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Post by pippsheadache on Jan 27, 2022 8:52:47 GMT -5
Warren G. Harding had a lot of friends. He was a very affable man. That's what got him in trouble. He was not terribly selective in choosing them. As long as you were up for a game of poker and could tell a good risqué story, you were in. Crooks like Harry Daugherty and Albert Fall took advantage of Harding's insouciance in personal matters. Now a strong case can be made that such a temperament is not what you want in a President. Thus the corruption among several of his cabinet members. But Harding himself was relatively honest, especially by the low standards of a politician. The scandals of his Administration had little impact on the country as a whole, and he was personally wildly popular, ushering in a decade of prosperity. Back in 1979, I dragged my then freshly-married wife on a forced march of Presidential homes in Ohio. Visiting President's homes is one of my many sins. We stopped by the cribs of William Howard Taft, James A. Garfield and Warren G. Harding (William McKinley of Canton is the only President with no residence to visit; we had to settle for a monument, although we did visit his assassination site in Buffalo.) Anyway, the Harding home in Marion is a beautiful Victorian structure, very homey. A couple of the docents back then actually knew Harding-- he died in 1923, and these guys would have been born in the 1890s. They were just locals, and they loved the guy. When they realized I was actually interested in the history, they gave me an album of his speeches. It would cure insomnia. I don't think it ever made the Billboard Hot 100, and I couldn't listen for more than maybe ten minutes. I still have it, collecting dust on the shelves with thousands of other LPs. Pipps, have you visited Calvin Coolidge's home in Plymouth Notch, Vt? I did a couple years ago and heard an interesting story about what happened after Harding died in the middle of his term. There were no phones in Plymouth Notch until Coolidge became Vice President. It was placed in the general store, just across the road from Coolidge's house. The day Harding died, officials called the phone in the store and no one answered it. It turned out, no one knew how because it had never rung. Coolidge heard about Harding from a telegraph operator who was sent after no could reach him. Great story, Desousa. Yes, I've been to Plymouth Notch several times. It is absolutely idyllic and maybe my favorite Presidential site of them all for that preserved-in-amber ambiance of 19th century rural Vermont. I remember the story about Coolidge taking the oath of office from his father, who was a Justice of the Peace. The first time we visited Calvin's son John was still very hands-on with the place and with the family cheese business. The small cafe there advertised itself as the only place in the world where you could get a Coolidgeburger. |
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Post by inger on Jan 27, 2022 10:31:10 GMT -5
Warren G. Harding had a lot of friends. He was a very affable man. That's what got him in trouble. He was not terribly selective in choosing them. As long as you were up for a game of poker and could tell a good risqué story, you were in. Crooks like Harry Daugherty and Albert Fall took advantage of Harding's insouciance in personal matters. Now a strong case can be made that such a temperament is not what you want in a President. Thus the corruption among several of his cabinet members. But Harding himself was relatively honest, especially by the low standards of a politician. The scandals of his Administration had little impact on the country as a whole, and he was personally wildly popular, ushering in a decade of prosperity. Back in 1979, I dragged my then freshly-married wife on a forced march of Presidential homes in Ohio. Visiting President's homes is one of my many sins. We stopped by the cribs of William Howard Taft, James A. Garfield and Warren G. Harding (William McKinley of Canton is the only President with no residence to visit; we had to settle for a monument, although we did visit his assassination site in Buffalo.) Anyway, the Harding home in Marion is a beautiful Victorian structure, very homey. A couple of the docents back then actually knew Harding-- he died in 1923, and these guys would have been born in the 1890s. They were just locals, and they loved the guy. When they realized I was actually interested in the history, they gave me an album of his speeches. It would cure insomnia. I don't think it ever made the Billboard Hot 100, and I couldn't listen for more than maybe ten minutes. I still have it, collecting dust on the shelves with thousands of other LPs. Pipps, have you visited Calvin Coolidge's home in Plymouth Notch, Vt? I did a couple years ago and heard an interesting story about what happened after Harding died in the middle of his term. There were no phones in Plymouth Notch until Coolidge became Vice President. It was placed in the general store, just across the road from Coolidge's house. The day Harding died, officials called the phone in the store and no one answered it. It turned out, no one knew how because it had never rung. Coolidge heard about Harding from a telegraph operator who was sent after no could reach him. Really interesting. The good old days when even big news was delayed. I love today’s “Special Reports” we get on TV: Unconfirmed story that something might be happening in an unknown location. This network will be following this story as it develops… |
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 27, 2022 15:49:43 GMT -5
Pipps, have you visited Calvin Coolidge's home in Plymouth Notch, Vt? I did a couple years ago and heard an interesting story about what happened after Harding died in the middle of his term. There were no phones in Plymouth Notch until Coolidge became Vice President. It was placed in the general store, just across the road from Coolidge's house. The day Harding died, officials called the phone in the store and no one answered it. It turned out, no one knew how because it had never rung. Coolidge heard about Harding from a telegraph operator who was sent after no could reach him. Really interesting. The good old days when even big news was delayed. I love today’s “Special Reports” we get on TV: Unconfirmed story that something might be happening in an unknown location. This network will be following this story as it develops… Even television stations “signing off” until the next morning seems like another world. |
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Post by pippsheadache on Jan 27, 2022 21:43:08 GMT -5
Yeah, signing off when they would give the location of their studio and transmitter, then play the National Anthem, followed by a brief test pattern and a high-pitched tone, and then snow.
