Greenbelt’s laugh-a-minute reunion – Part 2

Mark with his Zadie in ’86 – a chip off the old block?

Maybe Harry was a wannabe comedian. Luckily he lived to see my son actually become one. I dedicate this post to Harry’s grandson, Mark, in honor of his upcoming marriage. It’s the transcript of side two of an audio cassette tape. (Side one is the previous post on this blog.) Harry kept the jokes coming at a 1996 reunion party for residents of Old Greenbelt, MD, the D.C. suburb where young, pioneer families grew up as close-knit neighbors. At the party, one woman recalled that it took a village to raise Greenbelt children, citing Hillary Clinton’s vision at the time for children of America. Between others’ reflections, Harry piped in with more jokes.


A little boy is walking down the street with a wagon, and all of sudden the wheels fall off the wagon, and the little boy says, “I’ll be damned.” And he reattaches the wheels to the wagon, and he walks a little further, and the wheels fall off again. And the boy says, “I’ll be damned.” Well the minister was walking behind him, and the minister says, “Young man, it’s not nice to say I’ll be damned. Instead when something unusual happens, say Praise the Lord.” So the kid walks a little further, and the wheels fall off again, and the kid says, “Praise the Lord.” And low and behold, the wheels pick themselves up and reattach themselves to the wagon. And the minister said, “I’ll be damned.”

Two cavemen were sitting by the fire. Outside it was raining and sleeting and thundering and lightening. And one of them turned to the other and said, “You know, we never had this kind of crazy weather before they started using bows and arrows.”

The dinosaurs were holding a revival meeting, and one of them turns to the other and he said, “You know it’s obvious that we will survive the coming problems of the Ice Age because otherwise we would cease to exist.”

People don’t always say what they mean. An example: A farmer in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, was suing an automobile driver for having been injured in an accident. And they’re in court, and the lawyer for the defendant is questioning the farmer. And he said, “Isn’t it true that at the time of the accident you told the sheriff that you were feeling fine, that nothing was wrong?” And the farmer said, “Well, let me explain.” And the lawyer said, like lawyers do, “Just answer yes or no.” The farmer says, “I have to explain. It was like this. I got up in the morning. I hitched up my horse and wagon. I threw my hound dog in the back of the wagon, and I started going toward town. And just when I got to the top of the hill, this great big automobile plowed into me from behind. It threw my horse to one side of the road; it threw my dog to the other side of the road; and I was pinned under my seat. Then the sheriff came along. He went to look at my horse, the horse had a broken leg, so he pulled out his gun and he shot him dead. He went to look at my dog, the dog was badly hurt, he had a broken back, so he shot him in the head and killed him. Then he came over to me and he said, ‘Well, and how do you feel?’ And I said, ‘I never felt better in my life!’” So you don’t always say what you mean.

A little boy came home from Sunday school, and his mother said, “What did you learn today?” “Well, our teacher told us about Moses, who rescued the Israelites from the Egyptians. When they came to the Red Sea, Moses called for the engineers to build a pontoon bridge. After they had all crossed, they looked back and saw the Egyptian tanks coming. Quick as a flash, Moses radioed headquarters on his walkie-talkie to send the bombers to blow up the bridge.” And his mother said, “Is that really the way your teacher told that story?” And he says, “Mom, if I told you the way she told me you’d never believe it.”

You know, there are all kinds of great errors in newspapers. I ran across this one: The highway commissioner said that detour signs will be conspicuously placed so that no one will have any trouble getting lost.

Here’s another one: The Northampton man has been sentenced to five years in prison for shooting but not killing his estranged wife.

A woman was filling out an employment application when she came to the square marked “age”. She didn’t hesitate; she wrote down “atomic”.  The last question on the form was “What are your aims and ambitions?” Again she didn’t hesitate. She wrote “I want to go as far as my education and sex will allow.”

The airline was advertising “Our airlines now have four hostesses instead of two, and with wider seats, too.”

[Replying to an attendee’s story about fundraising for the Jewish Community Center] I gave driving lessons for the JCC, and I had one particular student … You know, learning how to fly is not an easy thing, but it’s comparable, well, let’s say, you’ve got to have at least 18 to 20 hours of dual instruction and then another 18 to 20 hours of solo flight before you can get a license. Well I taught this lady probably 200 hours and she never was able to drive the car. She probably could have learned to fly faster than that. But you see she’s paying the shul by the hour, so the synagogue made a lot of money by her taking driving lessons. It was a good way to contribute.

A man put a coin in a vending machine and watched while the cup failed to come down. One nozzle sent the coffee down the drain, while another poured the cream in after it. “Now that’s what I call automation,” the man said. “It even drinks it for you.”

Now who can answer this very simple question? Which month has 28 days? [Audience member yells “Every month.”] You’re too smart.

This is an election year, ya know, lots of campaigning going on. This Republican is telling his friend how to get votes. He said, “What I do,” he says, “every time I take a taxi cab I give the driver a very generous tip and I tell him to vote Republican.” The other guy says, “I’m a Democrat. I’ll tell you what I do. Every time I take a taxi cab, I don’t give him any tip and I tell him to vote Republican.” If anybody here wants to vote Republican, you’re excused.

I’ve got a medical joke for you, Bill. This guy wants to buy life insurance and he’s filling out the applications, and there’s a question that says, what is your weight? So the man filled it in, 189 with glasses. So the insurance man said, “You know, this is kind of unusual. Why don’t you put down your weight without the glasses?” Well, he says, “I can’t read the bathroom scale without my glasses.”

This is one that tells an essential difference between men and women. A college English professor wrote these words on a blackboard: “Woman without her man is a savage.” And he said to the class, “Punctuate that sentence properly.” The way the males wrote it, “Woman (comma), without her man (comma), is a savage.” The way the women wrote it was, “Woman (exclamation point)! Without her (comma), man is a savage.” Emphasis on words.

