Just because...

The true end of an era, last night--

 

Sunday, September 18, 2005

 

Two Quintessential Americans: Johnny and Dave

I just finished watching this year's Emmy extravaganza.
Ellen DeGeneres did a fairly good job of hosting it: whatever timing did not go according to plan was certainly not her fault. One of the two best moments of the evening was most certainly when David Letterman paid tribute to his mentor, Johnny Carson. And then Jon Stewart did the same for Dave, which, considering that he walked away with most of the "reality" humor awards for the evening, was especially sweet. Conan O'Brien also appeared to be touched. But where, I wonder, was Bill Maher?

When Johnny passed away, I wrote the following:

THE QUINTESSENTIAL AMERICAN

BY GEORGINA MARRERO

It didn’t dawn on me until this morning: Johnny Carson passed away on my mother’s birthday. She would have liked that, I think, as she herself was quiet, self-effacing… and managed to have perfect timing. Just like Johnny.
It takes a helluva comedian to be able to play the straight to someone else’s funny. Engaging in humor – or, at least, attempting to do so – I’m discovering that as I go along. Perhaps not so much through my written work, but when I come out with something that—for reasons often unbeknownst to me—makes someone laugh, I sometimes take a step back, look at the person quizzically… and only succeed in making her/him laugh even more. I think this is called delivery. And delivery cannot exist without timing.
My mother was great at the delivery and the timing. You’re either born with it, or you’re not. In my opinion, my mother had it. And so did Johnny.
My mother could make me laugh at the drop of a hat. She had the whole ward howling when she peered into a patient’s throat to see just what the unfortunate man had swallowed. He’d swallowed the sole of a tennis shoe. According to my mother’s favorite nurse, my mother peered in, straightened up, and proclaimed: “What a strange appetite.” Her delivery and timing were impeccable. Again, just like Johnny.
Never much of a night owl until recently, I missed many of Johnny’s great moments, so I actually played catch-up, of sorts, last night via NBC and Larry King. Don Rickles, looking very sad, was a guest on both. As I don’t remember seeing Johnny’s farewell in 1992, it felt so good to view Bette Midler deliver her loving, grateful showstopper. Once again: Johnny in the shadows, letting someone else shine.
But then, again, he had an eye for talent. The Divine Miss M, Joan Rivers, Don Rickles, Steve Martin, Jerry Seinfeld, Jay Leno… and David Letterman, to name a few.
David Letterman: well, I’ve gotten in the habit of watching him over the course of the last several years. I confess I prefer his monologue to Leno’s. Now I know why: Johnny continued to feed him jokes. OK. Let me get serious again.
Dave’s the one who’s continued to follow Johnny’s format. The one-line zingers that sway between the sublime and the ridiculous in his snappy, no-frills monologue, making me either howl, titter, or, occasionally, hiss. Paul’s his sidekick, instead of Ed. Rupert G’s Deli; Will It Float?; the girls; the animals; the nerves of his guests; his ongoing feud with Oprah: I follow him much more closely, don’t I?
And I didn’t know until yesterday – I didn’t pay attention until yesterday – to the fact that it was Johnny who mentored Dave.
Then again, I didn’t pay attention until almost the end that my mother was mentoring me.
My mother loved quintessential Americans. Harry Truman, Lyndon Johnson, and Charles Kuralt were among her favorites. She must have watched Johnny. It was probably at her side that I first glimpsed him, when I didn’t know what I was supposed to be on the lookout for.
At least I now have a better idea. I’d better keep watching Dave. Thanks for training him, Johnny.
Monday, January 24, 2005

Somos E.T.'s!!!