We must have had a lot of spare time to watch such low-end entertainment. Although often it was a matter of being too lazy or otherwise impaired or preoccupied to get up to change the channel in those glorious pre-remote days.
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 28, 2022 15:34:46 GMT -5
Yeah, signing off when they would give the location of their studio and transmitter, then play the National Anthem, followed by a brief test pattern and a high-pitched tone, and then snow. We must have had a lot of spare time to watch such low-end entertainment. Although often it was a matter of being too lazy or otherwise impaired or preoccupied to get up to change the channel in those glorious pre-remote days. In the Rizzuto household, the youngest child was the remote, which was me. I really didn’t mind it, though. Watching television was a privilege, as there were chores that could always have been assigned instead. Only three stations, four when it rained. When I left home for college, my father bought a satellite dish, a receiver with an illegal chip to descramble signals, a VCR, and of course each had a remote control. He also bought a four-wheeler with a gun rack to hunting and fishing. It still rankles me to this day.  |
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Post by inger on Jan 28, 2022 15:41:03 GMT -5
Yeah, signing off when they would give the location of their studio and transmitter, then play the National Anthem, followed by a brief test pattern and a high-pitched tone, and then snow. We must have had a lot of spare time to watch such low-end entertainment. Although often it was a matter of being too lazy or otherwise impaired or preoccupied to get up to change the channel in those glorious pre-remote days. In the Rizzuto household, the youngest child was the remote, which was me. I really didn’t mind it, though. Watching television was a privilege, as there were chores that could always have been assigned instead. Only three stations, four when it rained. When I left home for college, my father bought a satellite dish, a receiver with an illegal chip to descramble signals, a VCR, and of course each had a remote control. He also bought a four-wheeler with a gun rack to hunting and fishing. It still rankles me to this day.  Look at it this way. You left a hole in his life that he had to fill… 😂 |
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Post by pippsheadache on Jan 28, 2022 17:05:14 GMT -5
Yeah, signing off when they would give the location of their studio and transmitter, then play the National Anthem, followed by a brief test pattern and a high-pitched tone, and then snow. We must have had a lot of spare time to watch such low-end entertainment. Although often it was a matter of being too lazy or otherwise impaired or preoccupied to get up to change the channel in those glorious pre-remote days. In the Rizzuto household, the youngest child was the remote, which was me. I really didn’t mind it, though. Watching television was a privilege, as there were chores that could always have been assigned instead. Only three stations, four when it rained. When I left home for college, my father bought a satellite dish, a receiver with an illegal chip to descramble signals, a VCR, and of course each had a remote control. He also bought a four-wheeler with a gun rack to hunting and fishing. It still rankles me to this day. Looks like you were high-maintenance, Rizz. The standard of living Chez Rizzuto skyrocketed once you left the scene.😉 |
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 28, 2022 17:35:24 GMT -5
In the Rizzuto household, the youngest child was the remote, which was me. I really didn’t mind it, though. Watching television was a privilege, as there were chores that could always have been assigned instead. Only three stations, four when it rained. When I left home for college, my father bought a satellite dish, a receiver with an illegal chip to descramble signals, a VCR, and of course each had a remote control. He also bought a four-wheeler with a gun rack to hunting and fishing. It still rankles me to this day. Look at it this way. You left a hole in his life that he had to fill… 😂 In the worst of times, with my future legitimately at stake, I asked my father for help for the first time. In front of my girlfriend who would eventually become my wife, my father said as far as he as concerned, he only had three sons. I was his fifth child and fourth son. I didn’t yell or scream, somehow a familiar feeling rose in my throat, and I calmly asked Sarah to please wait for me in the car. She rose from the sofa, looked at my father with tears in her big green eyes and pleaded in a hushed voice, “How can you say that? What is wrong with you? He’s your son! He’s a good person!” I took Sarah’s arm gently in my hand, “It’s okay. Please just go to the car. I’ll be there in a second.” Respecting his wishes, I did not speak to my father for years. Two years passed. Sarah and I hugged as the jury departed. I can still see the smiles of a few of them who intermittently glanced back at us as they shuffled between the two rows of wooden chairs. There was happiness in their eyes. They looked pleased with themselves, and I had the thought that they sensed the love between Sarah and me. There was relief, but mostly I felt an emptiness that had plagued me since my mother had died in her sleep when I was two years old. Sarah was ecstatic and proud and vindicated. Somehow my father learned of my acquittal and called Sarah’s house and spoke to her. Several months later, I left Baton Rouge for California. Sarah would join me after her graduation from LSU. My father would occasionally reach out to me, but I was determined to keep his covenant. Sarah would grow tired speaking to my father over the years, uncomfortably explaining that I would not come to the phone. Eventually, Sarah would convince me to speak to my father, then to see him after multiple trips back to Louisiana without doing so. The last fifteen years or so of his life, we actually got along - a first of sorts - mostly talking about his Cardinals and my Yankees. I just realized - this very second - today is his birthday. For those last fifteen years, for his birthday, I bought him the baseball package on Direct TV. I was with my father in hospice with my hand on his chest when took his last breath, closing his eyes and kissing him on the forehead. Happy Birthday, Daddy. |
