JAYSPEAK

“TITANIC” By Steve Orlandella

“TITANIC” is Steve Orlandella’s masterpiece. His love affair with those in peril on the sea that fateful night started when he was a young boy. He saw every film made, read most books on the subject, and spent couple of years writing this book, obsessed with “The Convergence of the Twain.” He wanted “TITANIC” to be accurate, spending huge chunks of time doing research. His approach is unique. He covers people and events before, during, and after April 1912. His personality is intertwined throughout. “On your behalf, I will be skeptical, factual, analytical, and when required cynical.”

“TITANIC” is a compelling read, for sale on www.amazon.com.

He writes:

“In the fall of 1960, I was a ten-year-old, growing up in Los Angeles’ San Fernando Valley. Even then I was sarcastic, opinionated, and well on my way to becoming obnoxious. The phrase most often used was, “A little too smart for his own good.” Perhaps. Duplicit in all this were my parents, who spoiled me rotten. One of my numerous privileges was permission to stay up late on Saturday night…very late.

Toward the end of the 1950s, television in Los Angeles was in a state of flux. The Country’s number three [now number two] market had seven stations, a wealth of airtime and a dearth of programming. The three network affiliates and the four independents turned to motion pictures to fill the void, so much so that one station, Channel 9, ran the same movie every night for a week. Hey, I love Jimmy Cagney, but how many times can you watch “Yankee Doodle Dandy?” The stations also had the nasty habit of cutting the films to pieces, the classic case being Channel 7, the ABC affiliate who filled their 3:30-5pm slots by slicing and dicing 2-hour movies down to 67 minutes. They came close to cutting Ingrid Bergman out of “Casablanca.”

Channel 2, the CBS Affiliate, had no such problem. [They had “Lucy;” they had “Jackie Gleason.”] “The Fabulous 52” was reserved for Saturday night at 11:30pm, and, since the only things that followed the movie were the National Anthem and a test pattern, they ran uncut. The station held the rights to a package of relatively recent films from 20^th Century Fox. One Saturday afternoon my dad announced, “Titanic is on tonight.” I had no idea who or what was “Titanic,” but we gathered in the family room at 11:30. For the next two hours, I sat transfixed, mesmerized by what we were seeing.

If you are scoring at home, it was the 1953 version with Barbara Stanwyck, Clifton Webb and a young Robert Wagner. They had me.

In 1964, I came across a copy of A Night to Remember, Walter Lord’s seminal work on the events of April 14-15, 1912, and the following year, saw the movie made [in England, 1958] from Lord’s book. It was a film made by people who wanted to get it right. This was the game changer. The Fox movie opens with a page of text proclaiming that all the facts in the film were taken right from the United States Senate and British Board of Trade Inquiries. “Really?” Even then, Fox knew how to “play fast and loose with the truth.” As good as their movie was, and it was good, it paled before the Brit’s film. Fifteen hundred people did not all stand together, sing “Nearer My God To Thee,” and meekly sink into the North Atlantic. They fought and struggled until their last breath, trying not to freeze or drown in the unforgiving sea. Madeleine Astor wasn’t an elegant matron. She was in fact, a pregnant teenager. That was it, “Game On!” I absorbed every book I could find, any TV program I could watch, and every newspaper on microfilm, along with help from the Titanic Historical Society. Add that to my natural affinity for ships, and an obsession was born. For some it’s The Civil War, for others it’s the Kennedy Assassination, for me it is The Royal Mail Steamship Titanic.

Part of the obsession stems from the fact that no event in history is so loaded with conjecture, myths, and downright lies as the wreck. Some of which are “beauties.” One example: A young David Sarnoff [co-founder of RCA] became famous telling the world how he was the first to pick-up the Titanic’s distress call in the station on the roof of Wanamaker’s Department Store and how he remained at the key all Sunday night and well into the next day. Great story? Absolutely. Truthful story? Absolutely not. Wanamaker’s was closed on Sunday, and even when the store was open, Sarnoff was the office manager. Three other employees of The Marconi Company stood the watch.

Fox reloaded and fired again in 1997. This time they tried it with a seemingly unlimited budget and an “amateur” historian calling the shots. Movie making? Unmatched. Story telling? Not so much. History? Nonexistent. There is a word for what you wind up with when you invent the leading characters. Fiction. Now, nobody loves Kate Winslet “in flagrante delicto” more than I do, but the truth is better. Thus, “Jack Dawson” and “Rose DeWitt” join “Julia Sturges” and “Lady Marjory Bellamy” as mythical creatures on a real ship.

And since you’re making stuff up, how about a little character assassination? The 1997 film depicted First Officer William Murdoch taking but ultimately rejecting a bribe from make-believe villain “Caledon Hockley.” Murdoch was also shown shooting two passengers dead after he presumed they intended to storm one of the remaining lifeboats. He then salutes Chief Officer Henry Wilde and commits suicide with a revolver. None of this ever happened. After the picture’s director [name withheld] refused to take out the bogus scenes, studio executives flew to Murdoch’s hometown to issue his relatives an apology. As for the movie, if you are looking for an accurate depiction of events – keep looking. Put another way, there was a ship called Titanic, and it sank. After that, you’re on your own.

The Civil War is far and away the all-time champion of most books. [One of Titanic’s passengers wrote “The Truth about Chickamauga.”] Second? The runner-up is World War II. Third? The correct guess is the Titanic. So, what is my mission statement? “What else?” Write yet another book. Now we tell her story, once again. This time we come armed with all we knew and all we have learned in the wake of Doctor Robert Ballard’s stunning discovery of the wreck in 1985. We will attempt to detail what is correct and dispel – whenever possible – at least some of what is not.

I spent my career working in television, the first seven years producing TV News. What did I learn? I learned skepticism, tinged with a bit of cynicism, and it has served me well. So, I will do your bidding. On your behalf, I will be skeptical, factual, analytical and when required, cynical. There is one thing I cannot be, dispassionate. I will stipulate to a love of all ships – but her most of all. By now you may be asking yourself, “Why so many pictures?” I confess that too is the TV producer in me. You always try to put a face with a story, plus there is always the possibility that you can’t recognize Turbinia.

If I am standing at all, it is on the shoulders of some truly great authors. I have read, re-read, and re-re-read their work over the years and have researched – borrowed – from them all. To the best of my ability, everything in this book is true. I believe in the concept that, if the Lord wanted us to remain silent, he wouldn’t have given us [brackets]. So, on occasion you’ll see a comment from yours truly. [I’ll be that most irritating of shipmates, the loud, opinionated one.]

The longest section of the book concerns the area around the Boat Deck between midnight and 2:20am. If it seems long [it’s real time] and overly detailed, I apologize, but to me this is the heart of the narrative. Hundreds of little dramas, played out on a sloping deck in the middle of a freezing ocean. Loved ones were torn apart, and families were destroyed. And with it came the sub-plots. Some got in lifeboats and some did not. Some were allowed in the boats and some were not. All of this begs the question: “Why?” Regardless, these are their stories, and on their behalf, I will make no apologies.

