The phrase “Tasty Tongue Tacos” rolls off the tongue quite nicely (pun intended). More importantly, beef tongue tacos taste MUCH better than a tongue looks before you have cooked and shredded it.

While hunkering down for the Coronavirus, I did an inventory of our freezer to see how much and what types of meat we have available. As I was searching through the roasts, the burger, the lamb and other various and sundry pieces of meat, I came across a beef tongue. I had completely forgotten it was there. I immediately knew what was in our near-term future for dinner.

About a year ago, I mentioned to my sister, Roberta, I had a beef tongue in the freezer from half a steer we bought, but I didn’t know what I was going to do with it. I suppose I was hoping to shock her a bit, but she just laughed and said, “I have the perfect recipe for you – Tongue Tacos.” What? How do you even know a Tongue recipe? It turns out she’d made the recipe a couple of times, and she and her husband Jack both love it. The first time she made it, the tongue came from a steer they raised. She added, “You just have to get past how ugly the tongue looks when you start cooking it”.

Yesterday, we had all of the ingredients, so I decided it was time to try the tongue. Later that morning, everything went into the crock pot, and I turned it to high. It would be a slow cook with garlic, onions, salt, and water.

About six hours later, I removed the tongue from the broth, and looked at it. The skin had turned off-white. You know the white your feet or fingers turn if they’ve been in the water too long? Then you know this white. It was not the most pleasant sight.

After allowing the tongue to cool just a bit, I used a knife to slit the skin of the tongue from the tip, all the way to the other end. Amazingly, the skin peeled off easily, and I’m happy to say I was glad this part of the recipe was complete.

From there, things were pretty straight forward. Shred the tongue, and then make the salsa. This recipe calls for a cooked salsa, and then you add the shredded meat to it. As I was doing this, Cathy set the table, and readied the accompaniments. For us, that meant chopped onions, slices of avocado, shredded cheese, hot sauce, and just because we happened to have it in the fridge, some sour cream.

And the verdict? I think the tacos were damned tasty. More importantly, Cathy, the in-house skeptic on the whole concept of tongue tacos, was impressed. She said if I hadn’t shown her the tongue ahead of time, she would have scored it a 10. ;-). (The recipe is at the bottom of the blog).

Addendum:

Coronavirus Thanks – This is the second thing I have to thank the Coronavirus for. The first was giving us spare time and no where to go. Using that time, I cleaned the garage AND the attic, hauling three pickup truck loads of junk to the dump.

Special thanks to my sister Roberta for sharing the recipe, and clarifying a couple of points for me.

Lengua – I need to mention that a couple of friends I was discussing this dish with mentioned lengua or “tacos de lengua“, a classic Mexican beef tongue taco dish. The recipes I found online were fairly similar to the one I used, except that after boiling/braising, they chopped up the meat rather than shredding it, and then seared it in a frying pan. It’s also evidently a regular dish in Costa Rica, although I don’t recall seeing it when we visited.

Taquerias – Another person told me the way you know you are at an authentic taqueria is when “tacos de lengua” are on the menu. If you find yourself at such a taqueria, definitely try them. I’ve always thought the same thing in the past about places serving Menudo, a Mexican stew made with cow tripe (stomach). It’s said to be a sure fire cure for a hangover.

Recipe for Beef Tongue Tacos with Homemade Salsa

Ingredients:

For the Tongue:

• 1 Beef Tongue

• 1 onion chopped in half

• 4 garlic cloves smashed

• 1 Tsp sea salt

• Filtered water (consider using part beer as well?)

For the Salsa:

• 1/2 LB tomatoes (2-3 large) roughly chopped

• 1/2 Onion chopped or minced

• 1/2 – 1 Jalapeño minced or chopped (I would up this next time)

• 2 Cloves Garlic chopped or minced

• Sea salt

• Juice of 1/2 lime (I would up to whole lime next time)

(Alternately, 1 1/2 C of your favorite Salsa)

Instructions:

1. Place whole tongue in slow cooker. Add onion, garlic, bay leaves and sea salt. Cover with filtered water (I used tap water)

2. Cook tongue for 6 hours on high, or overnight on low.

3. Remove tongue from cooker. While still hot (or very warm), peel off and discard skin.

4. Place tongue in bowl. Using two forks, shred/pull apart the tongue

5. In a skillet, heat some olive oil and sauté the onion until translucent.

6. Add the tomatoes, jalapeño and garlic. Cook for about 10 minutes until it reduces.

7. Add the meat and lime juice. Cook until sticky and delicious.

8. Check seasoning. Add salt if needed.

Note: if using store bought salsa, add to pan, heat it, cook down some and proceed to step 7.

