An excerpt from "An Unusual Memoir"

A Day at Hollywood Park

by Ken Roy

     In the 80’s when I had too much time on my hands, I occasionally went to Hollywood

Park; the thoroughbred racetrack in Inglewood, California. The track was established in

the 30’s by some famous movie moguls and had just recently closed in 2013. Everything

was first class, as you might expect. I didn’t know too much about horse racing but I was

eager to learn and what I learned was always more than enough to lose my money. Even with this result, for some unknown reason I always had a fun time, probably due to the people watching, a few cocktails and the general excitement that surrounds a racetrack. I was lucky enough that an old friend, Chester, was a member of the exclusive Turf Club and he always had member-guest passes allowing me to go first class at bargain rates.

     One Saturday I had the brilliant idea to invite my boss’s secretary, Helen, to join me for the races. Since we had talked about it often and the idea of horse racing and movie stars seemed like a pretty exciting venue to her, she accepted my invite. Let me first explain that we had been friends for a long time and hung out occasionally between her serious love affairs that sometimes came to a sudden end. It seemed like I had become her big brother and provided the proverbial shoulder to lean on at these unpleasant times. Our relationship had remained purely platonic throughout (not exactly my idea). Helen was about six feet tall and a very beautiful blonde lady. Along with being gorgeous, she was also really sharp and loved to laugh and kid around. I knew she would be a hit at the Turf Club and I loved her company.

     I figured the day was special so I used valet parking (not my usual behavior), which

was at the track’s main entrance. We quickly got on the elevator to the Turf Club.

Emerging from the elevator I had the feeling that all eyes were on me. Well, not exactly

me per se. I’m sure everyone was checking out Helen and probably thought she was

some movie starlet. I spotted Chester so we stopped to say hello and then went to the bar where my favorite bartender, Bill B, was toiling away. Over several previous visits we had exchanged the latest jokes and he occasionally gave me some pretty good tips for which I reciprocated. He had more connections and knew more people around the States from just being a bartender here. He even got me invited to a retirement party for Tom Landry (legendary coach of Dallas Cowboys). Thereafter, every time I went to the Turf Club, I eagerly sought Bill out for any tips and new adventures. 

     Bill was busy working the bar so I give Helen a quick lesson on some basic racetrack survival stuff (i.e.what info the Racing Form had, what a furlong was, how to place a bet, what the odds meant and how the payoff went). I then suggested we walk down to the paddock area and along the track to get a look at the horses. This is fun to get close to the horses as they parade by prior to the race. I am always awed as they are truly exquisite animals. Then it was back to the bar where I watched the races on TV while Helen went back to trackside and people watching. Several movie star and TV celebrities were wandering around and I warned her that soliciting autographs was strictly verboten. She had no interest in autographs but it seemed like several were interested in meeting her and she was willing to oblige. Occasionally she’d show up at my side with a hot tip or a hunch she “discovered” in her travels. I bet several and was doing pretty good (better than usual anyway). Hunches paid off for me better than any handicapping I could do with the Racing Form. The little bit Chester had taught me about using the Form was a bust.

     After the last race, I was sitting at the bar finishing a drink when up walked Willie

Shoemaker. He was probably the most famous jockey in the world and here he was

having a drink with me (well almost). He was in a hurry but chatty and very friendly. I

mentioned he had done well that day and I made a couple of bucks betting on him, mostly from my friend Helen’s tips. We laughed at that. Our visit was cut short as he was in the Kentucky Derby the next day and had to leave to catch a plane to Louisville. Now get this, he won the Derby on Ferdinand at 18-1, the oldest jockey to ever win the race. Well, (here’s the punch line), I didn’t bet on him or the race. No self-respecting gambler would have passed up a hunch bet based on a chance encounter with Willie Shoemaker.As they say, I blew a chance to make some serious money.

    Even so, it was a great day and my buddy Helen was over the top with joy. She was a

little bummed about missing a chance to meet Willie, but apparently had some interesting celebrity encounters herself. That evening I took her to dinner on my winnings, we reminisced and exchanged our stories about the day, and I dropped her off at home. We never went to the track again. However, my “Adventures with Helen” continued, but that’s another story.