I have tried to keep the technological parts under control, and not drown my readers in facts and figures – but the brains and skill that created the Olympic-class liners are very much a part of this story.

Allow me just a couple of more thoughts before we proceed. There is one sentence that is common to virtually every book written about the RMS Titanic. “It had been a mild winter in the Arctic.”

It had, indeed. Ice that had been forming since well before the dawn of man was now at last free. Unfettered, it could leave Greenland and move into the Labrador Current and begin its journey south toward the shipping lanes. The ice was no different than previous years, only this year there would be more than usual – much more. There were small pieces of ice, what sailors called “growlers.” There were large sections, known as “sheet ice,” and larger still, “pack ice.” In between were hundreds of what every seaman feared most, what the Norsemen referred to as “mountains of ice.” Icebergs.

If you’re familiar with the advertising business, you probably know about the concepts of “marketing research” and “brand recognition.” Countless studies have been commissioned to find out what people can identify and what they like. The results are often quite surprising. For example, inquiries have determined that far more people [around the world] can recognize the “Cavallino Rampante” [in English, “The Prancing Horse” aka the “Ferrari” logo] than can recognize “Shell” or “Coca-Cola.” Then there is my favorite. For decades focus groups, when asked to identify the most famous ship in the world, gave the traditional answer, Noah’s Ark. No more. The runaway number one is now the Titanic. That’s “brand recognition.”

There is no way to tell the whole story in this little book, yet we will do our best. Call me crazy [you wouldn’t be the first] and maybe a little arrogant [see previous], but I feel it’s my duty to help set the record straight for fifteen hundred souls who went to a cold, watery grave that night. Time to depart. “All ashore that’s goin’ ashore!”

“TITANIC” is a compelling read, for sale on www.amazon.com.

Best, Jay

“THE GAME” By Steve Orlandella

This week has been a rough one. But, that holds true most weeks these days. On the news, on Facebook, on Twitter, everybody rants, typing in all caps. Give it a rest every now and then. Watch a game of baseball. That worked for my husband, Steve Orlandella. He would get upset about whatever. But, he could breathe again once the Red Sox began to play. That worked for Mother, too. She watched Braves games on television as long as she could sit in a chair. Once she became bedridden, she listened to games on a transistor radio until she died. It worked for my grandmother, Mama Dorough. Her good friend growing up in Royston, Georgia, was Ty Cobb. They played catch together down the street.

Steve’s book about baseball – THE GAME – is excellent. People who love baseball and who knew Steve and his knowledge of the game need to have this book on their bookshelves. It’s my favorite. I know how much he loved that game. That love is pervasive throughout this book.

This is what he writes at the beginning:

“Most baseball fans can tell you the moment when they first fell for the game. My lifetime love affair began when I was not quite six years old – at a very special place.

It all started on a cold, dreary day in the summer of 1985. By then I had seen most of the historic landmarks and monuments in my town. I had toured Paul Revere’s house, walked through Faneuil Hall, paced the deck of the USS Constitution and stood where the Minutemen made their stand – the hallowed ground of Lexington Green. Heck, my grandmother lived in the shadow of the Old North Church. There was only one place left. Having seen all the shrines to American Independence, it was time to see the shrine to American Baseball. “The Palazzo Yawkey.” Fenway Park.

My father got tickets, and off we went to what was then 24 Jersey Street [now, 4 Yawkey Way]. The tickets were not a tough get. The era of 900 straight sell-outs was twenty years away. I remember like it was yesterday – walking through the tunnel, into the light, seeing that flawless field and the “monstrosity” in left. They had me at ‘hello’.

It was a dreadful day. Thunder, lightning, both games rain delayed, and the home team losing both ends of the doubleheader to “Jungle” Jim Rivera and the White Sox. [Rivera, a family friend, had dinner at my grandparents’ house two months earlier.] Halfway through the second game, my father asked me if I wanted to leave. I refused. Even then, I knew this was where I was supposed to be.

What did I learn that day? First, hot dogs taste better at the ballpark. Second, my father knew a lot about baseball. And last but not least, I learned the name of the tall, thin fellow playing left field, Theodore Samuel Williams. I can still recall my dad saying, “watch him, he’s the best.” [When you are six years old, you believe your father knows everything. In this case, he did.] So, I watched, and on that day, I saw the sweetest swing I will ever see and the greatest hitter who ever lived. [The Obsession was born.]

Fast-forward 28 years. It was my first season producing and directing baseball. After you have spent a season traveling with a ball club, you can take most of what you think you know about the game and chuck it out the window. The whole thing is amazing. The Ringling Brother’s Circus, packed aboard a chartered jet instead of a private train. Hitting streaks and batting slumps, shut outs and blow outs, late buses and later luggage, knuckle balls and fast balls, hotel bars and [on occasion] Gentlemen Clubs, RBI’s and ACL’s, double plays and double steals, kids chasing autographs, and women just chasing, San Francisco on Wednesday and New York on Thursday, past balls and wild pitches, Scully and Torre, Jaime and Pepe, breakfast at 5am, dinner at midnight, and the cities. Walking down to the Ohio River in Cincinnati, or over from the excellent light rail in St. Louis. “Baseball spoken here.” The wonderful Herald columnist Mel Durslag said it best, “In the summer, when the weather is right, it all sings.”

He was talking about Fenway, but it also plays at Safeco and Wrigley. My sister worked her way through college at the Union Oyster House in Boston. She observed when “the Sox were in first place, the customers left bigger tips.” (Obsession enhanced)

So, this is our game, and it belongs to all of us. I think about my high school pal Joe Klinger, five hundred miles from Chavez Ravine and his beloved “Bums.” My friend Cathy Karp, enduring being two thousand miles from Wrigley Field and her “Cubbies.” Joe Buttitta, who lives twenty-five hundred miles away from 161st & River Avenue, and his [Damn] Yankees. I think about myself, three thousand miles from the “Jewel in the Crown” that sits at 4 Yawkey Way. And about my dear wife, preparing for another season of “sturm und drang,” secure in the knowledge that, in this whole wide world, her only rivals are 25 guys in white cotton and grey polyester. The Washington Post’s Thomas Boswell titled his magnum opus on the game, “Why time begins on opening day.” Well, Boswell had it right. It does indeed. Hope may not spring eternal, but eternal hope arrives every spring. If you haven’t guessed, I am a Red Sox fan. I was destined to play center field in Fenway Park, but as the result of some horrific pre-natal mistake, I got Fred Lynn’s body and he got mine. That said, I shall try to retain my objectivity and treat the teams and players fairly, even [may God help me] the Yankees. As the man not in uniform [the umpire] would, say “Play Ball!”