The big joke going around Moscow right now, where everybody hates Yeltsin … So these people are in line for a store to buy food, and the line is very, very long, several blocks, and one woman gets out and she says to her friend, “I’m going over to the President’s house and I’m going to slap that Yeltsin right in the face.” And she left. A little while later she came back, and her friend said, “What happened?” “That line was longer than this one.”

The Russians were in the United States visiting manufacturing facilities. So they’re trying to privatize and all that. So they’re visiting one factory, and all of the sudden the whistle blows, and everybody in the factory goes out, and the Russian says to his host, “They’re all running away. What are you going to do?” And the guy says, “No, don’t worry, they’re just going out to lunch.” A half hour later the whistle blows and everybody came running back and started working. The Russian was amazed. He thought once those guys got out they’d never come back. Now the manufacturer said to him, “Which machine do you want to buy?” And the Russian said, “Never mind the machinery, I want that whistle.”

An [?] sultan kept his harem several miles away. Every time he wanted one of his wives, he sent his servant to get her. The sultan lived to be 95; the servant died at the age of 30. This proves that it’s not the women who kill you, but the running after them.

Anybody else want to talk? I can keep on all night you know. …

In a few minutes they’re gonna take away the tables and maybe do some dancing. OK, I’m gonna turn on the music. Those who want to dance, dance. Those who want to circulate, talk to each other. But let me conclude with this little story.

There’s a company that produces soap and perfume. And they had a contest for the best advertising slogan. And the one that won: If you don’t use our soap, for heaven’s sake, use our perfume.


At this point, Harry turns on the tape of music. We hear the first song: “Meet me in St. Louie, Louie. Meet me at the fair …” After a few more bars, the event tape-recording turns off. I have no doubt that Harry put together the music tapes for that evening.

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Harry as funnyman at reunion in ’96 – Part 1

Harry loved jokes. On March 23, 1996, he kicked off an event with lots and lots of them, chuckling as he went along. And judging from the laughter on the audio cassette tape, the audience enjoyed them, too. Harry was the master of ceremonies at a reunion party for elders who had lived in Greenbelt, MD, as young adults. The tape reveals nostalgic voices of people I knew; like my family, many left Greenbelt in the 1960s or so, and many stayed friends. Harry was 74 years old at the reunion, and I’m guessing most attendees were, too, give-or-take 10 years. He must have pulled from his stockpile of jokes and stories, and his experience as well. 


I brought a few notes. You know I learned from Mort Beroza that you have to put it all on 3 by 5 cards. Now, I promised a few people that I’d have a few stories I’d like to tell. First of all, people have asked me how come I chose this hotel to have a party in? And the answer is, I, who am a student at the University of Maryland and read the Maryland Diamondback every now and then, saw an ad, and it said, if you want to have a successful affair, it’s the Maryland Inn, the Best Western Maryland Inn. So I figured what can we lose? And that’s why I chose this hotel, and I think it’s great.

Those of you who have wine, here’s a toast to the good old days when we weren’t so good ‘cause we weren’t so old. Now here’s how you can tell when you’re getting old. Here’s a story I promised Martha Kaufman I would tell. (Are you listening, Martha?) The other day I bumped into Martha after many years, at the News Review office, and she said, “Harry, you’re looking wonderful.” And that’s the story – when you’re young, people come up to you and say hello, how are you? They don’t expect you to answer. When you’re middle aged, they say how ya feeling? But when you’re old, they say gee, you’re looking great, you’re looking wonderful. And to all those people I said tonight you’re looking wonderful, I didn’t mean to imply that you’re old; actually you do look wonderful. To tell you the truth, everybody looks wonderful to me.

Middle age, they say, is when you’re old enough to know better but young enough to keep doing it. And – there’s a delayed laugh, ya get it? It’s the time of life when you’re suspended between why not and why bother? You know your children are growing up when they stop asking you where they came from and they refuse to tell you where they’re going.

One of life’s very pleasant moments is when your children get to the age when you pretend that you know everything. Although my grandchildren now think I know everything. Grandchildren, you know, that’s God’s way of compensating for growing old.

You know when we were young, everybody told us to listen to our elders. Now everybody tells us to listen to our youth. I don’t know what to do – I don’t listen to anybody. And the problem with doing things to prolong your life is that all the extra years come when you’re old; you can’t enjoy them.

And there is a story I want to tell you before we eat. People very seldom say what they mean or mean what they say. Like the fashion expert who said that the trend in mini-skirts will continue. Well, it looks like the end is in sight.

A little kid went to the ballet with his father, and he’s watching all the girls dancing on their toes, and finally he says to his father, “Why don’t they just get taller girls?”

An Englishman, an Irishman and an American are flying over the Sahara Desert. The Englishman said, “A beastly place.” The Irishman said, “That’s the devil’s home.” The American said, “What a great parking lot.”

The Frenchman, who had spent a lot of time in the United States, was asked the most striking difference between the Americans and the French. The real difference, he said, is apparent in the fall of the year. The American is sad that the days are getting shorter, while the Frenchman is happy that the nights are getting longer. We don’t have the French view of things. (Al, are you confessing?)

First, I got to tell ya, not everyone here knows everyone else, so you gotta really spend a little while talking to each other, introducing yourselves. And, if you feel so inclined, when you come up to get your food, go back to somebody else’s table. And sit and chat with people you don’t know. And, during the course of the evening, anybody who wants to talk about the old days in Greenbelt, or about anything else if you have some stories to tell, feel free to come up; I’ll be happy to sit down. Meanwhile, I’ve got a few things I want to say.

The Dutchman was telling … Did you know that the Netherlands flag was red, white and blue? Just like ours. And the Dutchman was talking to an American and he says, “Our flag is symbolic of our taxes – we get red when we talk about them, white when we get our tax bills, and blue after we pay them.” And the American says, “Yeah, I know what you mean. It’s the same in the United States, only we see stars, too.”

You know, a generation ago, most men when they finished work they came home to rest; now they come home and they need exercise. Why is that?

