country on the FAA website without leaving the plushness and comfort of my $250 Hammacher Schlemmer heated seat. When I'm done, I just reposition the iPad against the wall and go on with my day.<br /><br />"Oh," you say, "newspapers were already doomed because people could read the comics on their iPhones."<br /><br />C'mon. How can you tell on a screen that small what sick prank Lio is going to pull or trace the circuitous route Billy takes as he comes home from the drugstore with Jeffy's insulin. And besides, if you're a klutz like me, you do not want your $199 smart phone anywhere near a bowl of water.<br /><br />No, it's time to polish that resume, or go into business for myself. I have a good idea, too. I might start manufacturing bathroom iPad holders and scissor extenders. I'm telling you, by 2015, "smart toilets" will be all the rage.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7745526425080402487.post-21955780599368690762010-06-08T10:57:00.000-07:002010-06-08T11:20:35.394-07:00Surviving in the land of tobaccoMy friend Chris, who writes for milb.com, calls people she does not like "douchenozzles." In the annals of ad hominem verbiage, this one might be a Hall of Famer.<br /><br />I encountered a douchenozzle of the lowest order today when I was doing my power walk, which I must do to preserve my girlish figure. My hotel is in Covington, Ky., separated from downtown Cincinnati by many bridges. To start my walk, I cross one of the oldest and most spectacular spans, a suspension span that is well over 125 years old and, I've been told, was the model for the Brookly Bridge.<br /><br />The car portion of the bridge is closed for a major overhaul, but you can still traverse the pedestrian walkways. However, much of the walkway is tented for the construction, as you can see in the photo below, so you essentially walk in and out of these canvas tunnels.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKyoFvsY6ObecZYIKVSdivRkHJhIHpBDvNQMdnH9Jk7MxwLkdJ2jsovG7oiFnQSBMxH9kZNz6aMn9OTyvOPaS2UqQxHAHuWig5ukGx_cmVsmc0gh6WWXvCsLO6Mpm0dQIKdMsdOthZLu3/s1600/bridgephoto.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKyoFvsY6ObecZYIKVSdivRkHJhIHpBDvNQMdnH9Jk7MxwLkdJ2jsovG7oiFnQSBMxH9kZNz6aMn9OTyvOPaS2UqQxHAHuWig5ukGx_cmVsmc0gh6WWXvCsLO6Mpm0dQIKdMsdOthZLu3/s320/bridgephoto.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480467661719297314" border="0" /></a><br />A man was walking in the same direction, about 30 feet ahead of me, and I saw him light a cigaret <span style="font-style: italic;">as he was entering one of the canvas tunnels.</span> Not only did he want to inhale as much nicotine as he could directly, he wanted to collect any smoke that foolishly plotted escape by inhaling it as it rebounded off the canvas.<br /><br />Of course, I had to walk through the same tunnel, and my efforts to run past him and the smoke were thwarted by a Bengie Molinian lack of speed and two cranky knees. I lost the race and had to suck down this douchenozzle's second-hand smoke. By the time we got to the next tunnel, I put on my afterburners (shaddup!) and passed him.<br /><br />What is it with people in this part of the country? After lunch, I walked into the Starbucks near my hotel and two extraordinarily large women in line ahead of me each ordered sugary, whipped-creamy, caramely drinks. For the life of me I couldn't see the barista pouring anything into the two cups that looked remotely like coffee. After I quickly got my black cup of java, I followed the women out. One woman, before she even took a sip of her pepperoni pizza in a cup, lit up a smoke and started puffing.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">She could not wait to kill herself with the a cigaret before she could kill herself with the drink.</span><br /><br />I try not to be judgmental (again, shaddup!). But I really do appreciate the California attitude about health. Even I, who will never don a swimsuit calendar that is not published for the blind, look at the salad side of the menu before I look at the meat, and no, I don't smoke.<br /><br />Long live the douchenozzles, if they can make it.Henry Schulmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02707886961369354173noreply@blogger.com4