Today would have been my father's 105th birthday.  Imagine...(well, I believe my great-grandmother lived to be 106)--

What to post?  How about, my original La Loquita del Zig-Zag vignette--the inspiration--La Loquita del Zig-Zag Aterriza?  After all, I feel more and more like an E.T. as Life rolls along:

LA LOQUITA DEL ZIG-ZAG ATERRIZA

POR NININA MAMEYEZ

            Hola!  Me llamo Ninina Mameyez.  Tengo cuatro anos.  Vivo en una casa MUY grande!  Creo que tiene algo que ver con – AR, ARTE DECO.  Que es eso?  Tiene dos pisos.  Tiene una terraza – por que se llama así?  Tiene que ver con la tierra?  Paseo mi bicicleta por toda la casa.  A mi tata no le gusta:  ella me pellizca.  No sé por que.  Peo – uh, oh! – pero, a mi mami y a mi papi no le importan. 

            Mi mami vino de la luna.  Mi papi, de otro planeta más lejano, afuera de nuestro sistema solar.  Solar?  El sol?  Por lo menos, sé donde esta la luna.  Y donde esta el sol.  AY, que calor hay acá!  Pero yo tengo aire-aicondicionado en mi cuarto.  Mami y papi también lo tienen, en el cuarto de ellos.  Y, también, en la biblioteca de mi papi.  Mi papi tiene muchos libros.

            Hay una estatua muy rara en la biblioteca de mi papi.  Se trata de una sabina raptando a un fauno.  QUE?  O, alo mejor, el fauno esta raptando a la sabina.  Nunca me acuerdo.  Lo que es importante es que es FRANCESA.  Todo lo que es francés tiene MUCHA importancia en nuestro país.  Los seres extra-terrestriales – los ET’s, verdad? – se consideran como los segundos franceses.  Le dan nombres franceses a todo.

            Pero, no mi papi...  porque el estudio en La Francia.  Y, mi mami, también.  Ahí se conocieron.  Y, después, papi trajo a mami a nuestro país.  La trajo al campo, donde la casa era un bohío.  Los guitarristas tocaron música.  Después, mami pregunto, “Donde esta la casa?”  Papi dijo, “Allá.”  (El bohío.)  Mami tenia ganas de hacer (tu-sabes-que).  ¿”Dónde esta el baño?”  Papi dijo, “Allá.”  (El platanal.) 

            AY, que lugar, este país de los extra-terrestriales, dijo mami.  No creo que estamos ni en la luna, ni en La Francia.  Que va a ser de mí?  NOOOO!

            Me tengo que acostar.  Soy una niñita.  Buenas no – ches...

Es propiedad de Georgina Marrero, 2003                 340 palabras 

What's in that Canary Islands water?  I wonder, more and more, each day ;-)!

FELIZ CUMPLEANOS, PAPI!  TE QUIERO PARA SIEMPRE, LA NININA

Growing up and the glory of third grade - Miami Stories - MiamiHerald.com

Growing up and the glory of third grade | Miami Herald Miami Herald

Above you'll find the most up-to-date link to my October 18, 2013 miamiherald.com article--hard copy appeared in the Neighbors section of the Sunday, October 20 edition of The Miami Herald.

No more pictures included (so here they are!):

 Mi Papi, el Doctor Federico Efrain Marrero; residente en neurocirujia en el Jackson Memorial Hospital.  Foto tomada en 1962?

Encima:  En una fiesta, el verano de 1963. Abajo: con mi Mami, Ana Raab Marrero, en una feria escolar en el--en esa epoca!--terreno enorme de Shenandoah Elementary School, Noviembre, 1961.  Todavia no usaba espejuelos :-o!

 El Amsterdam Palace; donde pasamos varias temporadas espectaculares durante varios veranos!   Mami me indico cuando Versace compro a su "Casa Casuarina."  Otra vez es un hotel...de lujo, esta vez ;-).

Con Nicky Perusina, Mayo, 1963:  El Baile Hungaro--los bailarines hungaros :-)!

Doctora Ana Marrero

Happy New Year, Mami!

There's an op-ed piece in The New York Times today about doctors beginning to make house calls again; after a more than fifty-year hiatus.  My mother, Ana Raab Marrero--as was her wont ;-)--was ahead of her time:

I would like you to read the following.  I didn't write it—my mother did.  She was Hungarian: a European-trained doctor who received her medical degree in Paris in 1940.  One of her aunts had become the third woman doctor in Hungary (though she never practiced, as she married a wealthy man).  My father—also a doctor—enabled her escape out of Europe in 1941; they proceeded to live in Cuba (my father's homeland) for the next nineteen years.  I was born in 1954.  In 1960, we arrived in the United States. 