OK, as Nat keeps prodding me, anyone who wants to come up and reminisce … I just want to give you a few short statistics. The story of the creation of the world is told in Genesis in 400 words. The greatest moral code, the Ten Commandments, contains only 279 words. Lincoln’s immortal Gettysburg address is only 266 words long. Anybody want to talk and reminisce? Keep that in mind.

If you tell a man that there are 300 billion stars, they’ll believe you. But if you tell him that a bench has just been painted, he’ll want to touch it to be sure.

Here’s a story about tourists from New York and Miami. He was struck by a car in the street. A crowd gathered, somebody called an ambulance, and another person covered the man with a blanket. And he said, “Are you comfortable?” And the guy said, “Yeah I make a living.”

A man bought a few boxes of cigars, and he insured them against fire. After he smoked them, he put in a claim against the insurance company that they had been destroyed by fire. The company refused to pay, and the man sued. The judge ruled that the company had given the man a policy protecting against fire and had to pay. So as soon as the man accepted the money, the company had him arrested under charge of arson. That’ll teach him.

Why is it that goods that are sent by ship are called cargo, while goods that go in a car are called a shipment? The peculiarities of the English language. When a girl says you’re going too far, she means you’re getting too close. Copyright is what takes away the right to copy. Flammable means the same thing as inflammable. And valuable means the same thing as invaluable. And ravel means the same thing as unravel. A very peculiar language. I’ve been trying to teach English to speakers of other languages at the University of Maryland. And it’s incredible how difficult it is to try to explain the meaning of words to a person for whom English is a foreign language.

A reporter was sent out for a man-on-the-street opinion survey concerning the modern woman. The first person he encountered was a man who had just passed his 102nd birthday. (Pay attention, Al.) “I’m afraid I can’t be much help to you,” replied the old gentleman regretfully. “I quit thinking about women almost two years ago.” (You’re all gonna get an exam about this later.)

The Navy recruit lost his rifle on the firing range. He was told he’d have to pay for it. He protested. He said, “Suppose I was driving a Navy jeep, and somebody stole it, would I have to pay for that, too?” And he was told yes. “Now,” he said, “I know why the captain always goes down with his ship.”

An old miser called his doctor, he’s on his death bed, and he says, “They say you can’t take it with you, but I’m gonna do it. I’ve got three envelopes, and each one has $30,000 cash. I want my doctor, my lawyer,” and who else? [Audience member says my accountant] OK, my accountant, I’ll go with that. “I want each of you to throw an envelope into my coffin just before they lower me into the grave.” So at the funeral, each man tossed in his envelope. On the way home (it was a pastor, not an accountant), the pastor confessed, “I needed the money for the church, so I took out $10,000 and threw only $20,000 into the grave.” The doctor said, “I’m building a clinic, so I really needed $20,000, so I only threw in $10,000.” And the lawyer said, “I’m ashamed of you both. I threw in a check for the full amount.”

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey, along came a spider and sat down beside her and said, “curds have cholesterol, whey is fattening, and sitting on that tuffet will give you back trouble before you’re 40.” That’s what’s going on in our lives today, dangerous foods. There was one guy taking a survey … you know, all kinds of foods are going to kill us sooner or later, and meat, you know, is murderous (red meat); vegetables are vicious; the water we drink is poisonous. And he pointed at one guy in the audience and he said, “Can you tell me what it is that most of us eat at one time or other that’s the worst thing in the world for us?” And without hesitation, the man answered “wedding cake.”

When Harry wasn't telling jokes, he was taking photos

OK, this is the story before we eat. It seems that Mr. Ginsburg is going on a cruise all by himself. And like they do on cruises, they assign you to a table, and he was assigned to a seat at a table with a French gentleman who spoke no English. First night out when he got to the table, the Frenchman stood up, bowed, and said, “Bon appetite.” Not to be outdone, Ginsburg stood up, bowed, and said, “Ginsburg.” Well, this went on every evening at the dinner table. On the last day, Ginsburg was talking to a friend and said he was glad the cruise was coming to an end because he was getting tired of that Frenchman introducing himself every night. “But Mr. Ginsburg,” his friend said, “that is not his name. It’s a French expression that means have a hearty appetite or enjoy your meal.” “Aha,” said Ginsburg. So that night, he beat the Frenchman to the table, and when the Frenchman approached, he stood up, bowed and said, “Ginsburg.”

So now enjoy the dinner. I have some more stories for after we eat. … Let’s start at that table where my sister is sitting.

If anyone would like to listen to the audio tape with the reunion attendees telling jokes and stories, please contact me. Stay tuned for Part 2 – the other side of the audio cassette tape.

Copyright 2107, Elaine Blackman

Poems honor marriages, friends not forgotten

 
Two years ago I began this blog to show us more about Harry’s life through his left-behind writings. In this post, we see yet more colorful memories from his personal files! When our family lived in Greenbelt, MD, 1949-1963, my parents made lifelong friends with many dozens of families. Those were pioneering days in the government’s experimental community outside of D.C. I’ve reunited with some of the “children” of those families as our parents have aged and passed away. I dedicate the following four poems – a few of likely hundreds – to them, and to all the other Greenbelt “kids” out there.





Aug. 22, 1993
To Irene and Sid Spector on their 50th Anniversary

Marriages, the sages say, are made in Heaven, every day,
But this I say, for what it’s worth, a few good ones are made on Earth.
At least, my friends, they used to be, when we were all still young and free,
And each man chose himself a wife, to have and hold throughout his life,
And every woman gave her heart until, they said, ‘death us do part’.
So pass the word around the nation, educate each generation,
While we, the older ones, you know, who hit our fiftieth long ago,
Celebrate again tonight with someone else who did it right.

