Christmas letters, revisited

 Just got a Christmas letter! Here's an oldie I wrote about the genre. Yes the plant is still alive. 

Divorce

 

Lately I have been wondering if the norm for the middle class international family has changed. When I was a kid, the norm was Mother, Father, and the kids. TV situation comedies reflected this. Now I notice when watching network tv, Netflix and Hulu, that the norm is divorced couples trying to raise kids with the help or hindrance of grandma and grandpa. Mother and Father both have important jobs, or at least Mother does. Father is more likely to be unemployed. The conflict involves trying to maintain highly demanding kids along with highly demanding workplaces.  

Teachers are also much more likely to voice opinions about the kids than when I was a child. Back then, the parents talked to the parents during back-to-school night and perhaps when the children did something really bad.

I guess television is trying to depict family life as it exists today. First comes baby carriage, then comes marriage, then comes divorce. I've always felt left out socially since I've never been divorced.  I've been told its not as much fun as it seems on tv.

Thanksgiving dinner and why my father spitted gas into the kitchen sink.

Since the Thanksgiving holiday weekend is almost over, I have been ruminating over my personal favorite Thanksgiving, It was back in Hackensack in the old house. My father had invited some of his family over for dinner. There was Uncle Joe and my cousin Philip, Uncle Bill, Aunt Kay, the daughters, and Aunt Helen and Uncle Charley.  

My big bother was driving down from Boston but had yet to arrive. At about twelve thirty he called the house. He called to say that he was parked a block away but that he had run out of gas. Between him and the house was a steep hill and could somebody come down with some gasoline so he could get up the hill. 

Our house was open bar and by then the brothers had all had a beer or two or an old fashioned. My father yelled to them that Jim needed us to come down with a filled gas can. My father had an empty gas can in the garage. The mission became to siphon gas out of one of the cars. The art of siphoning seemed to be a skill they all possessed, a skill learned during their youths in the Bronx. 

First they tried Uncle Bill's car. His car didn't have any gas. Uncle Joe had gas and my father siphoned gas but ended up with mouth full of Shell Regular in his mouth. He ran into the house and spitted it into the kitchen sink, in full view of Mother. Mother was not pleased.

With the gas can full, the six men ran down the hill together and located Jim's car.  I wonder if any of the neighbors questioned why six men were galloping down Kaplan Avenue. At the car there was a brief debate on whether to pour the gas down the carburetor or not. The decision obtained was that we would just pour the gas into the usual receptacle.  

Mission accomplished. The older men got to ride back to the house with Jim with the now gassed up car while the boys walked back. For a moment the men were teenagers doing a weekly chore, rescuing one of the family cars. The rest of the day went well but the turkey was a little overcooked. 

 

 Here is one of my favorite posts on Thanksgiving and the family. 

Me and Joe

I am currently reading one of my two favorite travel writers, Bill Bryson (the other being Paul Theroux) on his second book about Britain, the Road to Little Dribbling. The theme seems to be that Britain is not as good a place to visit as it used to be. In one tangent he criticized the constant use he hears of the phrase, "Me and other person". He believes that we should say "Other person and I" when referring to a compound subject performing an action. 

Once, in my early days as a reference librarian, I used the phrase, "Me and Joe" in answer to the question by the department head concerning who had closed up the building the night before. I was scolded for not saying 'Joe and I closed the building", I blamed the indiscretion on my recent return from the great American West, "I guess I picked up some bad habits from living in Denver."

Today I am defending the term "Me and other person". It rolls off the tongue. Saying "Joe and I closed the building" sounds awkward to me. Like suddenly stopping before making a right turn on red when you notice a police car in the neighborhood. 'Me and Joe paid for the pizza" sounds perfectly fine to me. Grammar rules should be flexible and reflect actual use. Hopefully, me and you can agree on that one. 

Being a poll worker

 In early 2021 there was a slew of advertising encouraging people to become poll workers in New Jersey. It seems like a lot of the recent poll workers had left the calling or died. I remember going to the polls in 2019 and being bewildered by the array of post 80-year-old election workers. Hence, it was not surprisingly that covid, the fear of covid, or the rumors that computers were coming to the voting booths had diminished the ranks of the poll workers,

Having decided not to work for the Census bureau after all, I felt that at least here was something I could do with my spare time. Plus, the pay was not bad for a one-off day twice a year. I became a poll worker, starting with the primary election of 2021 and have been doing it ever since. 