Serve with raw or pickled onions, additional lime juice, cilantro, or other typical taco accompaniments. We used soft wraps, but you can use taco shells, soft wraps, or large lettuce leaves.

They always say “It’s Five o’ Clock somewhere”. Well, last night at Five o’ Clock, we participated in our first virtual Happy Hour. I have to say, while it may not have been perfect, it was pretty fun. Ten of us were on line, making the most of it.

There were jokes told, old friends, new friends, updates on the Corona Virus, rumors, awkward moments, people that disappeared for a few minutes, and lots of laughs. In other words, it was pretty much like a regular happy hour, other than hugs and handshakes.

Drinks? Yes, people shared what they were having. Everything from Bubly, to seltzer, beer, wine, sangria, Negronis, and my Manhattan. As with a regular happy hour, conversation ebbed and flowed. I think I detected people going for refills, and a couple of folk moved from outside to inside, but otherwise, not tons of movement “around the room”.

One difference from a regular Happy Hour? There were at least four dogs present.

The whole thing lasted an hour. It started around five, and ended about six, when people started dropping off to go make dinner. All in all, it was a great time. There’s another one scheduled for next Friday – I think we’ll be there. Self isolation is going to continue for a while, and this is a nice addition to our routine.

My advice? Live life exuberantly, no matter what that means at a particular juncture in time. With the Corona Virus happening, maybe it’s time to get just a little bit creative. What say you?

Addendum:

Special thanks to Laura Jackson and Virginia Jackson for organizing the Happy Hour – it truly was perfect!

We used Zoom software/app to connect….

On Thursday, as I was walking with our dog Carmen on Swains Road, a UPS truck came by. I waved and he stopped – it was Chris, our regular UPS driver. We spoke for a bit and I asked how it was going. He said their current deliveries were running near Christmas levels, with most packages coming from Costco and Amazon.

This is the life we are all living right now, or at least most of us. Self isolation is the new norm, but it also takes on an individual definition for each of us. For some, particularly with compromised immune systems, it’s not going out at all. For others of us, it’s not going out except to buy food, and maybe some Beefeater gin…;-). And for those working, well, they’re still confined to work and home, or should be. Of course while many are able to telework, lots of folk must still drive to work. Not only UPS drivers, and grocery store employees, but factory workers, doctors, pharmacists, truck drivers, store owners, many office workers, and any number of other jobs. The people who keep America running.

Snippets of stories and questions run through my brain these days. Things I’ve heard or seen over the past week or so. Here are some of them in no particular order.

• Stores are still short of toilet paper and soap/disinfectant products. We now see ample chicken, which was totally depleted a week ago.

• Our neighbors at the end of Swains Road run an AirBnB. They have people renting their spare home for a month due to the Corona Virus threat. They think it’s safer here in the country. They are now extending the lease another two weeks.

• Several US Senators, all members of the Senate Intel committee, sold significant amounts of stock in mid February after receiving Corona Virus briefings. The stock market plunged a few days later. Insider Trading? I don’t know if there’s a legal problem, but in my book, it’s an ethical one.

• In the DC area, for those driving to work, they are actually enjoying their commutes – they are significantly shorter right now.

• On my one trip to town this week, I bought five bags of horse feed, instead of our normal three. We go through about a bag of feed per week. Is that hoarding?

• I was going to go to H Mart in Centreville (H Mart is the largest Asian supermarket chain in America, and is Korean in origin) to buy some Korean spices for a recipe I recently received. Given Centreville is part of the near ‘burbs, I opted to stay safe, skip the trip and shop online. I was happy to see Amazon carries Doenjang, Gochugaru, and Gochujang (words and products I didn’t know two weeks ago), although at a higher price.

• All politicians, national and local, now seem to hold Corona Virus updates on a regular basis. I don’t watch any of them, but I’m glad to see locally, Democrats and Republicans are holding a joint FB town hall. Wow, something finally brings us together – adversity. Maybe that’s what always does the trick.

