(left to right) Arthur De Mattei, Adolph De Mattei, Silvio De Mattei, Katarina De MatteiMy dad joined the US Army at 17 years old, that’s him on the far left standing next to my Uncle Adolph. My grandfather, that’s him on the right standing next to my grandmother, had to sign for my Dad because he was a minor. Dad was assigned to the 37th Infantry Division (Buckeyes) during WWii and shipped overseas to the Battle of the Pacific (Leyte, Luzon, Baggio, Guadalcanal, etc). I grew up hearing stories of the bloody island battles, of how hitting one beachhead after another kinda a makes a guy hate going to the beach, especially after watching your friends never make it home. My dad carried a BAR (Browning Automatic Rifle) because as he likes to put it, “I was a big son-of-bitch.” As a child my dad was my hero, he still is. He says, “I’m no hero, Son, the heroes never came home.” If you want to read more about the 37th infantry, there’s a decent summary on Wikipedia. If you want to hear more first hand accounts of the perils of war, give my dad a call or drop by and see him. Happy Veterans Day to all Dwho served and especially my Dad.
I was not around on December 7, 1941 but my dad was and that “day of infamy” so moved him that at 17 years old, with permission from his immigrant father, he joined the Army and was immediately sent over seas to be, as he likes to put it, “a sand bag”. He didn’t return home until he was 20. My point is, unlike many other young boys, he returned home and has never let me forget those that did not. Pearl Harbor Day also reminds me that kids everywhere are still the future of this world and we adults continue to treat them as if they are sand bags. I for one want the next war to leave the kids at home and send the adults. We’ll see how fast all this insane shit stops.
GROTOWSKI DOES PHOENIX “Be a clown, be a clown, all the world loves a clown. Be a crazy buffoon and the ‘demoiselles ‘ll all swoon. Dress in huge baggy pants and you’ll ride the road to romance. A butcher or a baker, ladies never embrace. A barber for a beau would be a social disgrace….
The thing I dislike most is that I have to empathize with EVERYONE. It’s my job. I’m an artist. Okay, so I’ve empathized with you people who spread fear and hate. I now understand. You. Are. Scared. Well, my advice to you is to do what I do when I’m scared— dig deep and try…
CHAPTER 1 – “MR. C and ME” Mr. C was my first drama teacher. His annunciation and articulation were intimidating and elegant. He was both instructor and mentor to the students in his classroom, and when he wanted your attention he projected and rarely yelled. The walls would rattle as would the three little bones…
Middle-aged heavyweight woman with five o’clock shadow pushing a loaded babushka cart and wearing some kind of schmatta on her head spit at me and then mumbled something in Russian as I jogged by her. Sources tell me it was either an ancient curse or a killer recipe for borscht. Not to be outdone, an…
For years I had one of those mini-trampolines in our little one-bedroom apartment here in Queens. Caryn used to sit on it in lotus position and meditate. She looked like a yogi figurine by Lladro. I found the mini-trampoline on the street outside our building not long after I moved to New York City in…
This is about Rio, the dog on the left. While in California I ran five miles every day. I didn’t bring enough running socks so I bought several new pair at Marshall’s; they come in a bag in a variety of colors; they go up to your ankles; ankle socks; Puma. I am very fond…