These newlyweds, this pair of clowns, who spread good cheer with smiles, not frowns,
This marriage is a great success, a miracle, no more, no less,
Because they worked to make it good, they didn’t have to knock on wood.
The Spectors, Irene and her Sid, if anyone did good, they did.
For after all is said and done, they have more friends than anyone,
They share their love with all their friends, their friendship knows no bounds or ends,
They set the pattern and the form for love that’s genuine and warm,
Their love, a source of pride and pleasure, their friendship all of us can treasure.

So here’s a word of sound advice that bears repeating once or twice,
To keep all couples on their toes, and we all need this, heaven knows,
Love is just like bread, they say, it must be made fresh every day,
So each day make your bread anew, and each day love each other, too.
And if we all keep love’s sweet score, we might survive for fifty more!


Nov. 1, 1992
To Fran and Jack Sanders on their Golden Wedding Anniversary

The Year was 1942, and all throughout the land,
Our generation danced to music played by each Big Band,
When Benny was the King of Swing, on boxes called a juke,
And Basie was a royal Count, and Ellington a Duke,
When Harry James and Miller, Glenn, the Dorseys, Sammy Kaye,
All taught us how to jitterbug, and how to swing and sway.
Sinatra sang the songs of love, and so did Crosby, Bing,
And all of us knew all the words and helped the singers sing,
Sweet music filled the airwaves every night and every day,
And we could name each major band when it began to play.

Oh, we were all so very young, the world was younger, too,
When Jack and Frances found a love that stayed forever true.
And so these two got married, by a local judge, at first,
Which wasn’t really proper then, but that was not the worst,
To consummate the marriage Sanders’ Grandma made them wait,
For a Chuppa and a Rabbi who could bless their wedded state.
With their mutual commitment made, for better or for worse,
Then Greenbelt afterwards became their hometown universe,
And here they raised two kids with love, and made their home secure,
And here they made a host of friends whose friendships still endure.     

And then, as it was preordained, believe this, friends, or not,
The Sanders both were doubly blessed – six grandkids were begot!
Well, fifty years have now gone by as quickly as a wink,
It seems they’ve hardly had a chance to turn around or blink,
And both of them are older now, and wiser, so they say,
But deep inside they’re still as young as they were yesterday.
With family and friends around for them to be among,
The love that lives within their hearts will always keep them young!
So here’s to Fran and Jack tonight, and to their family,
And here’s to all our children, friends, our immortality!


Jan. 7, 1983
To Jack Sanders on his Retirement

He has made his final call upon each liquor store and bar,
And now he’ll have some time to spend in cleaning out his car!
He will have more time for golfing and for treating Fran with style,
Which will surely keep her smiling for at least a little while!

He’s achieved a reputation as a connoisseur of wine,
He knows which brands are bad or good and which are really fine,
But now that he’s retiring he no longer has to drink it,
He doesn’t have to sample it or sip it, let them sink it.

So now he’s free to switch from wine and learn to savor beer,
For beer has many properties that bring about good cheer,
And beer makes better lovers, I would wager you or bet,
And you may take my word on that, but please don’t ask Jeanette!

Now we all can raise our glasses in a sweet retirement toast,
To a guy with more admirers than most of us can boast,
May all the many years ahead be happy and carefree,
And may funds continue flowing into Social Security!


Feb. 15, 1975
To Ratzkin, Shinderman and Pines on their 60th Birthday

Now if anyone had told us just a year ago today,
That we all would here be gathered from our homes so far away,
We’d have laughed at them and asked if they had lost their foolish minds,
Yes, but here we are to honor Ratzkin, Shinderman and Pines!

And all of us have traveled here from near and far away,
To celebrate and dedicate this most auspicious day,
To sing our Happy Birthday songs, those well-remembered lines,
For three good men named Shinderman, and Ratzkin, too, and Pines!

We have shared so much together, through so very many years,
Both our simchas and our sorrows, both our triumphs and our tears,
We have shared some stormy weather, we have shared some happy times,
And now we’ll share your birthdays, Ratzkin, Shinderman and Pines!

And each one in attendance, by his presence in this place,
Is expressing his affection with a special touch of grace,
Just attending is expressing all the love that you have in ya,
For it proves how much we care for Ratzkin, Shinderman and Pinya!

So here’s to number sixty, just in case you’re keeping score,
And here’s to all the years ahead, at least as many more,
And here’s to birthday greetings, in a poem that really rhymes,
And here’s to all the friends of Ratzkin, Shinderman and Pines!

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Harry’s 1957 movie review, old Greenbelt anecdotes

In this fourth blog post showing Harry’s editorials in the Greenbelt News Review, we see more of his opinions and stories from life in the 1950s. One line in particular is a telling example of Harry’s character: “When I do have something to say I will say it.”


 January 17, 1957
“The Editor’s Notebook”

(Below is Harry’s review of the Hollywood movie based on a true episode in Greenbelt. He reflected about the episode much later in his life, in a writing posted earlier on this blog: Harry recounts McCarthy-era case in our Greenbelt, MD, hometown)

On Thursday, January 10, along with quite a few other Greenbelters, I was privileged to attend a preview showing of the movie “Three Brave Men” at Jack Fruchtman’s Century Theater in Baltimore. As everybody knows by now, this is the picture which tells the story of Greenbelt’s, and the country’s, most famous “security risk”, Abe Chasanow. Of course, 20th Century Fox points out that this is not specifically his story, but rather is simply based on his experience, as written in the newspapers by Pulitzer prize-winner Anthony Lewis. But in spite of the liberty which Hollywood takes with the truth, the story is clearly recognizable.