“I see great things in baseball,

It will take our people out-of-doors,

fill them with oxygen,

give them a larger physical stoicism,

tend to relieve us from being

a nervous, dyspeptic set,

repair those losses

and be a blessing to us.”

– Walt Whitman

THE GAME is all baseball. It includes stories, essays, jokes, history, and more as seen through the eyes of a man who spent his entire career in sports television. In 1993, he became Producer for Dodgers Baseball for nine seasons. He won Golden Mikes, Associated Press Awards, and two Emmy’s. He cared passionately about the Red Sox, Fenway Park, and baseball. Few writers have captured the essence of the game better than Steve Orlandella.

Best, Jay

NEW RELEASE: “JAYSPEAK ON THE COTE D’AZUR”

This book is dedicated to Steve. We dreamed this dream together. Then, made eleven months of it a reality. It is also dedicated to Andrea and Kate and the people who encouraged me to keep writing – Adria and Judi, are you listening? It never would have happened without all of you. It started like this:

In Spring of 2016, I had lunch with two of my girlfriends, Andrea Emond and Kate Gale, at a restaurant on Victor Hugo, called Volupté Anytime. We gabbed about everything for two hours or so. I talked about my writings and those of my husband’s – Steve Orlandella. Steve was getting ready to publish his fifth Vic Landell Mystery, “Midtown Mayhem”. I was working on “Journal of Janet Tallulah, Volume 3”.

We talked about marketing books. I expressed frustration with the process and asked for ideas. Andrea suggested we each write a blog – to get our names out there. She had read one of Steve’s mysteries and enjoyed it. At present, she was in the middle of “Janet Tallulah” and loving it.

Kate agreed. She knew people who made big money with blogs. What??? How? Advertisers pay to advertise on a blog – IF a blogger has enough followers of 50,000 or so. WHAT??? 50,000? What the hell could anyone write about that would interest 50,000 + people? After a good laugh, we all settled into brainstorming ideas for creating this hypothetical “blog”.

Later, when I got home, I discussed blogs with Steve. I suggested we both begin a blog. He liked the idea. He decided to call his “Stevespeak”, after the title of his first book “Stevespeak: Three Years on Facebook”

I asked him if he minded I call mine “Jayspeak”. Not at all. He thought that would be fun.

On June 30, 2016, Steve published “Midtown Mayhem”.

On July 31, 2017, Steve published his first post on Stevespeak, and I published my first posts for Jayspeak. He wrote:

“OVERTURE – My name is Steve Orlandella and I continue to be dragged, kicking and screaming, into the 21^st Century. It’s time for me to have what most twelve-year-olds have – a blog.

To tell this story we must go back in time. It was six years ago, after a career in television, that I closed my little cottage industry – Steve Orlandella Productions – and essentially retired. My wife aka the energizer bunny was still busy lawyering. She was asked by the Writer’s Guild to be counsel at a seminar they were holding on self-publishing. She came home that night, walked in the door and said, “You need to write a book.” My reply was one for the ages, “I don’t have anything to say.” The best way to describe the look on my wife’s face was incredulous. Why? She knew that I have something – and usually a lot – to say about everything. From the fruit fly to the search for intelligent life in the universe – no subject too big, too small, too current, too arcane.

The name of this blog is taken from the name of my first book – Stevespeak. This was followed by a book on the Titanic and a book about baseball. It was about this time I got sick of writing about other people – I wanted to write about my own characters. So, I turned to fiction. As most writers will tell you, fiction is better. Thus was born my baseball player turned private investigator and his way-over-the-top girlfriend. I thought it would make for a good book. In my humble opinion, it’s made five – with a sixth in the shipyard.

So, now, with whatever brain cells and synapses I have left, I’m going to take my shot at being a blogger. I will concentrate on the things I am passionate about. I’m Italian, which means I’m passionate about everything. History, science, politics, planes, trains, automobiles, baseball, books, films, and too many more to list.

I invite you to participate. Our forbearers gave us all a little darling known as the First Amendment to the Constitution. I believe in it and I have its back. You are free to post whatever you like. This comes with a proviso. Let me channel Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes, “You can’t yell fire in a crowded theatre.” In other words, there are limits. Do you advocate the overthrow of my government through force or violence? Believe that Sharia Law should replace the Constitution? That we must abolish the Bill of Rights. That Hitler was mis-understood? That Isis is inherently good? If yes to any of the above, don’t bother. For the rest of you, I hope you enjoy it.”

I wrote “Jayspeak Begins”:

“JAYSPEAK BEGINS…. On October 1, 2015, my husband and I moved to Nice, France. We are currently beginning our 11th month – as residents. It is tricky because we don’t either one speak French. We try to, but — no. A word here and there, but full sentences throw us for a loop. Yet, we have been able to make ourselves understood – by waiters in restaurants, UPS at the door, the mailman, the Post Office, the grocery clerk, the pharmacist, the doctor, the dentist. A lot of these people speak “some” English, but not much. I bought Michel Thomas’ French apps, and listened for months to the lessons. That helped. My problem comes with pronunciation. Mine and theirs. I say something I think is excellent, and they look puzzled. If they say something, I have no idea what it might be. Yet, I can translate it. I can read a lot of things; I am struggling with speech. I had hoped to pick it up faster — no.

We moved to France as a compromise. We had been living in Los Angeles, California, for many years. I had moved there in 1968, from Gainesville, Georgia. While there, I worked as an actress in film and television – selling real estate as backup. At a certain point, I got frustrated with acting and decided to go to law school. I practiced law for fifteen years and decided to retire. I married my husband Steve Orlandella – a live sports producer for television – in 2005. We had dated for several years, and he popped the question that spring. In 2014, we decided to retire. He hated the traffic, and I had battle-fatigue from contentious clients and defense attorneys. Steve wanted to move to Sarasota, Florida. I wanted to stay in L.A. We compromised by agreeing to move to Nice, France. It did not happen quite that easily, but all of that drama and saga I will save for another time.

It took us two years to “get our ducks in a row.” Steve applied for an Italian passport so he could have duel-citizenship. I required a long-term French visa. Plus, I had to close down Law Offices of Jay W. MacIntosh. It was complicated with snags galore, but we did it. And, here we are.

Hopefully, this blog will be the forum for me to explain how we did it – especially at this time in our lives. I am older than Steve – by 13 years, so moving home – lock, stock, and barrel, is not the norm. But, going to law school at age 59 was not the norm either. And, going from Georgia to the University of Wisconsin was not the norm. Moving a family and furnishings from Georgia to California was not the norm. So, I can say – I was not the norm. Neither was Steve. So, I am going to write about France, moving to France, and living in France – from my perspective. I plan to post pictures and write about the setting. Don’t expect this to be a travelogue — no.

This is my first post. Welcome aboard. BY JAY W. MACINTOSH”

I wrote three more posts that same day – “Our New Home in Nice”, “The Neighborhood – Cimiez”, and “Monastere de Cimiez”.