• My favorite local wine shop, The Galloping Grape, (yes, they sell wine and equine equipment and supplies – this is horse country) is happily procuring a case of French wine for me that I read about online.
• One of our favorite local restaurants, Field and Main, has switched on the fly to a total takeout menu. In addition to sandwiches, they will feature a daily special. Tonight’s offering is Confit Chicken Thighs with black beans, Carolina Gold Rice, pickled jalepeño and tomatillo cream. Can you say “yum”?
• The rumor mill is running rampant, both online, and in phone calls. This is a Dem plot to bring down Trump. This is a Trump plot to do away with elections this fall. This is a test Chinese plot to bring down America – see how easy it was? Martial law is about to be declared. People are dying left and right, it’s just not being reported. This is all still just a hoax….

I guess I’m looking for balance, but it seems a bit elusive at this point. We aren’t suppose to be in groups larger than 10 (or 50 – take your pick), but College kids still flocked to the beaches of Florida, and St Patrick’s Day had a huge turnout. Other folks are in a near panic at home. I understand we all need to be vigilant, practice good isolation and cleanliness measures, and still try to help local businesses with online or drive-by support. Having said all of that, there are some people I wish would take a chill-pill and stay calmer.

• Do the best you can, and then be at peace with where you are.

• If a rumor sounds too wild to be true, it probably isn’t (true).

• Quit ranting about the folk who don’t appear to take this situation as seriously as you are. There are always some people like that and you aren’t going to change their minds. All you are really doing is upsetting yourself.

• This thing is going to run for awhile. Get use to it, and then live this new life we are all sharing.
• Wash your hands with soap and water. A lot.

That’s it for now. Just some ramblings from the farm. By the way, a couple of friends are hosting a virtual Happy Hour via Zoom later this afternoon. I think we’ll go. And, we won’t have to worry about a DD.

Humor is sometimes useful. The current Corona Virus induced run on toilet paper got me and a couple of old friends talking. Between Army days, hunting trips, and traveling in countries with less than ideal “facilities”, the three of us have all suffered through paperless situations, and miraculously, survived.

If you are having this kind of conversation, even via text message (maybe even more so if via text message), you can bet the people you are having the conversation with are good friends, and probably old friends. The kind of people you can share anything with, and you won’t be judged. Tim, Mark and I are old, old friends. We’ve all known each other since grade school and Boy Scout days back in the ‘60s. We definitely qualify as both good, and old, friends.

We started creating a list of items we’v all used at one time or another, when there wasn’t a square to spare:

– Paper towels

– Paper napkins

– Handkerchiefs (which hardly anyone carries anymore)

– T-shirts

– Leaves

– Plants (not poison ivy though)

– Corn Husks

– Jumping in a lake

Of course, we couldn’t let it go. We added other items people could use, if push came to shove:

– Your old copy of The Whole Earth Catalog

– Changing a $20 bill into $1 bills, and using judiciously

– Old stock certificates issued by Enron, Continental Bank, and Worldcom

There were other suggestions, but I won’t print them here. We all had a good laugh, and eventually the messages started dying off, but not quite.

When all was said and done, Tim had the best story. He was traveling in Leningrad in 1979. The hotel he was staying in had a common bathroom for all to use. In the bathroom, there was no toilet paper. Instead, there were perfectly cut up squares of the official Soviet newspaper “Pravda”. In the USSR, lack of toilet paper was seen as a job creation opportunity. Someone had been delegated to cutting the paper in perfect squares for use as toilet paper. As my friend Tim was contemplating this at the time, an idea came to him. He took one of the squares, and in Russian wrote: “The Truth hurts in Soviet toilets” and stuck it on the bathroom wall. In Russian, Pravda means truth.

We all laughed at that one, and then the conversation, mercifully, ended.

As an addendum, Pravda was the official Newspaper of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and was the newspaper of the Communist Party Central Committee from 1912-1991. We may finally know why Lenin was so angry, as he crushed a copy of Pravda in his hand in this famous picture.

This may not be “The End of the World as we Know it” (sorry about the R.E.M. ear worm), but I believe you can just about see the end from the Food Lion grocery store in Marshall, Virginia. The only time I’ve seen this many empty shelves was at a store in East Berlin in the early ‘80s.

This virus has everyone second guessing themselves and thinking twice about things. Of course we all know this is serious and is affecting us in many ways. We all know to wash our hands frequently, avoid touching our faces, and avoid large crowds. If you are sick, we know to stay home. We’ve watched the market drop like a stone. Sport Leagues, whether the NBA, NHL, MLB, MLS, or the NCAA have all suspended games/their seasons. My Nats opening day tickets will hopefully be good later in the season. And the usefulness of those James McMurtry concert tickets we have for next week? Gone, baby, gone.