    

                                                       Cooking Beets

by Lauraine Lombara

I love the smell of cooking beets-

The earthy perfume of the soil.

The wine red promise of the flesh,

Veined as an ancient etching.

Beet and Watermelon Gazpacho

Since I posted a short musing about beets, I thought I would include this recipe I made incorporating beets and watermelon for a refreshing, healthy, light cold soup for summer enjoyment.

Watermelon is chockfull of antioxidants and an excellent source of vitamins C, A, B1 and B6, potassium and manganese. It contains more lycopene than any other fresh fruit or vegetable. Lycopene lowers the risk of many different types of cancer.

Beets have the most natural sugar of any vegetable. They are moderately high in fiber and folic acid and have a fair amount of vitamin C and a little manganese.

Ingredients

4-6 cups of seeded watermelon chunks (one medium sized melon, washed well, cut and peeled).

4-5 medium fresh beets with stems attached. Cut off stems and strip the beet greens and set both aside. Scrub beets to remove any soil or grit. Place beets in pot to boil with enough water to just cover and then lower heat to simmer moderately until tender – about 35-45 minutes according to size. Remove beets, cool and then slip off skins and cut off thick root end. Cut into small chunks. (You may now wash the stems and leaves separately and cook the chopped stems first in the beet water and then blanch the greens in the same pot. These make a very tasty dish when drained, sautéed in garlic and olive oil or even added to the gazpacho for a more intense beef flavor).

1 cup of beet juice (strained through a fine mesh after beets are finished cooking)

½ cup of chopped Vidalia onion

½ cup orange juice

Sea salt to taste

Grating of fresh ginger or ¼ tsp dried ginger (optional)

Chopped fresh mint or basil

1-2 Tbs honey (optional)

1-2 tsp fresh lemon or lime juice

Drizzle of extra virgin olive oil

Place the cooled beets and watermelon in a food processor (or blender) and pulse to roughly chop.

Add onions, beet juice, orange, lemon/lime juice, honey, herbs and salt to taste.

Correct seasoning to your taste. You may drizzle with olive oil and serve as is or with toasted mini croutons made from a hearty rustic bread.

At the Beach

by Elizabeth Aharonian Moon

The green Jeep jerked along the sand, filling in the holes the kids had dug earlier in the day, flattening footprints, crushing seaweed that had been abandoned high on the beach by the tide. At the shoreline, it stopped.

There on the hard, damp sand, a young man in a red tee shirt—EMT printed in bold white capitals on front and back—gave a high sign to the driver. He had been waiting, leaning against a wheel-chair engineered for irregular surfaces: fat aqua tires resembling a truck's inner tubes, inflated to near bursting; levers and controls of all sorts under the handles at the rear; a blue umbrella, tightly furled fastened to the chair's backrest. After exchanging a few words, the driver stepped down from the Jeep and signaled to his passenger, a lanky man who seemed to unfold and rise up from the back seat, his tee shirt tucked into his shorts, his sneakers tied neatly.

Together they leaned into the front seat to lift out some bundles: first a beach bag, then a small cooler, and then, with the help of the EMT, a woman. They tried to arrange her this way and that, until she was shifted from the Jeep and placed in the wheel-chair. That accomplished, the EMT climbed into the Jeep, sitting down where the bundles had been, and the driver turned into his tracks and together they headed up the beach over the soft sand, leaving the man, and the woman in her chair.

The man in the tee shirt and sneakers took off the woman's beach dress slipping it down her body, then her rubber sandals, her hat. From the beach bag, he took sunblock, rubbing it on her white shoulders, her pale arms, kneeling in front of her to do her legs. With more lotion, he did his own shoulders, his knees, while she, with lotion in her right hand, lathered her face and neck, neck and face, again and again and again.

Returning the sunblock to the beach bag, the man took out their towels, spread out one, folded their clothes, lined up their shoes, marking their place on the sand. And then he released a control and slowly pushed the wheelchair to the water's edge, into the shallow water and then farther and farther into the waves. Her left arm dangled limply over the arm rest, her hand floating in the water, her left leg bobbing about like seaweed.