On August 2, 2016, Steve was rushed to the hospital with double pneumonia. He died on August 31, 2016, from heart failure after a month’s stay in the hospital.

During September 2016, I had a very difficult time, reeling from shock and grief. I did not think I could continue writing a “blog” alone. It seemed so trivial. Then, I changed my mind. I thought it might help to post my thoughts about what had happened. On September 30, 2016, I published my next post on Jayspeak, “Dying While Making Plans”.

Since then, I have written a lot of posts on Jayspeak, now memorialized in a book, “JAYSPEAK on the Cote D’Azur”. The book is filled with posts and pictures of two wonderful and traumatic years. Dedicated to the love of my life – Steve Orlandella. For sale on amazon.com. If you buy it, read it, and like it, please post a review for me on amazon.com. That helps a lot.

Best, Jay

AUGUST 2017

Nothing is quite like the month of August. Someone should write a song – like Gilbert and Sullivan. Something like “It’s May. It’s May. The Lusty Month of May!” ALL of France goes on “holiday”. The rest of the world comes to town – to eat, to swim, to sunbathe, to dance, to sight-see. Tourist shops thrive. Hotels are full. Rates are high. Bushes are green; trees are leafed; roses are ripe; school is out; fruit is plentiful; skies are blue; life is lush.

Nothing is quite like the month of August for me.

August are birthdays galore. Carole’s birthday, Alice’s birthday, Rosemary’s birthday, Uncle Beamus’ birthday, Beth Ann’s birthday, Jon’s birthday, Ada’s birthday, Buddy’s birthday, Cory’s birthday, Aunt Rose’s birthday, Jean’s birthday, Lois’ birthday, Lorrie’s birthday, Hugh’s birthday, Cyrus’ birthday, Jerry’s birthday, and Chris’ birthday. (Haha – that list goes on forever.)

Monday, August 7, is my twelfth wedding anniversary. On August 7, 2005, I married the man of my dreams, Steve Orlandella. It was a Sunday in the Bellagio Hotel’s Wedding Chapel in Las Vegas. We were surrounded by family and friends – Auntie Rose, Uncle Gerry, Ben, Jeff, John, Gina, Dante, Dom, Stefano, Renata, Francesca.

Friday, August 11, is Steve’s birthday. On August 11, 1950, Therese and Vito Orlandella had a son, Felice Steven Orlandella. He would have been 67.

Thursday, August 31, is Steve’s death day. On August 31, 2016, Felice Steven Orlandella was taken off machines by French doctors at Hopital l’Archet, in Nice, France, after a stay of one month – August – in the hospital. He died of heart failure after surviving double pneumonia. Why am I posting this shot? Because he suffered for the whole month of August, like this. It breaks my heart. His birthday, his anniversary, his life he lost in August. Somehow, it is important that we understand with him, for a moment, how he must have suffered.

This is the way I will remember him – vibrant, sexy, alive, and happy. My Sweetheart, forever.

My Month of August will never go by unnoticed.

Best, Jay

THE ENGLISH TEACHER – “MOI”

My house-guest, Aline, was fifteen. She had turned fifteen on June 30,2017. This was her first time away from home on her own without family. I met her at her home in Paris when Steve and I were there during Christmas 2015. We had rented a room in the Marais through Airbnb from her parents, Severine and Hugues. At that time, we met her, her parents, and her grandmother Chantal. We did not meet her brother Charles. I am not sure why. They were all on their way to be with family outside of Paris for the holidays.

After that, Severine and I stayed in touch by email, communicating in French. This spring, she asked if I knew someone English who would let Aline spend a week this summer. She wanted her children to have English as a second language and thought spending a week in an English home would help. Charles was “booked” with a family in London for a week. She needed someone for Aline. I responded with a resounding, “Yes. I would!” Thus, we made plans for Aline to come for a week in July.

In anticipation of Aline’s time with me, I devised a “Plan”. I would prepare lesson plans focused on interesting English conversations – favorite foods, movies, television programs, pet peeves, and such. Topics that would be fun for a teenager to discuss with a “teacher’. We would have a “roving” classrooms – a cafe, the Park, the beach, the living room, or wherever. Fun to discuss. Decide topics on the fly. Play most things by ear.

Aline arrived on Thursday afternoon, a week ago. Grandmother Chantal and brother Charles dropped her off. (Chantal lives in St. Raphael – an hour up the road. Aline and Charles are spending the summer with her.) So, that night, we got to know each other and ordered out for Mambo Pizza.

Right away, I liked her. She had a beautiful smile with a twinkle in her eye. Liked to laugh. So did I. She was easy-going, helpful, friendly, polite, decisive, and intelligent. Plus, she liked to cook. We felt at ease around each other. Her English was so-so. It got better as the week progressed.

Here’s what happened with my “Plan” (something about ‘life happens while you are making other plans’, or something like that….). Aline slept late every day. So, working during mornings was out. Her breakfast was at noon; our lunch was before 2:00 pm; our dinner at 8:00 pm. OK. Recalculating…. Go with the flow. In the mornings, I wrote while she slept. After that, we went somewhere for lunch. Then, we did something after that. SO, after we got home, we both needed alone-time. My “plan” went out the window. No matter. Since “focused” sessions were out, unfocused sessions were in. We gabbed for hours in English. I only spoke French if I needed her to understand what I was saying. Haha. That was always good for a laugh.

Our first entire day together – Friday, we went to the grocery store. She wanted to make chicken and pasta with cream sauce for dinner. Yes! So, we bought groceries for chicken and pasta with cream sauce (yum), Italian salad (tomatoes, mozzarella, and avocado), Italian dressing, rice, prosciutto, potatoes to roast and dice, chocolate, Nutella, and yellow-meat peaches. Haha. We got it all. Then, with the trunk packed full, we drove all over Nice looking for a Paul’s Bakery that sold brioche. Apparently, brioche covered with Nutella (chocolate and nuts) is her favorite breakfast. We found a Paul’s Bakery with brioche (after driving all over Nice) at Boulangerie Paul République Nice, near Place Garibaldi. She was happy. Thus, I was happy. It was so much fun that I forgot that driving in Nice is a pain in the a… I used my Waze app on the iPhone, and she helped. All went well. Once we got home, we had a hour-long language session before we retired for needed alone-time. That night, she cooked pasta and chicken with cream sauce. I made a salad. That worked!

Saturday, we ventured into town to Nice Etoile. She wanted to go to Hollister’s and a couple of other stores in the mall. So, we shopped (gabbing in English the entire time).

Then we walked to the Sea for lunch at one of my favorites – La Voglia. We ate inside. Neither of us liked outside that day. Too hot.

No one-on-one session that day. We were both hot and exhausted once we got home, needing alone-time. That night, we had fresh salmon and salad.