And in daily life? I was chuckling on Thursday when I read in the paper about two large nearby suburban Costcos running out of toilet paper in response to the Corona Virus. I understand Purell and counter sanitizers, but toilet paper?

Fast forward to yesterday, Friday the 13th (maybe the date should have been the first clue). I went to Marshall to do a bit of shopping for this weekend and next week. I was, to say the least, caught of guard. As I went into Food Lion, I noticed:

Purell, hand sanitizer, Clorox wipes, Lysol, rubbing alcohol? All gone, as expected. What I didn’t expect to see was the shelves also empty of soap bars and soap dispensers. The produce area was half empty. Rice shelves were all empty, except for three bags of brown rice.

In the meat section, there were no chicken products left at all. I mean, not even a package of wings.

The paper aisle was empty of toilet paper and paper towels.

The refrigerated milk area was three fourths empty.

Don’t get me wrong, there were still lots of items in the store. There were also a lot of empty areas. The checkout lady told me people have been cleaning out the store for the last three days.

Marshall is not DC, nor the suburbs. People tend not to panic here like they sometimes do in the city, or the ‘burbs. We deal with winter storms, or ice storms OK. We don’t empty stores of milk and toilet paper anytime there’s a storm warning.

Having said all that, what was my reaction on seeing the Food Lion aisles yesterday? I know we’ll deal with this “crisis” as we have with other problems in the past, and we’ll get through it. I tell you what though. We like to think we Americans are “hearty stock” and tough, and will rise to any occasion. I suppose we ultimately do, but in the meantime, people better buckle up for the ride. It’s going to get interesting.

For now, I recommend people wash their hands vigorously and often, drink that good bottle of wine you’ve been saving, and if you have any spare cash, invest in companies that deal with health products, toilet paper, and chickens. You’ll do just fine.

It’s the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine….

_________

PS – Our Bombed Shelter (The wine room) will hold Cathy, me, Carmen and two others. PM me if interested. Bidding starts at four bottles of Purell.

In sixth grade, when Wally secretly stole our teacher’s wooden paddle, we were in shock. When he later chopped it into little pieces and threw them down a storm drain, we were in awe. Of course, that wasn’t the end of the story.

In 1966, corporal punishment was still a thing in Ottawa, Illinois. At the time, I was in Sixth Grade at McKinley School. From Kindergarten through Fifth grade, all our teachers were women. If you caused trouble, you were sent to the front office, where Mr Powell, our Principal, would dole out the appropriate punishment. You could receive anything from sitting in the office for an hour, to a paddling, to a note to your parents. Everything changed in sixth grade, when Mr. Ledbetter became our teacher.

Mr Ledbetter (known affectionately as “Leadbottom” in our class) administered punishment in our classroom, and rarely, if ever, sent anyone to the Principal’s office. As my good friend Howard recalled “His exact words, — I remember them well after all these years — were:  “I don’t like to play policeman, but sometimes I have to. (Pause for effect.) This is my badge.” He said this while holding up a wooden paddle. The words were chilling. He delivered it on the first day of sixth grade.”

I don’t know if this was because he was a male teacher, or it’s just the way he was. If you acted up repeatedly, you were called to the front of the class. Once there, you put your hands on a desk facing the class. Mr. Ledbetter would walk over to the closet, reach in, and pull out his wooden paddle. He’d then stroll back to the offender, and administer the appropriate number of whacks. I say stroll, because I think he liked to let the moment build, before administering the punishment. Perhaps this was to serve as an added deterrent for the rest of us students.

As the year progressed, there weren’t that many paddlings, but I suppose several of us received a whack now and then. Our classmate Wally seemed to receive more than most. Wally was a good kid, fellow Boy Scout, and friend. He was also one of those guys who always seemed to push the limit on things, and eventually, Mr Ledbetter would respond. We’ve all had Wallys in our classes, and in our lives. You know this guy – not a bad sort, just always acting out. In Sixth Grade, it got you more than your share of paddling.