My mother had been a housewife for twenty-five years when she decided to take the foreign medical exam—the ECFMG, as it was called—in 1965.  We were living in Georgia at the time.  She passed the first time; went on-staff at Milledgeville—now, Central—State Hospital; it was there in 1967 that she began her residency in psychiatry.  She was 54 years old.  When she finished her residency three years later, she rejoined my father and me in Florida.  Two years later, at age 59, a fortuitous set of circumstances led to her landing a job as a clinical psychiatrist at South Florida State Hospital, where she practiced until she retired at age seventy. 

My mother was an extraordinary woman:  principled; dauntless; with a privileged and exquisite mind.  She was also extremely practical.  Fascinated with politics, current events, and with progressive ideas—culling them from all of her constant and voracious reading—she kept notebooks filled with news clippings and lists of quotes and sayings.  She was a true product of her generation:  “The Greatest Generation.”

During the 1990’s, she shared the following with me (and I haven't overly-edited: please keep in mind that English was technically her fifth language!): 

"About doctors."  Among the many changes the world experienced through the 20th century, the changes of medical practice are among the most significant.  Physicians used to be involved with the patients personally--they made home deliveries, home calls, they even operated on kitchen tables:  simple things like tonsils and appendix.  They often worked pro bono and in my generation who does not remember the old country doctor who often left a few dollars next to his prescription.  The doctors listened to the patient and their families and they often smiled at each other.  They were generally respected, trusted, and loved.  Nobody ever heard of suing the doctor and the insurance was not a major issue.  Now everybody is covered by insurance (or else!).  The doctor is secluded in his office, surrounded by assistants, submerged in paperwork and technicians, (who are) performing procedures and even "examinations."  The first thing requested from the patient is not a list of his complaints, but to fill out forms concerning the type of their insurance, their SS number, etc.  The P.E. (physical exam) is minimal, technicians and technology replaced the Hippocratic methods.  Errors are more frequent than when the practice was more personalized and Malpractice--the big M--often caused by negligence, and sometimes by ignorance is more prevalent.  Accidents and human error always existed, but we used to remember the saying "Errare humanum est."  Now we think more in terms of suits than philosophical concepts.  A special chapter should be dedicated to the Medical Business proper, directed by the owners of HMO's, Hospitals, etc., limiting the physician's humanistic role and his income, but not his responsibility.  And let's face it, in spite of technicians and technology; in spite of the so-called Medical Business, Doctors are still needed.  Who else could sign your death certificate?

                                                            --Ana R. Marrero, M.D., 1913-1999

Entering my own fifty-ninth year--when your own (albeit, interrupted) years of medical training bore fruit--I am looking forward to my--possibly--third wind.  What a wonderful thought, in light of Diana Nyad's thirty-five-year-old dream to swim across the Florida Straits having finally come true on Labor Day!  A Happy New Year, indeed...

You Were My Sunshine

A classic Burdine's store facade, from at least the 1950's on (until March 6, 2005, when Federated Department stores, Burdine's and Macy's parent company, officially changed the store's name to Macy's).  The Miami Herald published a story on the end of a glorious era in South Florida retail history that same day--on Sunday, March 6, 2005.  The next day I could not help contributing my two bits:

YOU WERE MY SUNSHINE

BY GEORGINA MARRERO (3/7/05)

            Burdines Department Store, as we know it, officially closed its doors on Sunday.  I am sad.  For there are very few remnants left of the older, kinder, gentler Miami I remember from my childhood in this town.

            I am so glad my mother was such a pack rat.  Through the years, she’d kept a sturdy cardboard box with the “Burdine’s” logo block-printed on top, and “Sunshine Fashions” cleanly, yet gracefully, looped through the company name.  To complete the advertising, solid colored orange, raspberry pink, and two-toned suns sporting the same hues flank opposite sides of the box.