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 28, 2022 17:48:56 GMT -5
In the Rizzuto household, the youngest child was the remote, which was me. I really didn’t mind it, though. Watching television was a privilege, as there were chores that could always have been assigned instead. Only three stations, four when it rained. When I left home for college, my father bought a satellite dish, a receiver with an illegal chip to descramble signals, a VCR, and of course each had a remote control. He also bought a four-wheeler with a gun rack to hunting and fishing. It still rankles me to this day. Looks like you were high-maintenance, Rizz. The standard of living Chez Rizzuto skyrocketed once you left the scene.😉 I was the lowest of low on the maintenance scale, cooking for myself before I could see over the stove and washing my own clothes, with the cleanest, most neatly kept room in the house. There were times when weeks would go by without a word being spoken to me or by me. My father had a girlfriend in town, and I was 100# at six years old and much taller than my classmates, so my size determined my responsibility rather than my chronological age. Most of my childhood was spent alone, though I often would bring my dog in the house when my father left. I had to sneak my Yellow Labrador out when I heard the car run over the gravel of the driveway. That was about as sneaky as it got until I was in high school. |
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Post by inger on Jan 28, 2022 18:41:40 GMT -5
Looks like you were high-maintenance, Rizz. The standard of living Chez Rizzuto skyrocketed once you left the scene.😉 I was the lowest of low on the maintenance scale, cooking for myself before I could see over the stove and washing my own clothes, with the cleanest, most neatly kept room in the house. There were times when weeks would go by without a word being spoken to me or by me. My father had a girlfriend in town, and I was 100# at six years old and much taller than my classmates, so my size determined my responsibility rather than my chronological age. Most of my childhood was spent alone, though I often would bring my dog in the house when my father left. I had to sneak my Yellow Labrador out when I heard the car run over the gravel of the driveway. That was about as sneaky as it got until I was in high school. Alienation is such an odd thing. I say that as a parent who has alienated his own son, part understanding how, but not understanding much of the why. It’s been about ten years now, with no reason to believe it will ever change. I’ve just learned to accept it and moved on… |
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Post by kaybli on Jan 28, 2022 18:51:44 GMT -5
Look at it this way. You left a hole in his life that he had to fill… 😂 In the worst of times, with my future legitimately at stake, I asked my father for help for the first time. In front of my girlfriend who would eventually become my wife, my father said as far as he as concerned, he only had three sons. I was his fifth child and fourth son. I didn’t yell or scream, somehow a familiar feeling rose in my throat, and I calmly asked Sarah to please wait for me in the car. She rose from the sofa, looked at my father with tears in her big green eyes and pleaded in a hushed voice, “How can you say that? What is wrong with you? He’s your son! He’s a good person!” I took Sarah’s arm gently in my hand, “It’s okay. Please just go to the car. I’ll be there in a second.” Respecting his wishes, I did not speak to my father for years. Two years passed. Sarah and I hugged as the jury departed. I can still see the smiles of a few of them who intermittently glanced back at us as they shuffled between the two rows of wooden chairs. There was happiness in their eyes. They looked pleased with themselves, and I had the thought that they sensed the love between Sarah and me. There was relief, but mostly I felt an emptiness that had plagued me since my mother had died in her sleep when I was two years old. Sarah was ecstatic and proud and vindicated. Somehow my father learned of my acquittal and called Sarah’s house and spoke to her. Several months later, I left Baton Rouge for California. Sarah would join me after her graduation from LSU. My father would occasionally reach out to me, but I was determined to keep his covenant. Sarah would grow tired speaking to my father over the years, uncomfortably explaining that I would not come to the phone. Eventually, Sarah would convince me to speak to my father, then to see him after multiple trips back to Louisiana without doing so. The last fifteen years or so of his life, we actually got along - a first of sorts - mostly talking about his Cardinals and my Yankees. I just realized - this very second - today is his birthday. For those last fifteen years, for his birthday, I bought him the baseball package on Direct TV. I was with my father in hospice with my hand on his chest when took his last breath, closing his eyes and kissing him on the forehead. Happy Birthday, Daddy. Wow, thats deep rizzuto. A complicated relationship for sure. Thank for you sharing with us. |