One day after school let out for the day, my buddies and I were outside the school horsing around. Suddenly, Wally came running out of the school with something under his arm, and yelled “follow me!”. Naturally we all took off after Wally. When we were a bit away from the school he showed us what was under his arm. Holy hell, it was Leadbottom’s wooden paddle! We were literally in shock – how is it possible Wally could have stolen this? We all started talking at once, when Wally said “Wait here, I’ll be right back”, and went running off to his house, which was directly across from the school yard.

A few minutes later, he returned, with the paddle in one hand, and something else in the other – his Boy Scout axe! As we looked on in amazement, Wally, with a smile on his face, proceeded to chop the paddle into little pieces and threw the pieces down a nearby storm drain. This was all so far beyond the pale, no one knew what to say, or do. How was it even possible this was happening? Eventually, the group broke up and I jumped on my bike and rode home. Wally and the paddle were all I could think about.

Although only a few of us saw Wally chop up the paddle, the stories and rumors spread among us kids over the next few days. Wally was a hero, or out of control, depending on who you talked to.

Time passed, and perhaps two weeks went by.

Wally once again did something bad, and Mr Ledbetter called him to the front of the room for a paddling. Wally walked to the front with something of a strut. As he turned to face us, he had a bit of a smirk on his face. He knew, as many of us did, the paddle was no longer there.

Mr Ledbetter reached into the closet, felt around a bit, then smiled, and pulled his hand out of the closet. There in his hand, was a steel paddle… With air holes drilled in it. Wally’s face went from a smirk to bulging eyes faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Ledbottom strolled over to Wally and administered the whacks. It’s probably my imagination, but he seemed to have a smile on his face while paddling Wally.

I’ve thought back to that day, and I have no idea whether Mr Ledbetter actually saw Wally steal the paddle, or just knew it had to be him. What I am sure of, is he waited till Wally was the one who acted up before producing and using the new paddle. The scene created a lasting memory, and I remember Wally’s eyes to this day.

Addendum:

Special thanks to my sixth grade classmates Howard Johnson, Lynne Galley Robinson, Cathy Habben, Linda Baker, and Becky Ohlendorf-Jobe for providing input, or corroboration to various parts of this blog.

Thanks to my niece Jordan Zarka, who took the photos of McKinley School and the storm drain. I told her were I thought the drain was, and she found it.

Corporal Punishment: I didn’t realize corporal punishment was still used in many places after all these years, but found this in Wikipedia: “Corporal punishment was held constitutional in 1977 by the Supreme Court. The court stated that the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause of the 8th Amendment did not apply to disciplinary corporal punishment in public schools, being restricted to the treatment of prisoners convicted of a crime. In the years since, a number of U.S. states have banned corporal punishment in public schools. As of 2018, corporal punishment is still legal in private schools in every U.S. state except New Jersey and Iowa, and legal in public schools in nineteen states. The practice is banned in 128 countries around the world.”

Mr Ledbetter was actually a pretty good teacher, as far as I was concerned. In talking with several of my classmates, some weren’t so keen on him, while many others credited him with getting them interested in math, and making learning fun. He taught for many years, and eventually retired from McKinley School.

Leadbottom: I debated using the nickname “Leadbottom” here, but it seemed to capture our 6th grade spirit, so I decided to include it. I should also point out Disney apparently stole our nickname for Mr Ledbetter. Leadbottom is now a character in the Disney animated feature film, Planes. In the movie, Leadbottom is a grumpy old biplane who spends his life working, rather than racing. Disney’s description is that he’s a “grumbling taskmaster, a real “tank-half-empty” kind of guy. For Leadbottom, it’s work first, then … well, more work.” This seems to conform with our Sixth Grade opinion of Mr. Ledbetter.

Paddles: In researching this blog, I went online to look for pictures of paddles. All I can say is there are an extraordinary number of paddles available for sale on the internet.

If you ask Cath how she grows such great orchids, she’ll answer “Oh, I just water them. Otherwise, it’s tough love. They go outside in the summer, come back in for the winter, and are never fed orchid food”.

I know others can find her answer frustrating. Many people receive orchids in bloom as gifts, but the plants never rebloom. They’re sort of “one and done”, if you get my drift.

After years of living with Cathy and her orchids, I’ve grown to love them. Maybe not as much as she does, but I enjoy it when they bloom in the winter. The plants themselves aren’t all that much to look at, but oh, the flowers. Whether looking at the numerous budscapes, and seeing the blooms as a rush or color,

or viewing just a couple of flowers and taking in their amazing detail, I find them fascinating.