            For many years, this box contained some of my childhood treasures:  small knickknacks; handkerchiefs; whatnot.  When the time came, however, I emptied it, consolidated its previous holdings somewhere else, and used it as a moving box.

            To this day, it holds several of my prized adult possessions.  The kind you’re glad you have stored away somewhere, even if it’s only to catch a glimpse of them from time to time.

            Just as I – or, rather – my mother had done with my little girl things.

            I took the box out a short while ago.  Funny, I’m such a perfectionist about so many things, that I’d probably dump a box if it had so much as a dented corner.

            Not this box, however.  Several corners are slightly bent; one’s torn; and one whole corner is Scotch-taped together.  I must really like this box.

            Not to mention the squiggly line some ink pen or the other made on the top.  I see it, but I don’t see it.  What I see is a sturdy, useful box, perfectly proportioned to hold my mementos.

            I am sad about Burdines.  Don’t get me wrong:  I have nothing against Macy’s.

            But Burdine’s was my sunshine.  My we can now afford a better store sunshine when I was a child, somewhere in between Jackson Byron’s and Jordan Marsh.  They’re gone, too.

            At least I’ll always have your sturdy cardboard box of yore.

            The historian Paul George was quoted in Elaine Walker’s Herald piece on Saturday as saying that “there’s very little left.”  Almost two years ago, Robert Trigaux of the St. Petersburg Times said roughly the same thing:  “there’s not much of that left.”

            I wonder if they have sturdy cardboard boxes from Burdine’s, too?       373 words

I sent my little piece to The Miami Herald but, sadly, never heard from them :-(.

Fast forward six years:  the noted South Florida historian, Seth Bramson, had his book on the history of Burdine's Department Store published 11/1/11.  Titled, Burdine's:  Sunshine Fashions & the Florida Store, it is described on Amazon's website as:

"The story of the Sunshine State's most famous store actually began in Bartow, Florida, where William Burdine and a partner founded a small dry goods store. When his partner left the business in 1897, Burdine made the decision to move his store to a dynamic frontier town on the far southeast coast of Florida--Miami. By the early twentieth century, many Floridians were familiar with Burdine's famous Sunshine Fashions that reflected the relaxed, subtropical locale and helped define the region's identity. Join Miami historian Seth Bramson as he relates Burdine's storied history, when the likes of the Duke and Duchess of Windsor perused elegant displays and customers frequented the tearooms for a slice of the famous--and decadent--pecan pie. There will never be another store quite like Burdine's."

On November 17, 2011, The Herald's Luisa Yanez wrote an article on Bramson's book; which, not surprisingly, was prominently being featured at that year's Miami Book Fair International.  I could not help piping in, again (my letter to The Miami Herald, 11/17/11):

Dear Sir/Madam:

I thoroughly enjoyed reading Luisa Yanez' story--"'The Florida Store' memorialized in book" in Tuesday's Local & State section.  I cannot wait to get a copy of Seth Bramson's book on the history of Burdines Department Store.

Back in 2005, Elaine Walker wrote a piece on the imminent name change.  I was inspired to write the following:

(The text of "You Are My Sunshine".)

My question still stands.  I wonder if Bramson has his own box?

Thank you for making sure that Burdines is one of the standouts at this week's Miami Book Fair International!

Sincerely,

Georgina Marrero

This time someone at The Herald took note (I don't have PDF converter to MS Word, but I can assure you that the blurb below was published in The Miami Herald on 11/21/11 on page 14A, in the Letters to the Editor section):

CHILDHOOD TREAT

Thank you so much for writing about Seth Bramson's new book on Burdines.  From the time I was a child in the early '60s through its closing in March 2005 I looked forward to all my visits to the store.  It was a treat.  I was sad when it all came to an end.

Georgina Marrero

HOORAY!!!

It pays to think outside the box (as well as to take a peek inside) ;-)!

On a partly cloudy, breezy—yet, sunshine-filled—Miami Sunday, I hope this finds you in the midst of an eventful Passover season/joyful Easter!