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Post by inger on Jan 28, 2022 19:06:06 GMT -5
Ben Rothlesberger has announced his retirement. Never had a losing season and 12/18 years in the playoffs…
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 28, 2022 19:38:30 GMT -5
In the worst of times, with my future legitimately at stake, I asked my father for help for the first time. In front of my girlfriend who would eventually become my wife, my father said as far as he as concerned, he only had three sons. I was his fifth child and fourth son. I didn’t yell or scream, somehow a familiar feeling rose in my throat, and I calmly asked Sarah to please wait for me in the car. She rose from the sofa, looked at my father with tears in her big green eyes and pleaded in a hushed voice, “How can you say that? What is wrong with you? He’s your son! He’s a good person!” I took Sarah’s arm gently in my hand, “It’s okay. Please just go to the car. I’ll be there in a second.” Respecting his wishes, I did not speak to my father for years. Two years passed. Sarah and I hugged as the jury departed. I can still see the smiles of a few of them who intermittently glanced back at us as they shuffled between the two rows of wooden chairs. There was happiness in their eyes. They looked pleased with themselves, and I had the thought that they sensed the love between Sarah and me. There was relief, but mostly I felt an emptiness that had plagued me since my mother had died in her sleep when I was two years old. Sarah was ecstatic and proud and vindicated. Somehow my father learned of my acquittal and called Sarah’s house and spoke to her. Several months later, I left Baton Rouge for California. Sarah would join me after her graduation from LSU. My father would occasionally reach out to me, but I was determined to keep his covenant. Sarah would grow tired speaking to my father over the years, uncomfortably explaining that I would not come to the phone. Eventually, Sarah would convince me to speak to my father, then to see him after multiple trips back to Louisiana without doing so. The last fifteen years or so of his life, we actually got along - a first of sorts - mostly talking about his Cardinals and my Yankees. I just realized - this very second - today is his birthday. For those last fifteen years, for his birthday, I bought him the baseball package on Direct TV. I was with my father in hospice with my hand on his chest when took his last breath, closing his eyes and kissing him on the forehead. Happy Birthday, Daddy. Wow, thats deep rizzuto. A complicated relationship for sure. Thank for you sharing with us. My father had a tough life, growing up very poor in an all black neighborhood in South Louisiana, when being Italian was not fashionable in a town of mostly French and German ancestry. His parents had little to no education past the third or fourth grade. He served in the Philippines in WWII and afterward graduated from college on the GI Bill, when his father told him he was too old to go to school at age 21. His wife died when he was only 43 years old, and my mother's side of the family treated him persona non grata following her death. The only response to adversity for my father was to work harder, with little sense of humor or ability to make emotional connections. He was a teacher and school principal, farmed 200 acres of rice and soybeans, taught night class, had an acre of garden that grew all fruits and vegetables for our table other than bananas and apples. His personality and my personality were quite different, and he had neither the patience nor the capability to deal with an independent personality who did not respond to negative reinforcement, threats, or physical abuse. Overall, he was a good man. I never went hungry or without clothing or shelter. He worked hard, paid the bills, and did his job. He was the generation that left their families better than the ones they had. Sacrifice was not a choice for his generation; it was a necessity. His really was the Greatest Generation, so I cannot fault him for more esoteric and nuanced shortcomings. |
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Post by kaybli on Jan 28, 2022 19:56:39 GMT -5
Wow, thats deep rizzuto. A complicated relationship for sure. Thank for you sharing with us. My father had a tough life, growing up very poor in an all black neighborhood in South Louisiana, when being Italian was not fashionable in a town of mostly French and German ancestry. His parents had little to no education past the third or fourth grade. He served in the Philippines in WWII and afterward graduated from college on the GI Bill, when his father told him he was too old to go to school at age 21. His wife died when he was only 43 years old, and my mother's side of the family treated him persona non grata following her death. The only response to adversity for my father was to work harder, with little sense of humor or ability to make emotional connections. He was a teacher and school principal, farmed 200 acres of rice and soybeans, taught night class, had an acre of garden that grew all fruits and vegetables for our table other than bananas and apples. His personality and my personality were quite different, and he had neither the patience nor the capability to deal with an independent personality who did not respond to negative reinforcement, threats, or physical abuse. Overall, he was a good man. I never went hungry or without clothing or shelter. He worked hard, paid the bills, and did his job. He was the generation that left their families better than the ones they had. Sacrifice was not a choice for his generation; it was a necessity. His really was the Greatest Generation, so I cannot fault him for more esoteric and nuanced shortcomings. Thank you for the background. I am glad you still hold him in high esteem. That truly was the greatest generation. Though you had a different personality than your father, you followed in his footsteps in your career! |