I love to look at and consider just one individual flower. They are intimate in their own way. The color, the texture, the patterns, the beauty of the flower and all of it’s individual parts – Sepals, Petals, Lip, and Column, make each orchid unique.

Looking closer, there is a sensual feeling to the view. I can become lost in thought, as I contemplate them and their allure.

It’s a nice way to spend a few moments.

I’m not an orchid expert, a flower expert, or even much of a grower of green things, but I do appreciate beauty. In monochromatic wintertime, I love the bursts of color these orchids provide…

.

Addendum:

– Watching Cathy raise orchids for several years, I can add two other “tricks” she uses. First, she only rarely changes the pots they are in – orchid roots evidently like confined spaces, with not a lot of extra dirt. So, at our home, even as the plants grow bigger and bigger outside the pot, they stay in the same planter. Her second trick? In the winter time, the orchids are always in our large east-facing windows – they receive wonderful morning sun, but none in the afternoon.

– Cath comes by her growing and gardening skills honestly. Both she and her sister Bonnie inherited their mom Faye’s green thumb. And Faye? She inherited it from her mom – Juda Catherine Strickland. Grandma Strickland always had beautiful plants and flowers at her home in Alabama. Always.

As a child, I was glad my birthday wasn’t on February 29th in a leap year. The thought of having a birthday only once every four years was sad, and I figured all of my friends would make fun of me for being only two, when they were eight.

As a young adult, I thought just the opposite. How cool would it be, if you were celebrating your sixth birthday, when all of your friends were turning twenty four? You just knew your actual birthday every four years would be a blowout.

And now? Now I don’t think about birthdays at all in regard to leap year. Instead, I think “What did I do with all of those extra days?” So far, I’ve experienced sixteen Leap Years, with sixteen February 29ths in my life. What did I do with those extra two weeks and two days? As far as I can tell, nothing, zero, zip, zilch, nada… Which is kind of sad when you think about it. Hell, if the sixteen days were all in a row, what a great vacation you could have.

Of course, it’s not sixteen days in a row. Still, it’s an extra day, and this year it’s on a Saturday to boot. What are you planning to do, anything special?

A multitude of online sites are offering suggestions – everything from a great brunch, to reading a book, helping the environment, or about a thousand other ideas. My guess is you don’t need any advise on how to spend the extra day, and probably aren’t even thinking of it as an extra day. But maybe you should.

I’ve mulled it over a bit, and I’m now thinking of this day as a gift from God, that’s also ratified by Science. It seems a sin to waste it without a thought. I’ve promised myself, no matter what I do, I will make a conscious decision and won’t just float through the day as if it were one of the regular 365.

What am I going to do this year? I plan to…

.

Addendum:

A few Leap Day facts and stories:

⁃ Leap Year math is actually a bit fascinating. As most of us know, leap year has an extra day added to the calendar in February. The year is actually 365.242190 days long, so a leap year must be added roughly once every four years. However, in the long term the math doesn’t quite work out, so the actual formula is – there will be a leap year every year divisible by four, except for years which are both divisible by 100 and not divisible by 400. Therefore, the year 2000 was a leap year, but the years 1700, 1800, and 1900 were not. How cool is that?

⁃ Historically Leap Day provided the “opportunity” for a woman to propose marriage to the man in her life. This evidently started in Ireland hundreds of years ago. Now days, women are of course capable of proposing at any time of the year.

⁃ The Leap Day Cocktail was invented by bartender Harry Craddock at London’s Savoy Hotel in 1928 (yes, a leap year). Craddock’s original recipe:

Combine over ice:

— 1 dash lemon juice

— 2/3 gin (2oz)

— 1/6 Grand Marnier (1/2 oz)

— 1/6 sweet vermouth (1/2 oz)

Shake, strain into a cocktail glass, garnish with a lemon peel, and enjoy. I think it’s bette with just a bit more lemon juice, but that’s just me.

In February of 1976, Cathy and I met for a date in New York City. She took the train north from DC, while I left West Point on a southbound bus. It was the first trip either of us took to the City, and although we were just 20, we felt very adult about the whole thing. The weekend would lead to an inquiry from dad a couple months later.

The City was certainly grittier then, than it is now, but I don’t think either of us paid any attention. We linked up at Grand Central Station and caught a cab to The Essex House, right on Central Park. The Essex was one of those grand old hotels with plush chairs and couches in a big lobby, along with a classic bar. The Essex had a special cadet rate that I believe was $53/night. Just for reference, rooms at The Essex are currently $577/night, not including fees or taxes.