The acting was very well done, as one would expect from such stars as Ernest Borgnine, Ray Milland, Frank Lovejoy, Nina Foch, Dean Jagger, Frank Faylen, and many others. Their characterizations and portrayals were sincere and convincing, the dialogue tight yet natural, the entire effect really moving many to tears. But for Greenbelters there is even more of a thrill than for others, because this is a movie about our town. The names and faces may be changed but the identities are unmistakable. It was fascinating to me to see how Hollywood treated the Chasanow family, and how close they could come to capturing the characters of Abe and Helen and the four children, Howard, Phyllis, Myrna and Ruthie. Equally interesting were the portrayals of police chief George Panagoulis, Mayor Frank Lastner (a truly composite character) and a certain priceless mailman. I personally was delighted with the characterization of Terry Braund, who, cleverly disguised as a Presbyterian minister, wove his own magic spell around everyone. Then, too, there was the co-op housing corporation and the frequent references to cooperatives, pro and con, which are so much a part of our daily lives.

All in all, it was a gripping picture, and, if it wasn’t exactly faithful to the facts, it was still true to life. And as Terry Braund remarked at his farewell dinner Saturday, it was not just a picture about him, or about the Chasanows either – it was a picture about justice and truth, about America. When it comes to Greenbelt (sometime in March) I want to see it again, and everybody else should, too.

 September 19, 1957
“The Editor’s Notebook”

I have been asked recently why I do not resume a column I started writing last winter – a column of comments on the local scene. To answer all those kind inquiries, it is because I have had little of importance to say, and I have always believed that it is not any function to fill up space with trivia. When I do have something to say I will say it.

During his Greenbelt years, Harry found time to teach flying, too

Last week, for example, I received in the mail a package for the staff of the News Review. It was a box of candy, and with it was a card which read, “We have always appreciated the newspaper.” Now incidents like this are all too rare. In fact, we are normally on the receiving end of an incredible amount of abuse, and it is with sincere gratitude that we accept this token from a faithful reader. It helps us to renew our determination to do the best job of reporting and reviewing local events that we can, as our contribution to community life. In this respect, we also renew our perennial plea to those residents whose interests and talents lie along similar lines. We can always use more reporters, copy-readers, proofreaders and clerical workers on the papers. There is, of course, no money involved, but I doubt that anyone could find a more satisfying or rewarding way to spend two or three hours each week. Call me if you want to try it.

November 14, 1957
“The Editor’s Notebook”

Last week I was pleasantly surprised to discover that the co-op gas station now vacuums every car that comes in for a grease job. This sort of customer service is a welcome innovation, and I’m sure that all the car-owners appreciate it. It is also an indication that the co-op recognized the fact that it is in a competitive business and is making every effort to meet that competition. After all, a satisfied customer is a come-back customer, and it’s only good sense to try to outdo the competition down the street in attracting and holding customers. That is, when there is a competitor down the street.

Unfortunately, there is no competitor down the street in the food business. In this situation, I think the co-op is not quite so concerned about satisfying its customers. I make that statement because I noticed two weeks ago that sirloin steaks were selling for considerably less in the Piney Branch store than they were in the Greenbelt store. Is this because there is competition in the Piney Branch neighborhood, where there is none in Greenbelt? Naturally, I wonder about that, and if there is another explanation, I hereby invite GCS to use this space to make it. Until they do so, I can’t help thinking that it seems unfair for the co-op to charge its Greenbelt customers more than its customers pay for the same thing in any of its other locations.

He was often a master of ceremonies in Greenbelt

Just for the record, four people approached me personally, and three more by telephone, to report this situation and to ask what the newspaper was going to do about it. Actually there is nothing the paper can do about it except to publish it so that the people know about it. I would welcome any letters to the editor on this subject giving our readers’ views.

* * *

My carpool has quite a unique arrangement which I think others would be interested in. There are six of us – characters all – five drivers and one passenger. The passenger, of course, has to pay three dollars a week for his ride, which amounts to sixty cents a week for each of the drivers. Now sixty cents a week may be a lot of money to some of the carpool characters around here, but in our pool each of the drivers agreed to forego this pittance. Instead, each week, the passenger makes out a check to the favorite charity of one of the five drivers, who take turns deciding to whom the three dollars will go. As a result, several local organizations will be receiving mysterious donations in the mail, and if any worthwhile group wants to get on our list, just send your applications to Sid Barnett, 45-F Ridge, our executive secretary and general factotum. All applicants will receive equal consideration and prolonged discussion in our carpool – this I can safely promise.

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Editorials spotlight changing times in old Greenbelt

On this page, we see more views of Greenbelt life in the 1950s. And, we see Harry’s budding passion for independent, community newspapers. This blog post is the third in a series of Harry’s editorials as volunteer editor at the Greenbelt, MD, News Review.


May 13, 1954 
“Time Marches on Greenbelt”

(Harry reviews Time magazine’s coverage of a McCarthy-era case involving Greenbelt residents. He reflected on the case in an earlier post on this blog, Harry recounts McCarthy-era case.)

Although we may be dubious about the circumstances under which it has happened, Greenbelt is now definitely in the national spotlight. Not only is the story of our community and the Chasanow case featured in a big spread in Time magazine; but on last Thursday afternoon our town was also mentioned at length in a phase of the nationally televised McCarthy-Army hearings.

We were particularly interested in the Time article, which reviewed the beginnings of Greenbelt as well as discussing the controversial case that the Washington papers spread over their front pages recently. Our interest of course, is aside from the fact that the Cooperator has received mention in a national magazine. As might be expected from a magazine of Time’s caliber, the facts in the story are brilliantly presented. In addition, Time’s pungent style struck hard at what it obviously believed was the chief aspect of the case.

Harry and Jeanette with then-associate editor Izzy Parker, 1953

However, there is an implication in the story which we believe may give the thousands of readers of Time the wrong impression of Greenbelt. The articles did not, or perhaps could not, make clear that the bitterness of Greenbelt’s stormy period is largely a thing of the past – at least, we have every reason to believe that this is so. Ever since The Great Move of last summer, when hundreds of residents moved out of Greenbelt because they did not wish to purchase homes here, a new spirit has begun to transform the city based principally on the pride of home ownership. Those who felt that Greenbelt offered something only as long as they could live here under low Government-subsidized rents, or who violently objected to the management of a cooperative housing corporation, have left. Those who remained and the newcomers who have since joined are now helping to plan and are looking forward to a greater Greenbelt.