Sunday was an at-home day. I completed my book – “JAYSPEAK ON THE COTE D’AZUR”. Aline did stuff on her computer and on her phone. She is very technologically savvy. Her entire family is technologically savvy. They all stay in touch with each other throughout the day every day. However, on Sunday, we did manage to have a one-on-one session before the day was over. During that time, I made note – her English was definitely better.

Monday, we had lunch at Plage Beau Rivage Restaurant. On the beach.

Great food. Wonderful service. Gorgeous setting. As we were leaving, Aline said that everyone thought she was English. I considered that a compliment. I doubt she did. The French love being French.

Tuesday, Aline went with me to my appointment for new orthotics.

After that, we met Andrea for lunch at Le Volupté Anytime. That was the day that Aline asked me to go to the Apple Store. She wanted Apple EarPods. What? Earpods. The Apple Store???

The only Apple Store in Nice is at Cap 3000 (ugh} out near the airport. Big Ugh. Hugh ugh! Traffic, construction, and complicated directions. I convinced her to call another store that sells Apple products, MCS, to see if they have Apple Earpods. Yes!! We walked for miles (exaggeration) getting there, and miles (exaggeration) getting back to the car, which was parked at Nice Etoile. But, it was worth it! They had Apple EarPods. Only 3 were left after we got there from a shipment of 30 that morning. Apparently, Apple Earpods are a hot item. Aline was ecstatic. So was I – once I could sit down, have some coffee, and eat ice cream (hot day).

Wednesday was another “sort of” at-home day. We walked to the park for a language session and lunch. It was nice. We found a park bench in the shade and worked for a while. Then, we walked over to the Park Café for sandwiches.

It was fun. Picked up a couple of things at Monoprix on our way home – gabbing in English and French the entire time.

It was an amazing week. I consider it a smashing success. I had no idea how it would go, and it went great! Aline speaks better English. She has EarPods. I speak better French. I have new recipes. We are Facebook and Instagram friends. She is happy. I hope her parents are happy. I hope her grandmother is happy. Charles acts happy. I am happy. It’s all good.

Best, Jay

ANOTHER “IN LIEU OF ‘CUT AND PASTE'”

This week, I have a 15-year-old French student from Paris, coming to stay with me as a house guest. I will be working with her every day regarding English as a second language. She speaks French. So, we will both be having a “second-language Intensive”. I am looking forward to it.

To prepare, I have devised ten lesson plans for our work together. I focused on topics for fun conversations as opposed to grammar. Apparently, she studied English in school for four years, but didn’t like it because her teachers were mean. So, I must be “not mean” and interesting. Haha. Good luck with that one. I know how to be “not mean”, but interesting is a challenge.

As I have said before, grammar has always been fun for me. On October 28, 2016, I wrote on Jayspeak, “When I was in “Grammar School”, I learned how to diagram sentences. We built little bridges and put words places that made little pictures. It started with Miss Castleberry in First Grade, then on to Miss Bessie in Second, and Miss Dent in Third, Miss Lay in Fourth, Mrs. Patten in Fifth, and Mrs. Miller in Sixth. After that, I was on my own. When I taught at Brenau College and a branch of the University of Georgia, I included grammar in my courses. Students used bad grammar. When my children were growing up, I corrected them. When they became adults, I stopped. Correct grammar has gone out the window. Don’t get me wrong – I often make mistakes in grammar, but I know better than to say, “Me and him” as a subject.

While gathering materials for my in-house sessions with my French student, I ran across an article that I saved because I liked it. Not one for my in-house classroom, but a fun read and appropriate for the times in which we live. It was written by New York Times bestselling author, Gary Kinder. I am re-posting his post:

“You Insane Steaming Pile of Horsehockey“

“This Fourth of July, I wanted to do something different, so I exhumed three of our Forefathers for a beer. I dug up Jefferson, Franklin, and Adams because they had written the most important document in human history: the Declaration of Independence. ‘There were five of us on the drafting committee,’ said Adams, ‘but everyone agreed that Jefferson was the best writer, so we picked him to write the Declaration.’

Franklin and Adams suggested he open with something like this:

When in the course of human events, some people get so fed up with some other people trying to tell them what to do all the time, and they don’t want to have anything to do with those people anymore, by god, they have the right to tell those other people, like you, George, to ‘Kiss our sweet cheeks.’ You are a sterling example of what happens when we mix royal inbreeding with small doses of arsenic. But before we go, we thought you, you putrid pile of pusillanimous pustules, should know why we are leaving. Mainly, it’s because we are just as good as you are, you effete foppish prig, and we have every right to do whatever we want to do, which includes drinking untaxed tea and good wine, and making candles and love and shoeing horses and flying kites whenever and wherever and with whomever we please, you insane steaming pile of horsehockey. Etc., etc., etc.

Franklin explained, ‘This was to give Jefferson an idea of the tone we wanted.’

With that in mind, Jefferson repaired to his rented rooms in Philadelphia to spend the next two and a half weeks, rising before the sun each day for tea and biscuits, to write with a quill dipped in ink, scratching on parchment, ripping up page after page after page, trying to get it right. He told me, ‘The most valuable of all talents is that of never using two words where one will do.’ The pages of his rough drafts look like pages from a Hemingway manuscript, cut to pieces with crossouts, arrows, and insertions of line after eloquent line. Baby America in ink. He begins slowly: 

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another . . . .

He adds:

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.

Then he states his business:

That whenever any Form of Government becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of the People to alter or to abolish it . . . it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such Government, and to provide new Guards for their future security.

One of my favorite lines is the pivotal point:

. . let Facts be submitted to a candid world.

As all good writers do, Jefferson then lays out facts: that King George has refused, forbidden, called, endeavoured, made, obstructed, erected, kept, affected, combined; that he has exceeded his authority by quartering, cutting, imposing, depriving, transporting, taking, abolishing, altering, suspending.

He has plundered our seas, ravaged our Coasts, burnt our towns, and destroyed the lives of our people . . . . In every stage of these Oppressions We have Petitioned for Redress in the most humble terms: Our repeated Petitions have been answered only by repeated injury. A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people.

Then he brings it home and stamps it with resolve:

We, therefore, . . . in the Name, and by Authority of the good People of these Colonies, solemnly publish and declare, That these United Colonies are, and of Right ought to be Free and Independent States . . . And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.

Franklin and Adams agreed it was better than their draft. They took the Declaration to Congress on July 2, and there debate raged until the afternoon of July 4. The cuts were mostly for content, like Jefferson’s section attacking the slave trade.

It is a fine choice of words up to the task of birthing the strongest nation on earth. Click here to read them, not because they are the cornerstone of our democracy, but because they are an example of the power of words, only 1323 of them–the length of the average writing assignment for a high school sophomore.

PostScript: The two men most responsible for our Declaration of Independence, later our second and third Presidents, Adams and Jefferson, with disparate personalities and politics (Jefferson defeated Adams in Adams’s bid for a second term), died within hours of each other, exactly fifty years later, on the Fourth of July. Happy Fourth. And be safe.”

