RIP ..Dick Van Patten

   When I was young I watched a lot of television.  I didn't date very much in my high school days so I needed a hobby that didn't involve the trombone or studying.  The American Broadcasting Company had a show called "Eight is Enough." It ran from the fall of 1977 to the spring of 1981. Coincidently that was my four years of high school.  Dick Van Patten played the patriarch of a large family.  He was my role model for a father, not that I needed one--I had my dad, but they were very different.  Television was still connected to a certain formula of fatherhood, Mike Brady, Ward Cleaver, Cliff Huxtable.  As time would go on we would get introduced to fathers such as Tony Soprano, Walter White.  The old fashioned fathers on TV had no faults. There were always wise, never cussed, rarely drank and didn't yell til the vein in their forehead became its own zip code.  We all knew these weren't real people, but I think we wished they were.  
   I met Dick Van Patten 33 years later in the Turf Club at Santa Anita.  I had seen him there before, but never approached him. It's funny how we consider celebrity a different class here in the USA. On this particular afternoon I took my hygienist Lora and my assistant Becky to lunch for a birthday celebration.  Becky was turning 40 and Julie's horse "Cousin Ricky" was running in a race.  They sat us in the owners' section of the Turf Club right next Dick Van Patten!  He was dressed in an old shirt, pajama bottoms, house slippers and had not shaved in two days.  He had brought a tub of "Cool Whip Frosting" that he was eating as his entree.  The waiter had brought him a bowl of ice cubes that he was eating like tortilla chips.  If I didn't know who he was I would have thought he was a hobo.  Several of his friends came by to say, "Hi Dickie!"  Including Academy Award winner Joel Grey and producer Mel Brooks.
    Lora and I are close to the same age, so were both star struck. Becky had no idea who the old guy was, she just thought he was a sick old man.  Anyway, as most of you know I am not very shy.  I reached over with my hand and introduced myself and told him that Lora and I were big fans of his. He had a glazed medicated look to his eyes, but such a sweet smile. With a surprise sound to his voice he said, "You know who I am?" Lora and I assured him that not only did we know him, but that we grew up admiring the kind of man he represented.  We started talking about horse racing and I found out that he has a few horses that he owns.  I told him about my history with the equine and that I had bred "Cousin Ricky" who was about to race in a few minutes.  Mr. Van Patten introduced me to his friends. He explained that they meet there almost every race day.  They have for years.
   Lunch came and we ate as he got back to reading the racing form to place his next bet.  Out came the horses for race #2.  There was Cousin Ricky looking bright and ready for battle.  I thought that if he caught a lucky break he could get second place.  When the gates popped opened, Cousin Ricky tripped and went down to his knees, but the brand new jockey (Drayden Van Dyke) pulled him up and ran him up right behind the leaders.  I was holding my breath watching the race unfold.  About two hundred yards from the finish Cousin Ricky took the lead and pulled away from the pack.   I could hear a loud voice scream, "Run Mother Fucker, Run!!" When he crossed the finish line I could see everyone staring at me, I guess I was the one screaming! I grabbed Lora and Becky and ran down to get in the Winning Picture.
   We came up after the picture with everyone smiling at us and offering congratulations.  Dick Van Patten and I shook hands and he said, "I bet on your horse."  I asked him if would sign the box that the little trophy came in.  He was delighted to do this and I brought it home to show Julie (another big fan!)
   Dick died this week (complications of Diabetes.)  I was hoping to see him at the track again.  Talk horses, life and memories.  Like my dad there won't be anymore opportunities.  I do regret not getting a picture with him.  I only knew him from television and an hour at the track, but I imagine that watching how many friends he had and how nice he was to a stranger (albeit I am quite handsome and charming), Dick was a really nice guy.  We need more people like him on earth, not less.  I hope Dick is winning the Trifecta where ever he is right now. 

A visit with the Mayor

    During a town fair the Mayor had a chance to talk to two visiting couples looking for a new place to live.  The first couple asked the Mayor what kind of people live here.  The Mayor asked them what type of neighbors they had in their last town. "Oh, they were the nicest, kindest people you could ever meet." The Mayor replied, "We have the exact same type of folk here."
    The other couple approached the Mayor with the exact same question.  He responded the same way asking about their previous neighborhood.  "Oh, those neighbors were the worst, always gossiping, noisy and rude."  The Mayor replied, "We have the exact same type of folk here."