On the other hand, we believe that Time’s statement that “in Greenbelt, where most of the residents are Government workers, the suspensions (of Chasanow and others) cast a pall of fear and dismay” is unfortunately generally true. As we indicated in our front-page editorial of a few weeks ago, the Government employees here are concerned that a false impression of Greenbelt may have been created by the publicity. They fear that Greenbelt may be regarded as a “queer” place with an unhealthy atmosphere. Such fears, if not put aside, could lead to the destruction of our community spirit.

It is to be devoutly hoped that the people of Greenbelt will not succumb to these fears. No one can be certain how all this will work out, but it could be that Time will tell.

May 20, 1954
“Registration Day”

There is never any excuse for the citizen who fails to take advantage of the golden opportunity to participate in his government by voting in the local and national elections. Certainly the excuse that he forgot to register is a poor one. Furthermore, Greenbelt residents can register without the slightest inconvenience since they can do so at the Center School on Registration Day, May 25, until 9 p.m.

Many of us, while we are usually anxious to vote in a presidential election, forget that all elections are equally important – whether for representatives in Congress or local dog-catcher. We have no right to complain about the kind of job our officials are doing if we have not even taken the trouble to register, let alone vote. It is no argument to say that the particular official we loathe was elected by the people in some other district or state. He may well have been elected because others, like ourselves, were not interested in participating in the election.

There is no guarantee that all those elected to office from this area will serve us well, but at least let us be able to say that we did our best to put into office the type of men whom we personally believe would be the most capable for the job.

July 29, 1954
“On Changing Our Name”

The publication of this issue marks an important change in the history of this newspaper – and in the history of this community. For some sixteen years the Cooperator has been an institution in Greenbelt, not only on the scene but a vital part of the scene. Every organization in town, every church, every group, every club, every regularly scheduled activity, has, at one time or another had something to do with this paper, if not in direct participation, then by reading accounts of its doings in our pages. Legions of residents and ex-residents have at one time or another served on our volunteer staff. The publication of this issue, therefore, without the Cooperator banner-head, signals the end of an era.

For the last five years, repeated attempts have been made to change the Cooperator name. On several occasions the membership of the paper has voted to do so, but invariably the same situation arose. While agreeing to change the name from Cooperator to something else, the staff could never seem to agree on the something else. Standing committees, appointed to come up with a recommendation, have remained standing, so to speak, until they finally faded away. Every possible alternative name has been explored, discussed and re-discussed, examined and re-examined, debated and rejected. Difficult indeed to fill the void!

Now, however, to mix our metaphors, we have taken the bit in our teeth and have cast the die. We have decided to make a decision – with the help and understanding of our readers. For an interim period we will publish the paper without a name, meanwhile conducting a public opinion poll on suggestions for a new name. Eventually, we hope, we will arrive at a decision – one which will take the sentiments of our readers into account. Incidentally, it has been suggested that most of our readers might possibly prefer to see us retain the name Cooperator, so that name will be among the names on which the poll will be conducted.

Naturally, there are questions as to why we wanted to change the name in the first place. The reasons are difficult to put into words. When the paper was first organized, in 1937, we assumed it sounded like the ideal name to those who originally adopted it. It may very well have been, because in the beginning the paper was closely associated with, and in fact subsidized by the co-op store. This, of course, is no longer true and has not been true for many years, but the idea still seems to persist that the paper is a house organ for the co-op. Although we have repeatedly asserted our status as an independent newspaper, we believe that a change in name will be a more positive means of affirming the fact of our independence.

In addition, there are a number of Cooperators published throughout the country, at least one of which is circulated in Greenbelt – and this has added an element of confusion to some of our newer residents. Without exception, these Cooperators are closely identified with the cooperative movement or with scientific cooperative organizations. We do not have this feeling of close kinship. It is true, of course, that the paper is published by the Greenbelt Cooperative Publishing Association, Inc., and that, in fact, we are a cooperative organization. But this means only that we are a newspaper – which is published as a cooperative venture. In seeking to change our name we are not seeking to hide our identity. We are rather seeking to clarify our identity.

In the final analysis we are engaged in the business of putting out a newspaper, a typical example, if you please, of “free enterprise” in action. While we are concerned with publishing news of local interest, we are also concerned with selling what we publish, and the feeling is inescapable that we have encountered some sales resistance in trying to sell the Cooperator. Unfortunately, some recent publicity in the metropolitan papers has tended to hurt us, too. This, perhaps, has accentuated our desire to change our name – but this desire was there to begin with. We can just hear the accusation that we are retreating in the face of fire, but that viewpoint, we submit, misses the point completely. The truth is, our newspaper is a public service, and we are trying to perform this service as best we can. We believe that a change in name will make it possible to render a greater service to our community by increasing our readership acceptance, and we are asking our readers for their opinions. We are counting on them to express their opinions, not only at the polls, but also in letters to their editor.

In any event, we are embarked upon an experiment which we believe will have beneficial results. We await your reaction.

Anyone can skim the newspaper archives at:  http://www.greenbeltnewsreview.com/archives/

When he wasn’t the editor, apparently Harry wrote a column called “Words and Music”. (This is not surprising, knowing he wrote a column on music for his retirement community newsletter.)

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Editorials recall events of the early ’50s

This is the second in a series of posts showing Harry’s editorials from the newspaper in Greenbelt, MD, in the 1950s. Greenbelt is a DC suburb founded in 1937 under FDR’s post-depression New Deal. The articles offer snapshots of Harry’s writings unknown to most family and friends he left behind, plus history lessons we can appreciate today.