New York Times bestselling author Gary Kinder has taught over 1,000 writing programs to law firms, corporations, universities, and government agencies. In 2012, Gary and his team of engineers created WordRake, the only software in the world that edits for clarity and brevity, giving professionals more confidence when writing to clients and colleagues. Backed by seven U.S. patents, WordRake was recently hailed as “Disruptive Innovation” by Harvard Law School. And LexisNexis® Pacific has chosen the WordRake editing software to include in its new Lexis® Draft Pro.

Best, Jay

“JANET TALLULAH”

In the early ‘70’s, I decided to write a book about “change”. The concept of change. Change without changing. Fear of change. Back in those years, I knew my mental and physical health depended on change. I did. I changed. It was a slow and arduous process – painful to those around me.

Why did I want to change, you ask? It started when I had my third child, Blake. In the middle of the night, I awoke my husband. I was sorta sure I was in labor. He said, “Be sure. Wake me when the pains are closer together.” No. Sorta sure worked for me. I quietly drove myself to the hospital. Shortly thereafter, I gave birth. I remember the doctor saying, “It is a boy”. I don’t remember anything else. When I woke up, I had an oxygen mask on my face, guard rails around my bed. I saw the doctor, my husband, Mother, and Daddy standing there. I heard the doctor saying, “She’s going to make it.”

After I calmed down, I asked what happened. I was told that everything had gone well. I had been taken to a private room because the Recovery Room was being remodeled. A nurse “happened” to peek in on me. When she did, she saw I was turning blue. What??? I was dying while no one was looking? Damn!! Pay attention, guys. Allergic? to the anesthesia? Emotional? No one knew.

They kept me in the hospital for a week or more. While there, I asked for help. I needed to talk to someone. No Baptists, please. My sister asked Mr. Bailey, the Episcopalian priest, to talk to me. He came while I was there. He listened, without interpretation or analysis.

When I got out of the hospital, I was in bad shape. Out of the blue, I was offered a job as Chairman of the Division of Humanities at a branch of the University of Georgia – Gainesville Junior College, teaching English, Speech, Speech Correction, Drama. It helped, yet at home, I cried a lot. “What’s wrong, Janet? Just tell us what’s wrong.” “I don’t know.” “I don’t know”. Someone suggested I see a psychiatrist. What??? Mother was horrified.

For nine months, I saw Dr. Cooper. I don’t remember much about it other than he convinced me that I controlled my life. Not Mother. Not Daddy. Not my husband. Not the neighbors. Not all the people I was trying to please. At that point, I made a choice. I would change my life. I would move to California. And, in July 1968, I drove out of town, cross-country to Los Angeles, California.

I had a rough time adjusting to life in California. So did my family. We all tried to make the best of it. Everyone thought it was a temporary move for a couple of years – I had been accepted into the UCLA Graduate School to get my PhD in Theatre History. My position as Chairman of the Division of Humanities required it. When I failed to get a fellowship (missed it by one person), we decided to stay for an extra year to establish residency to afford the tuition. My husband, a criminal attorney in Georgia, got a position as a prosecutor in the Criminal Division of the U.S. Justice Department.

During that first year in Los Angeles, I got into an acting class with a teacher Lawrence Merrick. In class, I met actor John Prince. He was a friend of my friend Jimmie Ralston. After class, we all would go for coffee and talk about life – that was supposed to help our acting. John said he went to weekend retreats led by Ira Progoff, a student of Carl Jung. He suggested I go. I agreed.

The first weekend was confusing. I didn’t understand a lot of what was said. Ira talked about an inner life and the need to get in touch with it through work in a personal Journal. Each person is like a well in a circle of wells. If that person goes down into his own well every day, he gets in touch with his inner life, i.e., thoughts, feelings, dreams, fantasies without interpretation or analysis. He writes what comes to him. Reads it aloud – to himself or to others in a group.

In a workshop – time pauses. All before is past; all after is future. During the pause, one goes down. There, he can dialogue with persons (uncompleted relationships), dialogue with works (with committed works), dialogue about group experiences (other than the Workshop). He can write about his dreams. The aim is to get seriously involved with the dialogue.

I began the work in 1969. In 1971, I wrote in my Journal: “I will write a book. My book title will be This Woman’s Search. The gist of it will be: ‘OK, here is the story. This is what I did and what has worked for me. I’ll tell you. All you need to do is listen and see if you can use any of it. Hopefully, something will hit you, and you will be motivated to do it, at least begin it. I could also call my book A Search in Progress.” In 1972 and 1973, I vowed to start my book.

In 2013, I published Janet Tallulah. It covers those “entry” years in L.A. – years when I made unalterable choices that affected my life and the lives of my family. It is for sale on www.amazon.com and www.smashwords.com under the name “Jay W. MacIntosh”.

Now, Ira is dead. Workshop leaders are dead. My family of origin is dead. Steve is dead. Many of my friends are dead. I live in France. For the record, I still go down into my well. There, I meet up with my best friend, my inner life named Janet Tallulah. We have come to know each other pretty well over the years. We talk. And, we write – thoughts, feelings, dreams, fantasies. Without judgment. Without interpretation. Without analysis. It matters.

Best, Jay

ANDREA AND SLAV GOT MARRIED!

The wedding invitation read,

“ANDREA & SLAWEK, Allen & Carolyn Emond with Zbigniew & Ewa Chiniewicz invite you to celebrate the marriage of their children Andrea Emond & Slawek Chiniewicz, June 10, 2017, at four thirty in the evening, Eglise Saint Jean Baptiste, Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France. Dinner and dancing to follow, Plage Deli Bo, Les Bains Villefranche-sur-Mer.”

Who are Andrea and Slawek? Here’s the back story:

In May 2014, when Steve and I were tossing around the idea of moving to France, I started googling and reading blogs about France. I came across some good ones written by people who had moved to Paris. Close enough. One guy recommended a website – www.angloinfo.com. I checked it out, created a profile, found a “discussion – home and garden” link in the France section, and started a discussion. My husband and I were moving to Nice and needed help finding a rental. I got several responses. One was from someone named Andrea Emond. She lived in Nice. She and her partner, Slav (an attorney), had a company HOME French Riviera. They worked the Nice area, primarily with foreign clients. Perfect. http://www.home-frenchriviera.com/

Andrea and I emailed back and forth for a year-and-a-half. I asked Andrea every question under the sun. She responded with informative, detailed instructions and suggestions of what we needed to do. What to expect. At some point, I was convinced. Steve – not so much. We initiated proceedings – French Visa, Current Passports, Italian Passport, global bank accounts, a “dossier” for landlords. Andrea sent listings of properties in our price range. Steve and I both got excited. We could do it! We could move to the South of France.

On October 1, 2015, Steve and I arrived at the Nice airport. Andrea and Slav met us. By that time, we had leased a condo in a neighborhood called Cimiez, had bank accounts at HSBC in the U.S. and France with the ability to do global transfers, had one long-term French Visa (for me) and Dual Citizenship for Steve – Italy and U.S. All of it with help from Andrea.