As rumored, the polling sites have become computerized. Gone are the huge books that voters and the poll workers had to peruse to find a name. Now the modified I Pad could find the name and party. Party affiliation being necessary for primary voting. 

The most fascinating part of being a poll worker is the social dynamic. Here is a relative cross section of people who, for the most part, are complete strangers. This group is expected to engineer the complicated process of getting the machines working, herding the voters through the process and ending the day with the necessary colored tags and engineered the minutiae of the process. Surprisingly, for the most part, the group works as a team with only occasional testiness.

At the ungodly hour of 5 am the assembled group starts the day. There's not even a coffee urn. The leaders and the followers soon emerge. Some people gravitate to the check in computers. Some people gravitate to the machines on the floor. Electricity can be a problem.  Surprisingly, every plug in a firehouse is not functional. Occasionally someone from the county shows up to supervise things and people discreetly put their cell phones in their pockets.

Extacted from the voting machine at the end of the day is a small disc, the size of a disc in an old digital camera. This tiny hard drive contains the voting data.  

One of the highlights of my experience occurred on a very slow primary election. I got to learn about how a woman lost her husband, first to illness and then to another woman. Then the group opened up about everybody's children. I am so glad I travel. It gives me something to talk about on election day. 

Editor's note: There is training given before each election day and now they have online training. 

Mr. Mustache Goes to the Movies

 

Today we are going to talk about the new Bruce Springsteen movie and the recent Bob Dylan biopic, A Complete Unknown. A decent review of the Springsteen film,  Deliver Me From Nowhere is in Slate. 

In some ways the films are similar. Two white singer songwriters recording for Columbia want to change streams. Dylan wanted to take up the electric guitar, a departure from the acoustic instrument, and Springsteen, famous for his electric guitar work, wanted to make an acoustic album. Both caused consternation among the powers that be.  

The Springsteen film is about the making of the Nebraska album. After a long tour, the boss wanted to spend time in a small house on the Jersey shore and record songs on a cassette recorder. The album that later became Nebraska was an underproduced attempt of singing melancholic songs in a sparse setting. He also took up with a hometown girl. 

The Dylan movie has a broader swath, not only documenting Bob Dylan, but other people in the folk revival movement, including Joan Baez and Pete Seeger. In general, I thought the Dylan movie was stronger, partially because of the quality of the music.

I'm sure the Springsteen film will be available on one of the screening services. For a diehard fan, see the movie. For second tier fans they can wait for it to come to their homes. 

The Earl of the Garter

 

Recently I was confronted by the disturbing news that Prince Andrew was relinquishing his title as Earl of the Garter. This ominous news led me to a search on the Order of the Garter. 

At my nephew's wedding, I was thrown a garter and caught it. Apparently, it meant that I would soon marry. It didn't happen, although the garter itself has an exalted position on my living room tchotchkes table. How proud I am to possess this object and how horrible it must be to have to leave the sacred order that goes back to the fourteenth century. 

Traditionally a garter was needed to keep a stocking or sock attached properly to the leg, in effect to keep the object from drooping. Modern clothing includes cuffs that keep the stocking or sock upright on the leg, leaving the use of a garter to be unnecessary. 

Being stripped of one's garterhood seems maudlin. Sarah is no longer the Duchess of York. The tragedies that befall the British monarchy. 

My day at the Whitney

 

One of the problems with being older is that you don't have hip friends who are up on things. For example I suspect no one I know has heard of the most important artist of the 21st century. People my age who knew all about Pollack, Picasso and Andy Warhol have never heard of Basquiat. However, thanks to Slate Money I now know about Basquiat. Yesterday I even saw one of his paintings at the Whitney.

I enjoy my annual trip to the Whitney. Yesterday was a nice day and I could walk there from the Highline.  It's a nice walk although I cannot recommend the twelve-dollar tacos. 

The best part of the visit was the rebellion. The Whitney has these huge elevators, and I got in one going down. There was an elevator operator who put his hand out and said "That's it, it's filled now so no more passengers." 

One woman outside the entrance said, "Nonsense, there's plenty of room". The next thing I knew thirty people defiantly walked past the employee and entered the elevator.