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Post by rizzuto on Jan 28, 2022 22:24:45 GMT -5
My father had a tough life, growing up very poor in an all black neighborhood in South Louisiana, when being Italian was not fashionable in a town of mostly French and German ancestry. His parents had little to no education past the third or fourth grade. He served in the Philippines in WWII and afterward graduated from college on the GI Bill, when his father told him he was too old to go to school at age 21. His wife died when he was only 43 years old, and my mother's side of the family treated him persona non grata following her death. The only response to adversity for my father was to work harder, with little sense of humor or ability to make emotional connections. He was a teacher and school principal, farmed 200 acres of rice and soybeans, taught night class, had an acre of garden that grew all fruits and vegetables for our table other than bananas and apples. His personality and my personality were quite different, and he had neither the patience nor the capability to deal with an independent personality who did not respond to negative reinforcement, threats, or physical abuse. Overall, he was a good man. I never went hungry or without clothing or shelter. He worked hard, paid the bills, and did his job. He was the generation that left their families better than the ones they had. Sacrifice was not a choice for his generation; it was a necessity. His really was the Greatest Generation, so I cannot fault him for more esoteric and nuanced shortcomings. Thank you for the background. I am glad you still hold him in high esteem. That truly was the greatest generation. Though you had a different personality than your father, you followed in his footsteps in your career! Not by choice. I thought I was set for law school after my BA in Government/Political Science, but with a court case looming, my application and acceptance was withdrawn. I had no idea it would take more than two years of waiting to go to trial, looking over my shoulder, waking up in cold sweats from nightmares, and finding out who my real friends and family were - I worked many different jobs, while taking graduate courses at LSU without real direction. Saddled with debt from college, graduate school, and attorney fees, one of my professors encouraged me to teach for awhile. Another professor wanted me to apply for a fellowship at the University of Chicago Divinity School for a PhD in philosophy/religious study. Another professor did everything but beg me to apply immediately with pre-approved acceptance for an MFA in creative writing. Another professor wanted me to apply to Johns Hopkins for a PhD in Political Science. I was tired of having little to no money and felt the pressure of those bills dangling like the Sword of Damocles above my head. A teacher recruitment fair popped up at LSU, and that's where I met my future dear friend and Yankee buddy Joe. He offered me an opportunity to teach for a couple years in California. I fully intended to return to Louisiana for law school. The problem was that I accrued too much money taking courses to obtain a certification to teach, while I was teaching and coaching. After my second year, just before I could finally afford a few items in the frozen food section of the supermarket, my Ford Thunderbird fully molted, and I was already performing administrative duties and accruing more debt from classes to obtain my administrative certification. Two more years, and people were telling me that I was being groomed for superintendent, to which I found ludicrous - I was going to go back to Louisiana for law school. Then, Sarah was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, and despite heroic efforts on her part, she was forced to stop working. There was no way to leave my job for three years of law school, especially without medical insurance for Sarah. Just one of her medications cost 700 dollars per month without insurance. And, we had no clue as to how insidious the progression of her disease would be. Jerry Jeff Walker sang that "Life is mostly attitude and timing." Unfortunately, it has been lousy timing and some life-threatening illnesses that confined me to the field of my father and siblings. Granted, I have held many different titles - probably more than my father and all of my siblings combined. Except for my relationship with Sarah, I never felt so alive and excited as when I was in a competitive university environment. It was just never meant to be. Every now and then, Sarah would look me in the eyes and tell me, "I know you're not completely happy doing what you're doing. You didn't sign up for this life." To which I would always reply, "If you recall our vows - in sickness and in health - it's exactly what I signed up for." |
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