Andrea and Slav helped us with everything – buying a car, buying furniture, hanging paintings, getting utilities up-and-running, fixing televisions, getting sim cards, renting the Eurobox, restaurant suggestions.

Steve and Slav were friends; Andrea and I were, too. When Steve got sick, Andrea and Slav rushed to Emergency. They came to Hopital l’Archet, Hopital Les Sources. They helped both of us when I had an Emergency panic attack. And, Steve and Slav had time together before he died. Today, they are my friends. They have my back. Could we have predicted any of this? No.

NOW – to the reason for this symposium:

On June 10, Andrea and Slav got married. I was invited. Steve, in spirit.

The Church – Eglise Saint Jean Baptiste, Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferrat, France – dates to the XIX Century, replacing a primitive church from the XI Century. http://www.guide-tourisme-france.com/VISITER/eglise-saint-jean-baptiste—37358.htm

It wasn’t a large wedding – approximately 70 guests from all over the world. Slav is Polish. Andrea is Canadian. Friends and family had traveled from Canada, Poland, U.S., United Kingdom, Dubai, New Zealand. The ceremony was in three languages – French, English, and Polish – inspiring, fascinating, and moving. A gorgeous bride; a handsome husband; an incredible setting.

After the ceremony, vans transported guests to the site of the reception – Plage Deli Bo https://www.facebook.com/pages/Plage-Restaurant-Delibo-les-bains/992440910876719 The bride and groom and family took pictures. From then on, it was a glorious cocktail party, delicious dinner, and dancing by the Sea. A full moon. A contagious joie de vivre. I danced like I was 18, totally forgetting that I have a bad knee.

I enjoyed conversations and celebrated until the band at Deli Bo played “Goodnight, Sweetheart”. Just kidding. No one plays that song anymore. Well, the music stopped, and the lights flickered. Just kidding. At some point, people were leaving. So, I called Uber and went home.

An Evening to Remember. I wish Andrea and Slav all the best. And, I thank them for including me in this celebration of family and friends.

Best, Jay

JULY 4TH ON THE Côte d’Azur!

My American Independence celebration took me to the Castel Plage (www.castelplage.com) in Nice for a musical evening and dinner, hosted by the American Club of the Riviera. (http://americanclubriviera.com/) Castel Plage is the beach-restaurant furthest east on the Quai des Etats-Unis, (http://www.nice-tourism.com/en/nice-attractions/promenades-and-pedestrian-areas-in-nice/quai-des-etats-unis.html), nestled under the Parc du Chateau (https://www.nice.fr/fr/parcs-et-jardins/le-parc-de-la-colline-du-chateau) on the Promenade des Anglais. Castel Plage is one of the oldest establishments on the Baie de Anges (Bay of Angels).

I enjoyed a three-course dinner and was entertained by “French-American soprano, Amy Christianna Blake” (better known as Amy Blake from West Texas who now lives in Nice), who has been noted for her “beautiful singing” and her “strong energy and stage presence” by The New York Times.

Blake sang songs by Jerome Kern, Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Richard Rodgers and George Gershwin. Really lovely. Reminded me of Kiri Te Kanawa, the New Zealand soprano who has had a successful international opera career since 1968. I saw Te Kanawa at the Greek Theatre in Los Angeles during the 90’s.

Kiri Te Kanawa moved me emotionally over the years as did Blake on Tuesday night. AND, Blake’s musicians were outstanding – called the “Cream of the Crop” quartet of musicians. I agree with that. The saxophone player was my favorite, even though the drummer ran a close second. And, two dancers from the Nice Jazz Off Dance Academy did dance numbers. The tap dancer was my favorite.

I had a front row, stage-right seat – by the stage AND by the sea. That worked. When I arrived, I was assigned to Table 3. Being one of the first there, I had a choice of seat. Everyone else was networking. I chose to sit in the shade and look at the sea. Then, I realized my back was to the stage. Sea, or stage? I chose stage, and moved. Besides, I could always turn around and check out the sea – be sure it was still there. The sunset, the lights around the Bay, the moon, the Ferry from Corsica – spectacular. The concert, a close second.

When Blake led us in singing the Star-Spangled Banner, I was moved to tears. I also wept when she sang “There’s a Time for Us” from West Side Story, missing Steve beyond belief. There were not many Americans at my table – four of us U.S. expats. The other six were from different countries. I have found that to be the case at events I’ve attended. Most have been from other countries – always friendly and interesting. I sat between Roger and his wife Sara – from Houston. They moved to the South of France twelve years ago because Roger had a stroke and Sara had (I think she said) breast cancer, but I may be wrong about Sara. She had some health condition that was serious. They had planned to stay a year. Still here. Bought a house in Valbonne, France (20 minutes up the road) – healthy and happy. Plan to spend the summer in the States.

Rick moved here in September 2015 from San Francisco. He is writing a book about business and intuition and plans to stay. He lives 10 minutes up the coast.

In the future, I want to get to know Annie. She sat across the table. And, there was a German couple to my left. They live in Nice. Another couple who live in Nice (I forgot where they are from). And a beautiful woman with lots of energy. Fun group.

Some photos were taken by me; others were taken by Cynthia, better known as “Cy”. She is the Membership Coordinator for the Club. I “borrowed” them from the American Club of the Riviera’s website. Cy was still taking pictures when I left at midnight. I was more taken by the gorgeous setting, good food, interesting conversations, wine, a moon, musicians, and show tunes. Only things missing were Steve and fireworks.

Best, Jay

BASEBALL and the Fourth of July

For this July 4, 2017 weekend: It all started on September 20, 2011. I, as an entertainment attorney, was invited to be on an e-publishing, self-help panel for members of the Writers Guild of America. The panel sought to empower writers to create new opportunities for work in film, television, new media and transmedia. Since WGA did not cover book publication regardless of format, it was thought that e-publishing could be a stepping stone towards potential work on Guild-covered adaptations. So, on September 20^th, I joined members Lee Goldberg (The Glades), Derek Haas (Wanted), and Alexandra Sokoloff (author, Book of Shadows, and Mark Coker (Smashwords). Our task was to discuss the latest e-book/self and indie-publishing developments. It was a power-packed evening with information, questions, and answers.

The next day, I said to my husband, Steve, “You need to write a book”. To which he answered, “I have nothing to say.” I laughed. Steve always had something to say. I said, “Write a book about baseball.” He thought about this for a couple of years, and on May 19, 2013, he published The Game: A Baseball Companion.

“The History books tell us that the first professional baseball game was held on May 4, 1869, as the Cincinnati Red Stockings “eked” out a 45-9 win. No doubt the first baseball story was told on May 5th. No sport, not basketball, not football, not hockey, has the oral tradition of the national pastime. And like any good oral tradition, it has been passed from generation to generation. Baseball stories, in one form or another, are as much a part of our game as the infield fly and the rosin bag. In this book, they come in all sizes and shapes – short stories, essays, expressions, rules, jokes and slang to name just a few.