Little children made way for her and stared. Older folk turned away, missing the smile that illuminated the right side of her face. But they all heard her say--haltingly but proudly—Here I am! Here I am! Look at me!

Making the Right Choice

by Charlotte Savage

Moving into Peabody in the 1960’s was very exciting for me. Instead of living in an all Jewish neighborhood in Malden, we would be moving into a development where we would be living among people of all religions as well as different ethnic backgrounds.

On one side of us lived a delightful fun loving Irish family. Margie Kelley and I had become bosom friends from day one. On the other side was an Italian family, in back were Greek and French. Most of us had left our siblings and parents behind in the cities in which we grew up. Now we depended on neighbors to help. At one time or another, we took turns assisting with baby sitting, shopping and emergencies. It was a wonderful place to bring up a family. There were no fences in our yards and the children played on each others gym sets, and baseball was their sport. The women swapped recipes, sharing the makings of lasagna, spaghetti sauce, French Quiche, kugel, knishes and mundel bread. We also learned about our many different customs.

My son Barry, at a young age, thought he would become a Rabbi. However, right after we moved into Peabody the Orthodox Hebrew School closed. Researching the two new Temple religious schools, soon to open in our area, I decided my son would attend a Reform Temple because it put emphasis on learning the history of our religion rather than becoming fluent in Hebrew. Here, in the United States, in the 1960’s, reading from the Torah was the only time the Hebrew language was used. Of more importance to me was that not only did this Temple school teach Jewish history but it also taught classes in comparative religions. It was important to me that my son have knowledge and respect for all religions.

 One semester, in Temple, when Barry was twelve, while studying the Catholic faith he came home with questions about Catholicism that I could not answer. However, one of his closest friends, Glen, attended St. Adelaide’s church, a Catholic church which was at the foot of our development. I suggested that my son go to church with Glen the following Sunday; after Mass he could approach the priest and have a discussion.

Barry left for church in time for 9 a.m. Mass. At 10:30 the telephone rang; a familiar female voice shouted, “Mother of God, Charlotte Savage, do you know where your son Barry is?” It was Margie Kelley and she sounded very upset.

“I think I know where he is, Margie, but why don’t you tell me.”

   “There I was, a good Catholic woman, attending church on Sunday morning as I do every week, when I looked across the aisle who do I see sitting there big as life but your Barry! He was attending Mass! I nearly fell off my pew, I was that shocked. Charlotte, what, may I ask, is a nice Jewish boy, who plans on being a Rabbi, doing attending Mass?”

 “Barry is studying the Catholic religion in our religious school and he had questions about your religion I couldn’t answer. I felt he would get a better explanation from your priest than from his teacher at the Temple. It appears she didn‘t have a clue how to answer him. Did Barry break any rules? Shouldn’t I have sent him to observe and learn?”

 Margie gave a huge sigh of relief and responded. “No, no rules were broken, but I nearly had a heart attack! All I could think was--Barry Savage if your mother only knew what you are doing! I was about to pull him out of church by his ears and that’s the truth-- but my husband wouldn’t let me.” Finally, Margie calmed down and soon we were both laughing--especially after her final statement.

“Well, Charlotte, it all makes sense to me now. Nevertheless, don’t be surprised if you get a visit from our priest. He probably thinks he has a new convert in the making.” Actually, that didn’t happen but I know Barry went back a couple of times when he had more questions.

The following year Barry reached the age of thirteen, he became a Bar Mitzvah in the synagogue my grandfather had established in Malden. It was his choice to be tutored by the orthodox Rabbi. To become a Bar Mitzvah meant that Barry would now be considered an adult, capable of leading a congregation in prayer, if for any reason there wasn’t a Rabbi present. Barry invited his friend Glen to attend the service along with some of his Temple friends.