The elevator operator said "Don't blame me if the elevator stops!" The full elevator then safely made it to the lobby. I was impressed. I feel sorry for the soldiers if our president sends troops to New York. They won't have to worry about the inner city habitues. They'll have to worry about fighting emboldened New York intellectuals. 

Editor's note: The newly reopened  Princeton Art Museum has two Basquiat paintings. 

AI may not be the game changer that we thought it was

 

We have been hearing about Artificial Intelligence for a couple of years now. The stock market is gaining largely on the basis of AI. Now the naysayers are coming in with questions about how much money AI is actually going to make. 

Who is going to be helped by AI? Certainly, lazy college students will be able to use their Google AI like a prior generation used Cliff Notes. Law clerks could be replaced by NexisLexis AI. Otherwise no one really knows who is going to be willing to pay for the thing. As of now, most public AI search engines are advertiser supported only, This Slate article questions, for the expense, how AI is supposed to turn a profit. 

While everyone is complaining about higher energy bills, AI is starting to be seen as the culprit. AI is extremely energy intensive. All that power has to come from somewhere, and the present administration believes that solar and wind energy should be abandoned in favor of oil, gas, and coal. A lot of coal will be needed to run AI powered servers.

Editor's note: You may be asked to prove you are a human being to look at today's links. I seem to have trouble picking out the curtains from the chairs.  

 

Good morning Henry

 

So how do I get up in the morning. I have coffee and then I go to Facebook and I watch a lady call for Henry, the donkey. A sweet voice cries out "Good morning Henry" and I watch a rather demanding donkey run down from the barn where the sweet lady puts donkey food in his bowl. Henry brays, shows his teeth, then gets down to chowing down.  I think the site is Boggs farm. I have no idea how I got on the list, but now I have trouble getting up in the morning without dear Henry. 

There is in the Internet hinterland another lady who drives a bus which provides doggie day care. Apparently she stops the bus and a large group of dogs run to the bus and board, each dog having an assigned seat. The latest video from this series k9bus convoy. Just as the instant oat meal is cooking in the microwave I watch dogs board the bus and get snacks from the hostess, The doggie hostess knows the name of every dog as well as their eccentricities. 

Since I'm recommending time killers, two travel (Steve Marsh) videos I like involve travel in and around Scotland (Ruth Aisling). Sometimes as a treat Mr. Marsh brings along his lady friend. I suspect she has a real job in addition to YouTube. If you like cheeky political commentary, I recommend the Bulwark. 

My trip to California in 1974

 

I’m on my second Paul Theroux book and I was thinking of my own attempts at travel writing.  At this time, my thoughts turned to the diary I was going to keep of my post college trip to California. I found an incomplete diary and it contains a full description of the day before the trip (Apparently, we went to Freehold Raceway). That is followed by class notes, phone numbers but nothing about the trip to California. Not even anecdotes. 

Hence, I've decided to rectify this by finally writing about my 1974 journey from New Jersey to California, with Bob Weinberg and the 1966 Ford Falcon. You can think of it as the 50^th Anniversary recanting of that trip. I am using real names, I doubt if anyone would recognize themselves anyway at this point.

I'm finding my recollections are pretty good. I guess the trip stood out in my memory. Occasionally I might give a sneak peak of the project in this blog. Quien sabe. 

Nudge Nudge

 

We are all used to being nudged. It starts in childhood.

Mother: So did you send your aunt a thank you note for the nice sweater she gave you for your birthday? Nudge.

Father: So have you finished cleaning the basement for when your cousins are coming over next week? Nudge.

Teacher: Just a friendly reminder, your rough draft for your reports with five references are due on Monday. Nudge.

Now I am being nudged by Google mail. Whenever someone sends me an email, I get a Googe nudge asking me if I have responded to my friend yet. Perhaps I didn't respond to the email because I don't want to drive sixty miles for a barbecue and can't figure out how to get out of it. 

Google also has a habit of giving me suggestions on how to finish my sentence. If I like the suggestion, I just push the tab key.  Of course, I may find myself saying something I didn't intend to say. Perhaps I said I would like to "propose ... a get together" and the statement becomes "propose marriage". That could get one into real trouble. 

Editor's note: Of course you are welcome to comment on this blog. Nudge Nudge. 