After checking in, we ordered drinks at the bar. It felt like the whole weekend was stretching out before us.

For dinner, we went to Mama Leone’s, a well known Italian restaurant on 48th Street. Although It’s closed now, you can still look it up online and get a feel for the place. The restaurant was a landmark for years and always had a long waiting line to get in. If you were a cadet, you could go to the front of the line, and they gave you the next available table. We worked our way through the five courses, washing it down with a straw covered bottle of Chianti – Cheeses and crudites, antipasti, then soup or salad, pasta or main, and finally dessert. We ate it all, like we’d been starving for a week.

After dinner, we walked the mile or so back to the Essex House following 7th Avenue. Paul Simon had it right with his lyrics in “The Boxer” – there was the occasional solicitation from a prostitute or strip club representative along the way. No one thought twice about soliciting, even though Cathy was with me. It seemed a bit funny at the time.

In our room at the hotel, I felt like John Hurt in the movie “Alien”. Surely my stomach was going to split open, after having eaten so much…. 😉

The next day, we visited all of the usual tourist sites, including Central Park, The Empire State Building, Rockefeller Center, The UN, and the Statue of Liberty. We also caught the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall. It was all classic New York City stuff.

That night, we went to our first Broadway show, at the Broadhurst Theatre on 44th St. The play was “A Matter of Gravity”, starring Katherine Hepburn, and an up and coming actor by the name of Christopher Reeve. This was two years before the movie “Superman” came out – we had no clue who he was. Hepburn was awesome. Clive Barnes, The NY Times Theatre Critic wrote: “Miss Hepburn with her radiant beauty, her grace, and meticulous theatrical sensibility—shown in the jerk of an eyebrow, or the twitch of a corner of the mouth—is perfectly remarkable.” After the play, we again walked the gauntlet to our hotel, this time taking in the gaudiness of Time Square, while working our way up 7th Avenue. The prostitutes were again out in full force.

The time raced by and the next afternoon, we said our goodbyes. Cath took the train back to DC, while I returned to West Point. It was a perfect weekend, and we were perfectly in love.

A month or two passed and I was on a visit home during Spring Break from school. Dad and I were having a beer, when a conversation about the trip to New York started.

Dad – “I heard you went to New York City for a weekend – how was it?”

Me – “It was a super time. We saw a play, ate a couple of nice meals, and visited all the sites”.

Dad – “Cathy went too?”

Me – “Yea, she took the train up from DC, and we met in the City.”

Dad – “Where’d you stay?”

Me – “The Essex House. It’s this great hotel right on Central Park. They have a special rate for Cadets.”

Dad – “Where did Cathy stay?”

Me – “She stayed at The Essex House too.” (While thinking, “OK, where’s this conversation going?”)

Dad – “Did you get two rooms?”

Me – …pause… “Dad, the Cadet rate at the Hotel was good, but it wasn’t that good.”

Dad – …silence, while looking at me…

Me – …silence, while looking back at him…

Dad – …pause….“well, it sounds like a really fun time”…pause… “What do you think about the Cardinals this year, are they going to do anything?”

And that, was that. Cathy and I married a little over two years later. Forty four years later, we still remember that trip to New York City. We’ve been back several times, but we remember that first trip as the best. Maybe it’s just rose colored glasses, but we sure had fun.

Addendum:

⁃ New York City was gritty in the ‘70s. The TV Show “The Deuce” about 42d Street in the ‘70s, while taking some license with history, isn’t far off. The strip joints, run down hotels, bars, and general dirtiness in the show is fairly representative of the City at the time. As one New York Times article reminisced: “this was the era when the city was edgy and dangerous, when women carried Mace in their purses, when even men asked the taxi driver to wait until they’d crossed the 15 feet to the front door of their building, when a blackout plunged whole neighborhoods into frantic looting…..” Visitors to the City in the summer of ‘75 were greeted with a pamphlet that was titled “Welcome to Fear City”. Among other things, it warned people not to leave midtown Manhattan, and not to walk anywhere after six in the evening. Having said all that, people forget that the city was also vibrant with art, music, and a changing world. The downtown clean up would happen in the coming decades. Here’s a pic near Time Square at the time.