December 4, 1952 
“Sunday, December 7”

Most of us think of December 7 as Pearl Harbor day, and truly none of us will ever forget that tragic day of history. Every year thousands of newspapers throughout the country editorialize on the occasion of this solemn anniversary, its meaning, its significance and its implications. It is a convincing reminder that we must never allow our defenses to so deteriorate as to become vulnerable to surprise attacks by a ruthless enemy. It is a warning and a symbol of the ghastly costs of unpreparedness. We have taken that lesson to heart. We are currently expending huge sums of money to build up our military strength, and the whole purpose of this buildup is to make it unmistakably clear to any potential enemy that it would be most unwise to attack us. The sheer horror of the damage that we can deliver with our atomic weapons should make anyone think twice before risking a war. And it is our hope that behind this shield of military might, our diplomats can work out with the diplomats of the world, a true and lasting peace – a world in which the threat of war can be completely abolished – a world without weapons – a world in which men and nations can settle their disputes in a meeting room instead of on a battlefield.

But in a way, perhaps, December 7, has an even deeper meaning for us in America. For it is also the symbol of another war – a war against an enemy far more relentless and implacable than mere man. It is the birthday of a great and cherished American tradition – the birthday of the Christmas Seal. On December 7, 1907, forty-six years ago, the Christmas Seal was born.

Today in millions of American homes the Christmas Seal with the red Double-Barred Cross is as much a part of the holiday scene as the Christmas tree or Santa Claus. It carries a message of hope and good cheer, that tuberculosis can be defeated if all of us work together. In the forty-six years since the first Christmas Seal sale, tuberculosis has been forced down from first to sixth place among the causes of death in this country. But despite this progress, tuberculosis today kills more than all other infectious diseases combined. It attacks 115,000 Americans every year.

Those who buy and use Christmas Seals are helping to protect themselves and their neighbors from this killer, which attacks without obvious symptoms. They are helping the voluntary tuberculosis associations acquaint more and more people with the basic facts about TB, with the need for chest x-rays in an effort to find TB early, when it is easiest to cure. They are supporting medical research in the development of better ways of treating and preventing tuberculosis.

This is part of the personal contribution millions of Americans are making during the Christmas season. By buying and using Christmas Seals they are helping to save lives and to reduce the suffering of their less fortunate neighbors. Dec. 7 is indeed a date to remember.

December 24, 1953 
“Decision for Darkness”

Most men are able to make the vital decisions in their lives without fanfare or publicity. The twenty-two young Americans who have elected to remain in Korea with their Communist captors have had the eyes of the world focused upon them while they were making up their minds. They had a chance to stand up and testify to freedom; instead they renounced their country.

It is hard to understand the thinking of these deluded Americans. They must have witnessed the treatment given their fellow prisoners who refused to fall for the Community line. They must realize the enormity of the lies they have been told.

The time may come when they will regret their decision. It is likely that when that time comes, however, it will be too late for them to salvage the liberty they have forfeited with apparent indifference.

Americans can sympathize with the parents and the loved ones of these men whose minds have been poisoned by the Communists. It is always tragic to look upon men who have turned their eyes away from the light and entered into the kind of darkness which can consume them.

December 24, 1953 
“Newspapers”

Harry and family in 1953

“How far that little candle throws its beam”, says an old poem. It could be paraphrased, if unpoetically, to read, “How far the consequences of a strike extend”.

The New York newspaper strike, which deprived the world’s second largest city of its principal media of information and advertising for 11 days, is a perfect example. Moreover, it illustrated how unique a place the newspapers hold in a community.

The strike was brought by a photoengravers’ union which has 400-odd members employed on the major New York papers. Actually, only 207 votes were cast in favor of the strike, but it was a majority. The papers, of course, could have appeared without pictures but other unions honored the engravers’ picket lines and made publication impossible.

As a result, some 20,000 people were temporarily forced out of work, and a very large payroll was temporarily suspended. And a huge amount of holiday advertising business was lost.

This was only the beginning. To most stores, the newspaper is the dominant factor in advertising. It is the top medium for visually offering goods to vast numbers of potential buyers. No one will ever know how much retail business was lost because of the strike but many store executives are sure it was substantial. Time was bought on radio and TV stations. But these media are of only limited value to retailers for the most part and, on top of that, relatively little desirable time was available.

New York City has 10,000 newsstands and about 2,500 of them shut down entirely. All of the rest, naturally, suffered from the lack of papers to sell, which are the backbone of the business. Movie theaters and sports arenas had no effective means of publicizing their attractions.

Finally, of course, the public, which buys 5,000,000 copies a day of the New York papers, was discomfited. The news magazines diverted extra copies into the city, but there were not enough of them to meet the demand and they did not carry news with the local slant.

Whether or not the photoengravers’ wage and other demands were justified is a matter of argument. But there can be no argument about the fact that the action of a very small number of people in a case like this can directly affect the lives of many millions. New Yorkers, today, really appreciate their newspapers.

Look for more of Harry’s editorials in the next post on this blog. (Anyone can skim the newspaper archives at:  http://www.greenbeltnewsreview.com/archives/ )

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Young Harry’s Greenbelt editorials

In this glimpse of Harry’s life, he was volunteer editor of his city newspaper, for 10-12 years in the 1950s and ’60s. Named the Cooperator in 1937, Greenbelt, MD, residents changed its name to the News Review in 1954. After reading several editions he had saved in old boxes, I skimmed the online archives and chose additional editorials to share with you. They begin in 1950, when Harry was 29 years old, a year after his move to Greenbelt from Buffalo. They showcase his writing style and his views at the time, as well as local and national history. 






December 28, 1950 
“To The Infantry”

Harry, circa 1950

Drew Pearson is one of the most controversial of all columnists. He has thousands of warm admirers and thousands of bitter enemies. Most of his columns make a point of stepping hard on many toes – and the more prominent the toes, the better. However, one of his recent items is likely to be given near-unanimous approval. It discusses the bad financial deal the infantry soldier receives by comparison with his compatriots in other branches of military service.

Writes Mr. Pearson, “Under the current army pay system, the real heroes in the Korean war are drawing the least pay. They don’t even get a fair share of the glory when the publicity and medals are dished out.