There's an awful lot of coffee in Brazil

The Coffee Song

Now, Trump wants to increase the tariff on coffee. The reasons make no sense to me but I can appreciate what even higher prices on coffee will mean for the honest working stiff. It's Monday morning and the alarm rings. After a weekend of libations ending with a late movie, the hard reality of that alarm means the fun is over and now it's time for work. Yuk. 

Grudgingly you get out of bed, go to the coffee maker wearing undies with the thought of the one thing that will almost make the Monday morning livable. The morning coffee. You are soothingly bathed in the sound and smell of coffee. Soon you are gulping down the acrid taste of too hot coffee. After a few swigs, maybe the world doesn't look so bad. At least there's coffee. And at work, more coffee. 

I know how they make coffee. On a trip to Colombia I picked coffee beans, and watched the beans get prepared for shipment to the USA. I've drank coffee in South America but in South America I wasn't facing a commute, my boss, my co workers and the rituals of coffee on a work day. Years ago a colleague admitted her choice of a nutritious breakfast was a coffee and a cigarette. Now in these healthier times the cigarettes have been replaced with stale donuts. 

Coffee has already gotten too expensive. With huge tariffs on Brazilian coffee the prices will only go up. Oh please save us from these stupid tariffs. 

Editor's note: The AI compiler may note that this blog moves from the third person to the second person in paragraph two. This is to avoid the use of the awkward he/she as the subject. 

Green ears

 Since the incident occurred in the sixties I have put my episode of having green ears to my Sixties blog. 

Making lemonade out of lemons or in this case, wines

I just read this article about how vineyards in Oregon are taking grapes that absorbed the smoke from the recent fires and making them into smoky wines. Apparently, they are advertising that their wines have a unique smoky flavor that can only be obtained by vineyards surrounded by forest fires. 

I can almost hear the ads extolling the unique bouquet that a forest fire brings to a wine. "Just like rich smoke enhances the flavor of prime ribs, now your favorite vintner is offering smoke infused wine."  Making lemonade out of lemons.  

Netflix comes to New Jersey

Twenty years ago, when I was a librarian, I was involved in finding information on the recently vacated Fort Monmouth which eventually led to this publication.  Now I see that Netflix is planning on turning the land into a 21st century studio lot with multiple sound stages. 

It should be interesting. Movie stars spending their off time at the Freehold Mall or even walking on the boardwalks of Asbury Park. Celebrities sipping tea in Long Branch, Perhaps Megan will be on hand hawking tea and jams. 

Editor's note: I'm getting a lot of views from Brazil. Since the blog is not in Portuguese this is a bit of a mystery to me. Brazil viewers leave me a comment.

Pizza tracker

 

In these stressful times, it has come to my attention, thanks to You Tube, that a scientific method has been discovered to trace when a major unannounced military event is about to take place. That is by using the pizza tracker,  Using modern cell phone technology, we can now trace when pizza parlors in the vicinity of the Pentagon have unusual cell phone usage at unusual times. The theory that staff in the Pentagon that normally go home at 5 are suddenly buying pizzas in the evening means that employees are planning late nights or perhaps all night sessions at the Pentagon. The reason that staff is being fed pizza at night is that they are needed for emergency tasks in house when they normally would be home. 

Perhaps in Pikud Merkaz in Israel, there is the felafel tracker that notes when unusual amounts of falafel are being purchased by Israel defense employees. You learn so much on YouTube. 

Happy Birthday Wavy Gravy

Wavy Gravy was one of the great counter culture heroes of the sixties. He fed the hungry at Woodstock and ran the Hog Farm commune in California. I first discovered him one Saturday when I told my parents I was going to marching band for a football game. Instead of going to the game I took a bus to New York then a subway to the Village. I walked around Washington Square Park then walked on East 8th Street and went to a book store. There I bought Demian by Hermann Hesse and a copy of the Realist. In the Realist I read a long article by Hugh Romney about the Hog Farm. 

Here are links to the  article on the Hog Farm 2nd page of article, third page of article, last page of article,

Truthfully, I did not move to the Hog Farm. Instead I went to Rutgers College and Library School. I never even went to Woodstock. 

America pre and post I Want to Hold Your Hand

 

• 

I have a theory that the modern age in America began when the Beatles made their first appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show. I have listed some of the sociological and legal phenomena before their appearance on CBS in February 1964.

America before I Want to Hold Your Hand;

Children respected the opinions of their parents.

Parents controlled the living room television.