⁃ Mama Leone’s closed in ‘94 and never reopened. Reading online now, it became more touristy over the years, and less frequented by New Yorkers themselves. In retrospect, I can’t say how good it actually was back in the day, but to a hungry 20 year old from Illinois, it sure seemed excellent at the time.

⁃ Some of my West Point classmates and I have discussed whether the price of a room or a cadet at the Essex was $37 or $53. We couldn’t come to a conclusion, so I used the $53 price. You can find out more about the history of the Essex House at: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/JW_Marriott_Essex_House . It was originally built in 1931 and has an interesting past. Among other folk, Casey Stengel hung out there while a manager of the Yankees, and later the Mets.

– A few weeks ago, I wrote about a trip dad may have taken to New York City in 1945. ( https://mnhallblog.wordpress.com/2020/02/05/in-search-of-ernies-nightclub/ ). He would have been 21 at the time. As I’m now thinking about his line of questioning to me about my trip, I’m wondering if he was reminiscing some about his own trip near the end of the war. As a single, 21 year old GI in ’45, I’m sure his would have been the wilder trip, but we’ll never know. That’s a question I wish I could go back and ask him.

A random survey of squirrels, reveals they don’t like window blinds…

It was about 1130 when the phone rang. It was Billy from over on the Bay, who doesn’t usually call, so I answered.

Me: “Hello”

Billy: “Max, this is Billy. You had a squirrel in your house. I just got it out.”

Me: “What?”

Billy: “You had a squirrel in your house. I just got it out.”

Me:

Billy: “Can you hear me?”

Me: “I’m not sure, I thought I heard you say there was a squirrel in our house.”

Billy: “That’s what I said. The damage isn’t too bad, except for the blinds and a few broken glasses”.

We talked more, but the connection was bad. I then noticed I had a phone msg from another neighbor. I called them back.

Jim: “Max, you had a squirrel in the house. Billy got it out.”

Me: “Yea, I just talked to him. Do you know how much damage there was? The connection was really bad, so I couldn’t quite hear.”

Jim: “I don’t. We didn’t go in, but I think Eileen did. They had to get the key from her. Maybe the squirrel got in when the guys were doing work at the house a couple of days ago. They had a white van.”

Me: “We weren’t having any work done.”

Jim: “Hmmm. Maybe they were working next door, but parked in your drive. Kirk is who saw the damage. Your blinds were all ripped up and askew, so he looked in through the window and saw a squirrel sitting on your couch. ”

Me: “Damn. I’m glad he did. OK. Let me call Eileen”

The call with Eileen revealed that she had gone in, there was broken glass, the blinds were ripped down, and maybe a couple of kitchen cabinet doors were ripped off.

….shit…..

I decided I’d better drive over ASAP and see what the damage was. A two and a half hour drive gives you plenty of time to think and ask questions of yourself, some more preposterous than others.

How bad is the damage?

How’d the squirrel get in?

Does someone with a white van dislike us, and they secretly released a squirrel in the house to screw with us? Do I need to change the locks?

I talked to Billy on the way, and he insisted the damage wasn’t bad, except for the blinds. I told him I’d give him a call after I arrived.

2:45PM and I arrive. All looks normal outside. I go inside, and in the kitchen, there are 3 or 4 broken Martini glasses that were knocked off a shelf, but that’s it. The cabinet door Eileen thought was ripped off was actually one I’d previously taken down to fix. Into the front room, and….

Every single blind, except for one, is in some state of disrepair. Three are totally ripped down. Two are half torn apart. And, that’s it – a knocked over light, but nothing else is broken. Evidently, the squirrel kept trying to get out through the windows, and in the process, it tore down the blinds and chewed on one of the windows.

I start to clean up and call Billy. He get’s there about an hour later, and I’ve finished the clean up, so we have a beer. We’ve both independently looked at the exterior to the house and can find no “surprise” entry points.

We talk about other possibilities, but other than the squirrel following someone into the house, have no other plausible explanation. We finish the beers, and Billy is leaving, when I ask if he can replace the locks. No problem, he’ll get it done.

If either the squirrel, or the mystery guys in the white van have a spare key, we’ve outwitted them. All other scenarios remain open.

It’s always good when life throws a little humor in your direction….

Addendum:

Thanks to Billy, Kirk and Virginia, Jim and Trish, Eileen and Fritz, and Jim and Veronica for assistance in resolving the issue!

On further inspection, there is some (minor) evidence that it may have come down the chimney to gain entrance.