No matter what city you are in, there you are!
   

Most embarrassing moment or funniest?

  I was having the lunch buffet with my friend Chris at Harrah's in Laughlin.  I was filling my plate and  grabbed some Calamari with Cocktail Sauce (it was actually a special red Wasabi sauce which had a Scoville heat guide of maybe 16,000,000!!!)  I sat down and put a tablespoon of this yellow cake uranium in my mouth.  I thought that something was wrong with the speakers in the restaurant because all I could hear was the sound of the ocean rushing through my ears.  That's when it hit. Pain! I couldn't sense taste, just pain.  I swallowed as fast as I could, which felt like I was swallowing a lit Roman Candle.  Chris wasn't sure what was wrong with me.  I pointed to the sauce with one hand as I was wiping tears off my cheeks with the other.  He dipped one ting of his fork in the mixture and put it in his mouth.  He instantly grabbed his water and was chugging as fast as he could.  He asked how much I ate and I told him (after I regained the power of speech.)  He shook his head and said, "You're going to feel this stuff come out the exit later on (as he laughed maniacally!)
    Five hours later we are in the Ramada Express Casino.  Kevin and Chris decided to play some video poker at the bar while I had found a quarter poker machine on the floor.  Now I had not been lucky the entire weekend (gambling or choosing items to put in my mouth), but this machine was paying off! I had put in twenty dollars and had it up to nearly one hundred dollars when it happened.  I felt a movement in my lower bowels that made me think of that famous scene in "Alien." Something wicked wanted out and didn't want to wait in line, if you know what I mean.  As soon as that feeling hit me, I stood straight up.  My eyes rapidly went left to right looking for that very important "Restroom" sign.  Just as I saw it I felt something move and not in the good way.  This was it!! I was about to lose all control of my bowels.  I looked down and hit "Cash Out" on the machine (Nowadays slot machines give you a ticket which can be redeemed at the Cashiers window, back then you would have a bucket to catch all of the nickels, dimes or quarters that came out.)  I started to do the "pee pee dance" while I was watching the coins come out of the machine.  Except, instead of coming out quickly this evil machine pushing them out with great reluctance.  After a minute only a couple of dollars had come out and I couldn't wait any longer.  I grabbed my bucket and yelled, "I'll be back!"  Hoping that no one would steal the rest of my money.
   I was still about fifty feet from the bathroom when I knew that I couldn't hold it in any longer.  I made a fist with my right hand and shoved it as far up my shorts as humanly possible.  With this self imposed "homemade cork" I waddled the rest of the way to my destination.  As I pushed my past the door to the stall and locked it I could almost feel sweet mental relief that I had not embarrassed  myself in public.  As I turned around to sit down, I started to unbuckle my belt and realized that I needed to remove my other hand to pull down my shorts.  As soon as I moved this hand I thought the space shuttle had gone overhead.  There was such a loud "boom!"  I looked down and was horrified by what I saw.  That wasabi mixture had killed all the bacteria in my small and large intestines and had liquified all the contents of said area.  It look as if someone had turned over an industrial drum of sludge onto the ground.  The beginning and the end of my shorts and underwear was a true "Columbo" mystery.  The next half hour and ALL of the toilet paper available was used to clean up the awful mess.
    I threw away my shorts and underwear.  Then I realized that I needed something to cover me up.  I started to make myself a paper towel skirt (if you can picture me pulling up and down furiously on the towel dispenser with one hand while the other hand was wrapping the continuous towel around me.) At this point a customer came through the door of the bathroom.  Our eyes met and then he looked down at what I was doing.  As if you were rewinding a show on television, this guy walked backwards out of the bathroom without making a sound.  I also found out that I couldn't walk very well in this new attire, so I took it off and dug my degraded shorts out of the trash.  After giving my shorts a "Silkwood Shower Scrubdown" I put them on and left the bathroom.  I went straight to the machine that I had been playing and of course it was empty.  My faith in mankind has wavered ever since.
    I imagine that somewhere in the Security office of the Ramada Express there had to be some guy who saw this whole fiasco unfold.  Whoever that is has a great story to tell on Holidays about the guy walking through the casino with a fist up his ass.