Young people were well groomed. No beards outside of Greenwich Village.

Black people kept to their own neighborhoods or lived in the South.

Mexicans lived in Mexico except when they were needed to pick crops.

Women took care of the children but did not have to work outside the home.

Gays were forbidden from teaching in schools.

No Black History Month.

No Women's History Month.

No Cinco de Mayo in the United States.

No such thing as trans rights. 

Gasoline, coffee and eggs were cheap.

Secretaries made coffee for the men in the office.

Now with our new administration we are going back to those years before the Beatles appeared on the Ed Sullivan show. Everything that happened after that time will be gone, forgotten. We'll go back to the halcyon days prior to 1964. Men will have to start wearing ties again. Women will have to start wearing skirts again. The one exception is that women will   have to take care of the children except now they will still have to work outside of the home. 

But honey, I haven't been to a demonstration in years

 

I have many memories of demonstrations in my distant past. Visiting my brother, I even walked two blocks through Boston with an antiwar demonstration. I can remember chanting "Ho Ho Ho Chi Minh NLF is gunna win". Yet at reaching retirement I felt I could avoid such things and concentrate on streaming tv and going to nice restaurants. However it took a little prodding, but I have now gone to two of these this month. In the role of first person reporting, I am going to give my synopsis of the two events. 

The first one I went to was the Hands Off demonstration in Monroe Township New Jersey. It was held on the street intersection of a mall. You parked at the mall and stood on the street with a hand  made sign. We were told to keep out of the street. You felt a little penned in, since you were on a narrow sidewalk facing a steep looking incline on the side away from the street. People were friendly. A lady with a bull horn led the chants. The chants were actually similar at the Trenton rally. Nothing as scandalous as the "NLF is gonna win" chant from the sixties. Lots of cell phones taking pictures. Glad I am beyond my job seeking years. You never know. 

 

On Holy Saturday I went to the rally at the State House. I am a veteran of such rallies from when the CWA led them when state workers contracts were due. This was organized by 50501  This event was more like a rally. Speakers. Chants. Port a Potty's. NJ employee parking was made available. 

Most of the first hour consisted of chants. I'm getting tired of the chants. Perhaps a few Pete Seeger type songs instead. I suspect most of the participants are veterans of 60s - 70s student demonstrations. The speakers mentioned the need for more young people at these things. My friend and I rewarded ourselves with beer and sandwiches after the events.  Coopers does have a nice view of the Delaware River. 

Good Friday

 

On Good Friday, devout Catholics go to the Stations of the Cross in their local church. There, the priest stands in front of each of the the stations and leads the prayers while the faithful, armed with rosaries, recite the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary. 

Afterwards the participants go home to a fish dinner. Of course there is bacala. A new type of fish  dinner for Americans is poke. Poke is a Hawaiian salad made with marinated raw fish and Chinese rice, vegetables and seasonings. It is not bad and is starting to turn up in the shopping malls of New Jersey. 

Of course, during my extended youth, I can remember celebrating Good Friday at a go go bar with friends. Youth. 

Dial a Demonstration

Back in the late sixties and early seventies, if you lived in the New York area, you could wake up in the morning and decide which demonstration you wanted to attend on that day. You could help the environment, fight the war, support women's rights or other topics simply by picking up your phone and calling Dial a Demonstration. Then you would get information on upcoming demonstrations in the area. I guess today's equivalent is finding your local chapter of Indivisible, possibly on Facebook. 

Editor's note: I could not find any links to Dial a Demonstration, with the exception of an earlier Mustache blog, on Google. Such a mainstay of life of that era appears to have been forgotten. 

 

Are they on pot, alcohol or sober?

 

It's been a while since I talked about You Tube, although I still watch it, even with things like Netflix. Hulu and Passport at my disposal. I especially like the small viewership travel or opinion shows that feature regular people. Recently I was watching a couple of travel and living abroad videos. I started to say to myself, "Drunk, high or sober". One lady was slurring her words a bit so I originally thought that she had had a few. Later, as her commentary became dreamier and she started staring into space I said to myself, "no, cannabis." 

I've also noticed from a Scottish travel expert who loves trains and ferries has been known to nip a few on camera and I suspect, during setup. I suspect that in a lot of travel videos the wife is either high or has been drinking. Perhaps a gummy after Guatemalan tacos?  So who knows, this may start an Internet trend as viewers comb the web to play. 