When the Torah is taken out of the ark, it is considered a huge honor for a congregant to be asked to carry the Torah up and down the aisles in a house of worship accompanied by the Rabbi, the Bar Mitzvah boy and his relatives.   When the Rabbi told my son Barry to choose his best friend to carry the sacred scroll, Barry gave the honor to his friend Glen, the only Catholic boy in attendance.

It was only then that I knew I had made the right choice of which religious school my son should attend.

ã Charlotte Savage 2015 all rights reserved.

　

My Life in Literature...50 Years of Reading

by Beth Alexander Walsh

      I grew up in a house of readers. Whether it was the newspaper, magazines or my father's paperbacks, there was always something to read. Just as a song can bring me back to a time and place, so too can a book, and every magazine subscriptions is an anthology of my changing life. I have come up with a short list of some of my most memorable reading in the last fifty years.

The Cat in the Hat by Dr. Seuss

     This was my first recollection of reading a story over and over. I remember staring at the picture of Sally and her brother sitting in the window, watching the rain outside and wishing for something to take their boredom away. (Be careful what you wish for!) I was equally thrilled and horrified by the antics of Cat and his friends Thing One and Thing Two, and always relieved that the house was returned to order as the children's mother walked through the door.

The International Wildlife Encyclopedia (MC Marshall Cavendish Corp)

     Long before there was Google or Wikipedia, there was the encyclopedia. Most people had to schlep to the nearest library to find information that Suri now supplies from an IPhone. My wildlife volume came from a traveling salesman my mother felt sorry for, and was my constant companion.

Reader's Digest

     In my neighborhood you were either Reader's Digest people or TV Guide people. I am a better reader for my parents choice.

Charlotte's Web by E. B. White and Highlights Magazine

     I was heartbroken by Charlotte's death in both the book and movie, and Highlights made the dentist's office less painful.

Nancy Drew

     I can remember one perfect summer where I did nothing but swim at the Medford Boat Club and solve mysteries with Nancy.

The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis

     Oh, to be able to own that wardrobe!

Are You There God, It's Me Margaret by Judy Blume and Tigerbeat Magazine.

     There were subjects that were never discussed in my household growing up. Judy Blume took care of fifth grade for me, along with Tigerbeat and Bonnie Bell Lip Smackers.

The Outsiders by S. E. Hinton

To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

     The teen years are full of angst and rebellion and of course hormones! Fortunately there is required reading in high school to make us think!! I loved rereading all of these as an adult.

The Thorn Birds by Colleen McCollough and Cosmopolitan magazine.

      This sweeping Australian epic was all anyone talked about in the late 70's, and I was one of about thirty women glued to the common TV in my dorm every night of the mini-series. Cosmopolitan was a luxury item that my college friends and I would chip in to buy and share.

A Prayer For Owen Meany by John Irving, Better Home and Gardens and Country Living magazines.

      John Irving is not everyone's “cup of tea”, but he certainly was mine in the 80's. I have read all of his novels and this is my absolute favorite. The decorating magazines started to arrive shortly after I married and moved into our new post and beam house.

What to Expect When You Are Expecting, and What to Expect the First Year by Heidi Murkoff, Good Night Moon by Margaret Wise Brown, Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak, Parenting and Family Fun magazines and historical romance novels.

     You can probably guess what was going on in my life by these titles. The romance novels would not be classified as intellectual literature but paired with some wine, was a perfect way to end a day of diapers and dishes.

The Oprah Books and Magazine

     Oprah's Book Club got America reading and book sellers ecstatic, and she introduced me to some great authors. I am also grateful for the many spiritual book authors that she has popularized. They have changed my outlook on life.

E-Books and The Boston Globe

     Although I still purchase print books, the majority of my reading is done on my Kindle, and I take it everywhere with me. As part of two book clubs and a writers group, my reading has taken on a new urgency, and my Kindle assures me that I will never run out of reading material. The Boston Globe has been a constant in my life. My father brought his copy home from work every night and my husband and I have been subscribers for the last 27 years.

     This brief synopsis is just a tiny sample of the wonderful books I have read over the last fifty years. It has been amazing to have the right books land in my hands at just the right times in my life. I cannot imagine being the person I am today without them.

What have been the big book moments of your life?