   So I'll ask, "Do you think that was more embarrassing or funny?"

How do you eat an Elephant?

Q: How do you eat an Elephant?

A:  One bite at a time!

Wrestling....a life perspective!

A couple of months ago Julie and I had my sons over for dinner (which was delicious.)  I was excited to show them some old home movies I had made of them wrestling for El Modena High School's team.  During those years I would go to every match and watch Mark and Bobby represent their school.  For me it was my favorite spectator sport.  I would cheer and scream until my voice gave out.   While listening to the audio part of the video you can actually hear me above the crowd screaming, "Rip his head off, kill him, take him down, etc., etc."  They won most of their matches and I couldn't have been happier.  When the referee would raise my sons hand up in victory everyone would cheer (as seen below with my son Bobby.)
   What surprised me was their candor while watching these old videos.  Both boys described how nervous they would be before a match, how much exertion they had to give during the match and how much they hated those feelings. To quote Mark, "It was awful!"  I was so involved with how I was feeling watching them,  I didn't realize how hard it was participating for them.  They did mention how some kids would just give in to have a match over quickly, so they could go back to the bench and hang out with their friends.  My sons tried every match.
    Life is a lot like a wrestling match.  Usually, when there's a conflict, only one side is considered the winner.  The winner may not even be happy when they win.  The loser may not be that unhappy when they lose.  We don't really understand all of the emotions that any one person is going through during a conflict. The observers may never really know what the combatants are feeling.  I know I didn't.  If we are being watched, do the spectators really know how we are feeling?  Do we want them too? Maybe, maybe not.
   During my divorce I wanted every person to know my side.  I wanted to be understood, I was afraid if the spectators didn't hear my reasons I would be vilified. When Julie was going through her divorce she wanted anonymity.  She didn't want to talk about it.  In fact, one of her favorite activities would be to take a walk in Target.  She would look around and realize that no one knew her or her story--and that gave her comfort.  Two very different views. Was either right? Or was it right for each person?
  All of that being said, if I had wrestled instead of playing the trombone in high school I would have worn a mask and cape!

Dad's Eulogy...the one that was never heard.

   My dad passed in his sleep last November 9th.  He was not sick, he just didn't wake up.  We had a mass at which my brother Douglas gave a eulogy.  At his graveside ceremony my brother Patrick gave a eulogy.  I had wanted to speak and give my thoughts about dad, but it didn't happen.  My parents and I had a "falling out" in September of 2013.  I needed to stand up for myself and that caused some hard feelings which ended with no communication for the next fourteen months.  My dad died and we hadn't talked for fourteen months!  Now I'll tell you like I tell everyone, "I'm sorry we didn't talk, but I'm not sorry I stood up for myself."
    Anyway, it wasn't an ideal situation.  I heard the news from my brother Patrick and spent the rest of the morning sobbing  over this huge loss.  I went and saw him at the mortuary where I kissed his cold forehead and said my good bye to his shell.  It was over.  We would have no more chance at a reconciliation, we wouldn't talk ever again.  I would never be able to ask him a question again.  I wouldn't ever get a hug from him again (the little boy in me really wanted a hug at this point.)
   I went to work the next day and in between patients I was trying to make arrangements for his funeral mass, contacting old patients of his, putting out the word to anyone who had known him and I was writing a eulogy.  What follows are my thoughts that I would have shared;