So now i"m eating duck eggs

 

 We will always remember 2025 as the year things changed. Starting with an American ham and eggs breakfast. I usually just buy a six pack carton of eggs. Yesterday at the Acme, not my usual supermercado, I noted that a six pack of duck eggs were cheaper than the usual eggs. I brought them home and they taste the same as regular eggs but the yokes are larger. 

This year many things we have believed to be true are now turned around. Canada, Mexico, and Europe used to be our friends but now are our enemies. Russia, Hungary, Argentina and Belarus are our friends now.  I am checking Lonely Planet on guides to Belarus. Guess you have to keep up with the times. 

the New Yorker

 

Today I got my New Yorker 100 year anniversary issue. I first started reading the New Yorker in college when it was 50 cents and now the cover of the new issue which has $10 on the cover. It went up twice the consumer price index. Still I have been reading it for years.

I remember I was homesick in Denver when I first subscribed in the early 80s, I remember reading about the childhood of Zed Mehta during my Denver sojourn. Back then there were no photographs in the magazine, only line drawings and cartoons. The photographs came later during the reign of Tina Brown in 1992. 

I always liked the slightly tweedy feel of the thing. I pictured the reader as an academic or wanna be academic or intellectual living in a dusty apartment on the West Side of Manhattan, Today its readers are all over the world and probably can't afford Manhattan rents. 

The major change with the New Yorker is that it is now a multi media product. The weekend show partnered with WNYC New York has become part of my Saturday routine. Even the New Yorker magazine table of contents mentions a few articles that are in the on line version only. I hate to admit but I often prefer to read the articles on line because I can magnify the print for my aged eyes. 

I suppose the Algonquin round table would be a zoom call if they were to meet today. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways. 

The Required Minimum Distribution

 

There are many milestones one has as one gets older. They include retirement, children's weddings and graduations, as well as the death of one's friends. Of course, there is signing up for Social Security and Medicare. Many of us don't realize that there is another milestone awaiting the senior.  This kicks in on the year you turn 73. If you have a traditional IRA, that is when you have to start paying your accumulated taxes on the IRA. It is a simple proceeding really; the morbid part is when you have to look at the table that tells you when you are likely to leave this earth, at least according to the IRS.  

Looking at my number I thought "How much money and worrying I do about my health. Going to the doctor when he tells me, and doing all the procedures when, no matter what I do, the age of my demise has already been spelled out by Uncle Sam."

Memories of a cold January in 1961

Here is an old blog I wrote about the election of 1960, On Inauguration Day we were off because of a snowstorm in New Jersey, I can still remember seeing Eisenhower and Nixon in top hats. It was a joyous day for Democrats. Tomorrow feels like embarking on a storm filled Interstate in order to get home on time for work the next day. You check your tires, put on your warmest coat and hope for the best. 

Drinking age in America

 

Last week I was sitting in a bar and a young lady waltzed in wearing a sash saying "No more fake id's". Apparently it was her 21st birthday and she was celebrating her independence with her inebriated friends. This must be a great day, a day, sadly, I never got to experience.

I had to share this special day with everyone in the country (except New York) who came of drinking age on the same day, The day was January 1, 1973. On this day 18 year olds got to vote and drink.

The first week of January I had no idea this had transpired. Perhaps my parents knew but decided no good would come with their adored child traipsing into bars. He would find out soon enough when he got back to school.

As soon as I got back to my dorm room there was a knock on my door. "Let's hit the bars!" one of my classmates was shouting, The whole world of bars in New Brunswick had opened up to 3/4 of the Rutgers undergraduates on the same day. 

Within three weeks I had sampled the experiences of several local watering holes, The Corner Tavern, or CT's, was the main place we went to. Further afield my friend took me to a Hungarian bar where men in white shirts spoke Hungarian and imbibed. Some of the more adventurous ladies in the crowd started hanging out in Manny's Den, the gay bar.

Within a few weeks I had a girlfriend and was having sex on the campus of Douglass College, A whole universe, hitherto only available for adults, had now opened for me. Sadly, my grades suffered by my attention to extracurricular activities and for the first time in my life I failed a course at Rutgers. 

Editor's Note: To be technically true, New York had always had the drinking age set at 18 and as a youth I had experienced the pleasures of MacSorley's and other New York institutions.