The first “Baseball Balladeer” in my life was one Vincent Edward Scully, known to three generations of fans as “Vin.” For baseball-ignorant Southern Californians, he was a Godsend. Far more than their voice, he was their teacher. Now the game, which had been thousands of miles away, was as close as your transistor radio or the “am” in your car. He gave Los Angeles: the who, what, when, where, and most importantly, why. He studied at the foot of a master [Red Barber] and is acknowledged as the best in the business. And I know this how? He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame…43 years ago! For nine years, I was lucky to be his producer. I called him “The Doctor,” for his PhD in Baseball. Try explaining the balk rule to the man who taught you half of what you know about the game.

When I began covering the Angels, I got to know Emil Joseph “Buzzie” Bavasi. If you looked up “character” in the dictionary, it would say, “see Buzzie.” In the ‘40s he was Branch Rickey’s top lieutenant and had a hand in breaking Baseball’s color line as well as dealing with Vero Beach in the acquisition of “Dodgertown.” He became General Manager and earned a reputation as a shrewd and tough negotiator. “Buzzie” loved to tell the story about contract haggling with a certain player [still alive, so no names]. He had a “fake” contract with a very low salary created for the team’s best player. He left it on his desk and excused himself for a moment, convinced that the player would take a peak. Needless to say that when he returned, the negotiations ended quickly and in “Buzzie’s” favor.

He had been schooled in [and ultimately taught] the Branch Rickey way of playing the game [stressing fundamentals, nurturing talent, and the importance of a strong farm system]. In the years we worked together, I never once over heard a conversation when he wasn’t at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end of a story or anecdote. He lived for Baseball and lived to talk about it.

In 1985, I began working with Bob Starr. Bob [or as we called him, “Bobo”] was the broadcaster’s broadcaster. He could do play-by-play for anything – Baseball, Football, your kid’s hopscotch game…anything. “Bobo” was a graduate of the KMOX “School of Broadcasting.”

The famed St. Louis radio station produced Harry Caray, Jack and Joe Buck, Buddy Blattner, Joe Garagiola and Bob Costas, among others. He had that smooth, Midwestern style and on the air you’d swear he was talking just to you.

I once shared a golf cart with him for a round. Four hours well spent looking for my ball [as usual] and listening. He loved to tell stories, some on himself. While playing 18 holes on an off day, Bob had a heart attack. Upon arrival at the hospital the doctors asked, “if he was in pain?” “Yes,” he replied, “in my backside.” Mystified, the Doctors went over the test results. A physical examination revealed that the patient still had his pants on. The source of the pain was two Titleists in his back pocket. How we miss “Bobo.”

The average Baseball fan may not recognize the name Jack Lang, but every player knew him and loved it when he called. Jack was for twenty years the executive secretary of The Baseball Writers of America, and, if he telephoned you, it meant that you just won the Cy Young Award, the Most Valuable Player Award, the Rookie-of-the-Year or had hit the “Baseball Lottery,” induction into the Hall of Fame. His vocation was sportswriter [a New York beat writer], and for forty years he was one of the best.

I met Jack in 1987. We had been hired by Victor Temkin to do sports licensing for MCA/Universal. It was there I discovered his sense of humor, his humanity and his encyclopedic knowledge of the game.

We would speak on the phone almost every day for an hour. Five minutes would be devoted to business, the remaining fifty-five given over to “talkin’ baseball.” I firmly believe that I could have put the phone on speaker, turned on a tape recorder, left the room, and returned thirty minutes later to find another chapter for this book.

In 1997, we took a production crew to his home for an interview. It was the 50th anniversary of Jackie Robinson’s entry into the major leagues, and who better to discuss it with than the man who covered it. Jack lived in the little village of Ft. Salonga on the North Coast of Long Island, [Vin used to refer to him as “the Squire of Ft. Salonga”] in a modest house with an office on the side. The office contained a desk, two chairs and enough Baseball memorabilia to open a museum. [The whole place could have been shipped, as is, to Cooperstown.]

“Buzzie,” “Bobo,” and “the Squire” are gone and, believe me; this book would have been much easier to write if they were still here. We still have “Vinnie” [long may he reign]. If there is such a thing as a sub-dedication, this is for them. They and countless others had a hand in writing this book. I have tried to fashion a work with something for everyone, from the hard-core fan to the young people just learning about our game. In so doing, I’ve run the gamut all the way from Baseball history to Baseball jokes. I hope you enjoy it and hope it adds to your love for “The Game.”

Steve Orlandella spent his career working in Sports Television, most of it in baseball. He studied broadcasting, history and theatre at California State University, Northridge. While working on his degrees, he joined the Cal State staff as a producer-director of Educational TV.

In 1979, he joined KTLA Channel 5 in Los Angeles as a news producer, senior sports producer, and director of “News at Ten”. In 1985, he was promoted to KTLA’s Supervising Producer/Director. He produced and directed entertainment programs, Angels Baseball, and Clippers Basketball Games.

In 1987, he worked for MCA/Universal as Producer of media for the Merchandising/Licensing Division, later becoming an independent Producer/Director. He produced winter and summer Olympic specials, Kings Hockey games, promos and commercials for Z-Channel and Sportschannel, and directed boxing, pro and college basketball.

Then, in 1993, he became Producer for Dodgers Baseball – for nine seasons. He won Golden Mikes, Associated Press Awards, and was nominated for Emmy’s twelve times. He received two Emmy’s for his work with the Dodgers.

In 2005, he launched Steve Orlandella Productions and Ormac Press. His first three published books were non-fiction: Stevespeak: Three Years on Facebook (2012); Titanic: Those in Peril on the Sea (2013); The Game: A Baseball Companion (2013).

His next five published books were fiction, with baseball and ballparks being a running theme throughout: Burden of Proof: A Vic Landell Mystery (2014); Capitol Murder: A Vic Landell Mystery (2014); Marathon Murders: A Vic Landell Mystery (2015), Dance with Death: A Vic Landell Mystery (2015); Midtown Mayhem: A Vic Landell Mystery (2016). He was working on Casino Killer: A Vic Landell Mystery when he died of heart failure in August 2016.

Steve knew baseball, in and out. He cared passionately about the Red Sox in Boston. He also cared about the Patriots, the Celtics, Lotus cars, meatballs, pundits, condiments, the Titanic, his family, and Vin Scully – not necessarily in that order. Steve Orlandella’s testament to his love of the game: THE GAME: A BASEBALL COMPANION.

https://www.amazon.com/Game-Baseball-Companion-Steve-Orlandella-ebook/dp/B00HGELSWC/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1498890374&sr=8-2&keywords=Steve+Orlandella+The+Game%3A+A+baseball+Companion

Best, Jay

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