      What I remember about him was that he had a great sense of humor.  He loved to laugh and that would make me laugh.  He cursed like a sailor and carried a rosary.  Growing up in a family of three boys it was very similar to a fraternity and my dad was the president of the club.  He could burp the entire alphabet with enough diet coke in him.  I one time asked him and my Cousin Ricky if they would strip down to nothing and hold a dinner plate sized Christmas needle point project in front of their manhood. Well, before I even finished asking he was naked.  Cousin Ricky felt the peer pressure and with great trepidation stripped down and said, "Gary, please don't touch me." The picture was a Holiday hit!  
   At age fourteen I came to his dental office and started to work part time.  This would continue until I became a dentist at age twenty six.  I was so nervous about passing my dental boards that I asked him if he would open the result letter when it came to the house.  Four weeks after taking the test there was a knock on our condo door.  Without waiting for us to answer he walked in with the biggest smile I have ever seen him have.  He was holding the letter next to his face.  I will never forget the relief I felt and I will never forget that moment.  We worked side by side for the next seven years as dentists.  I know the pride he felt taking me to his professional clubs and introducing  me as a new dentist.  It is always nice to have someone proud of you, and he showed it.   He was an excellent dentist and a good example to follow.
    He was the grandpa to my children.  I could not have asked for a better grandfather than him.  He loved them with all of his heart and showed it with his actions. The kids loved "Papa's waffles."  They loved him and never wanted to leave when I came to pick them up from a visit.  He made them laugh.  A lot! They learned to curse from him (and me.) Somehow the term "Grandpa Potty Mouth" was bantered about during their childhood.  He taught all of them to play the trumpet at some point in their lives.  He had hoped that one of them would feel the same joy he felt playing his instrument.  If you would ask the kids to describe my dad they would use one word, "Crazy." They would follow up by saying, "In a good way."
   Finally, I don't think a day went by in my lifetime that I didn't hear him play his trumpet.  He loved my mother, but the trumpet was his mistress.  He joined band after band and would drag me and Douglas with him.  As I can remember I played the harmony on the trombone as he played the melody on the trumpet in the following bands;  Church Brass Choir, Brothers Dixie, The Orange Symphonic Band, Latin Express, The Christmas Quintet, The Orange Swing Band, Howard Reynolds Orchestra, The Barney Farr Orchestra, etc., etc, well you get the point.  Music was what he really loved more than anything.  There was no gig too far. He would play late for "Midnight Mass" or early for "Reveille" If we got paid he would make us give back the money.  He told me that we got paid by feeling good playing music.  I would have rather gotten paid! When I was very stressed going through the early months of my divorce proceedings I would tell him how low I felt.  You can guess what he said, "Blow your horn, you'll feel much better!" I know he loved us, but he really loved that fucking trumpet!  
    
 I love you dad
   
   

If I shall die before I wake....should I worry?

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,
If I shall die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take,
    Amen.

I'm sure all of us have heard of this children's prayer at some point in their life.  This morning Julie and I were talking about life and how hard we work to save for our future.  Her beautiful cousin Sheri died from a brain aneurysm six months ago.  She was fifty! We are fifty two!! She was an avid cardio kick boxer, ate right and in great shape.  It was an unexpected brain bleed that came out of nowhere. It could happen to any of us.  Julie always mentions how Sheri worked so very hard for her retirement (which never came.)  When she died all her saved money went to a much younger person who did not work for this.  I 'm not saying he doesn't deserve this money, I'm just saying what a shame that she worked so hard for it and wasn't able to benefit fully from it.  Now she had a good life and did spend some if not most of the money she earned, but life is not much different than a Las Vegas dice table.  You never know when you're going to crap out!
   Now I'm not saying I'm dying or am going to die tomorrow, but what if I do?  Would all the worry I have had about money, retirement, patients, employees, legal fees be worth anything?  Are they worth anything now? Julie and I discuss our worries and then we usually bring up Sheri as a reference. Do you think Sheri ever had worries about family, neighbors, money or marriage?  She doesn't worry now!
   You can ask my mom about what kind of a boy was I.  She would tell you, "He's a worrier."  I feel like Woody Allen's childhood character in "Annie Hall."  His mother says he depressed because of something he read.  He states that the universe is expanding and eventually it will break apart and everything will be destroyed.  Rarely do I worry about such large picture problems, but I sure worry about everything else in my life (mostly stuff that I don't have control over -because if I can change something I will work hard to fix that problem.)  All this worry and nothing to show for it.  What does worry accomplish? I think some worry is good, it keeps us from doing something crazy like sky diving with a handkerchief, but most of my worries really don't accomplish much more than a lack of sleep and appetite.
  If I could talk to Sheri now and explain to her all of my worries and problems I wonder what she might tell me?  She would probably say, "Don't worry about it!"

The Universe Is Expanding

I can relate.

Old Friends...shared memories (I'll be your Huckleberry!)

I had the pleasure to meet up with an old friend (dental school buddy Chip) and his delightful wife (Cindy) a couple of weeks ago.  We had not seen each other in over ten years.  We started following each other on FaceBook over the past two years and have noticed some interesting facts.  We are very, very similar.  We also share some very important memories.
  Dental school is easily described if you have ever read "The Tale of Two Cities."  It was the best of times it was the worst of times!  If you want to go pre-maturely grey sign up for dental school.  If you want to learn more than you have ever combined in your life, go to dental school. If you want to laugh and howl with joy, go to dental school.  I loved it and I hated it!  I would never go through that again, but I'm glad I did.
   After twenty six years Chip and I talked about family, politics, business and dreams.  It was obvious that we shared not only the same views, but the same memories.  How do you mention a phrase from a movie that you did not see together and get so excited?  We are very similar.  Let me ask a different question; say there was a guy who went to dental school in Bombay, India (circa 1989.) Do you think he would share the same memories or the same political, business, family philosophies?
  Me too, I don't know!  This makes for great public forum.  I can imagine that this fellow from India may be wishing that his children do well from his endeavors.  Like mine, I wish the very best for my children.  Chip has a son that graduated from Law school, he has a son that is attending dental school and a daughter that is in college.  When his middle boy graduated Loyola and was accepted to UCLA dental school, Chip threw a party in San Pedro.  He explained that it took a village to help raise his son.  I don't think so!  Chip and Cindy are such amazing people that their son didn't need much more  help than the example's he had at home.  I admire Chip, probably because he reminds me of me!  Cindy was the wife I never had.  I do now in Julie! But during my children's middle and late years they did not have two parents that were from the same mold. I tried to teach my children  by example.  I wish they had have two parents to observe. Some how my children did survive and have done well. I do wish that they had have the luxury of two parents with the same passion for life.
  Back to old friends...  Julie always asks me why I didn't go after some younger girls when I left my wife of twenty five years.  I always tell her that I wanted someone that could be my friend.  Julie is my best friend, let there be no doubt! I can't mention any band, television show, movie or president that she can't relate too.  She is my Huckleberry! So is Chip!

Triple Crown Winner.....do you have Hope?

   Yesterday at Belmont Park in New York, before a crowd of over 90,000 racing fans Bob Baffert's trained horse "American Pharoah" won the ever elusive triple crown.  In the past 147 years he is the twelfth horse to do it. TWELVFTH!!  As a comparison, in baseball you can win the triple crown for batting or pitching (which is very difficult to achieve.) In the past 136 baseball seasons there has been fifty five winners! The emphasis I am making is how difficult this is to achieve in horse racing. Yet, every trainer, every jockey and every owner dreams of winning this title.
   Hope!  That is the one emotion that leads the pack when you are involved in horse racing.  Of course, hope leads our lives everyday.  Hope that you can make it to work on time, hope that your client is happy with your work that day, hope that you can get a smile out of someone today, hope that  you can pay your bills, hope that you can find love everyday, hope that you win the lottery.  In the movie "Shawshank Redemption" Red (Morgan Freeman) says, " Hope is a dangerous thing, it can drive a man insane!" While Andy (Tim Robbins) says, "Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies!"
   Julie and I are a lot like Red and Andy.  She really doesn't believe in hope, she believes in reality.  She doesn't gamble, she never plays the lottery, she arrives 20 minutes early to everything, she spends less than she makes, she was willing to live alone the rest of her life, until I showed up one day. I gamble, I always play the lottery, I am on-time (although I am always hopeful that traffic is light,) I dreamed of being with a woman who would want to kiss me, say nice things to me, smile when we would be intimate.  Hope.  Is it hope that got us together or the fact that I worked at being with someone who I saw as kind, funny and lovable.  Maybe a little bit of both.  I hoped for it and that hope made me work on it.  Does Hope have more than one definition?
   Yesterday was Bob Bafferts day. He started his career in the Quarter Horse industry. He started in Arizona and moved his barn to Los Alamitos where he became very successful.  He could have stayed there and been the best trainer in quarter horses for the rest of his career.  Comparing Quarter Horse racing to Thoroughbred racing is very similar to comparing Arena Football to the NFL.  Bob moved to Santa Anita and began with the thoroughbreds. He had hope.  Yesterday it paid off. He has reached a milestone only twelve men have reached.
  In the picture below is "Sweet Lu."  She was born on the anniversary of the day Julie and I met. Sweet Lu's father won the Pacific Classic at Del Mar.  If you ask me today if I still have hope about my future endeavors, my answer would be, "You can bet on that!"