“These unsung heroes are the infantrymen, who form the army’s battering ram, but who are not paid as much as the technical men and the pencil pushers behind the lines.” He goes on to say that the average monthly pay of a member of a rifle company is $135, as compared with $226 for an air force combat crewman and $172 for a submariner. Combat infantrymen once got a $10 a month bonus, but this is no longer given.

Moreover, according to Mr. Pearson, infantrymen are actually the poorest paid of all the troops in the army. Ordnance, signal corps, armored force, quartermaster, artillery and everyone else does better financially. And the ironical part of it is that all these other troops are basically, simply the infantry’s support. They exist for the sole purpose of aiding the infantry in its grim task of closing with and capturing or destroying the enemy. If the infantry fails to do that, the cause is always doomed.

Relatively little stress was placed on the infantry in the so-called New Army we heard so much about a year or so ago. This was to be pretty much the mechanized army, the push button army, in which almost everyone would be a technician of some kind. The Korean war changed that concept, and with a vengeance. It was infantry – the poor, bloody infantry of legend – that fought the delaying actions.

Infantry takes the beating in war. It suffered 70 per cent of the casualties in World War II, perhaps a higher percentage in Korea. Yet, Mr. Pearson says, In World War II it got only 11.6 percent of the medals. And as noted before, it is way down the line at the pay table.

It can be argued that mere money is a small recompense for asking a man to risk his life in war and, at best, live miserably. But it is the only recompense possible – no way exists to make the infantryman’s lot an easy, pleasant one. It is certainly a reasonable assumption that the footslogger with a rifle in his hands deserves a better break than he’s now getting.

No one who has never seen combat can possibly understand what it’s like. But, when we wake up with big heads on New Year morning, let’s stop for a moment and think – and pray – and give thanks to those brave men who are making our New Year celebrations possible. Let us remember the sobering figure of more than thirty thousand casualties. Let us join their loved ones in crying for them!

 

January 10, 1952 
“Leave of Absence”

(Did Harry take a break to help with his soon-to-be-born daughter?)

It is with considerable reluctance that I have offered my resignation as Editor of this newspaper, and even though that resignation was changed to a four month leave of absence it is still a severance of a relationship which I have enjoyed immensely.

The Cooperator to me represents a way of contributing to community living. It is an instrument which can be used to great advantage, particularly in an isolated location like Greenbelt, not only to keep everyone informed about matters of civic interest, but also to promote the community consciousness, to make friends out of neighbors.

Too many of us, today, are prone to forget or to ignore our obligations to each other. We are no longer savages who have gathered together behind a stone wall for our mutual protection. On the contrary, we are, presumably, civilized people who have recognized that community living offers many advantages which are otherwise inaccessible to us as individuals. And that very recognition imposes upon us all the obligation to contribute part of our talents and energies to our own mutual welfare. We simply cannot exist completely alone or detached from our neighbors; yet, many of us are trying to do just that.

It is a matter of deep concern to me that so few of us display any constructive interest in our community affairs. It is even more disturbing because so many who are shrinking from all contacts with community activities are so richly talented and so capable of making significant contributions. The spectacle of a city council election with only six candidates, or a GCS membership meeting with less than a quorum in attendance, is both saddening and humiliating.

Now, particularly because it is the beginning of a new year, may be a good time to take stock – to measure the benefits which accrue to us by virtue of our community life as against the contributions which we are making in return. Perhaps, as a result of such stock-taking, many will find it possible to devote more time to participating in our community’s activities. There are so many varied fields of interest in Greenbelt, so many organizations actively engaged in furthering the common welfare, and all of them eager to welcome and absorb new talent. Surely we can, each of us, pursue an activity to his liking.

I believe that the Cooperator is an ideal medium to satisfy the creative urge in each of us, an ideal vehicle for self-expression. The Cooperator has behind it a long history of worthwhile and significant contributions to the community life. Indeed, I believe it to be one of the foremost factors in the transition of Greenbelt from a government housing project to a living, vibrant city. And I believe that it will continue to figure prominently in the growth and development of Greenbelt as it changes hands from government to private ownership. The Cooperator will, I am sure, continue to make itself heard in Greenbelt, with vigor and dignity, sometimes loudly, or bitterly, or quietly, or gently but always sincerely, and always honestly.

In this connection, I am particularly pleased with the choice of Bobby Solet as Managing Editor. She brings to the Cooperator a forceful and dynamic personality, the impact of which will soon be apparent on these pages. Withal, she is quiet, thoughtful and level-headed, and, I am sure, will attract many additional recruits to augment the small staff of the paper.

Those of our readers who have an inclination to work on their community newspaper would know that the opportunity is here and that they will be welcomed. It is a satisfying and rewarding experience, an experience for which I shall always be grateful.

Apparently Harry published Christmastime poems during the 1950s and '60s, in which he thanked the city folks for their work. (Click on photo to enlarge.) No surprise; an earlier post on this blog shows a sample of his similarly styled annual poems published throughout his government career, when he held the title of “Pentagon Poet Laureate”. (Anyone can skim the Greenbelt News Review archives at: http://www.greenbeltnewsreview.com/archives/ )

I’ll post more of Harry’s editorials next week.

Copyright 2017, Elaine Blackman

Harry’s telling story of his pal Al

Harry and his friend Al Skolnik in 1962, in Greenbelt, MD, News Review clippings

I remember my parents’ dear friends Al and Elaine Skolnik, in our hometown Greenbelt, MD, always smiling and friendly. My dad and the Skolniks were tireless volunteers for the city newspaper, the News Review. Al died suddenly in 1977. Recently I found Harry’s typewritten tribute and read it for the first time. I saw that it’s never too late to appreciate this story of his pal Al – and another snapshot of my dad’s life. 


 
The news spread like wildfire last Thursday afternoon, not only in Greenbelt but throughout the metropolitan area. Al Skolnik was gone. It was unthinkable, unacceptable. Everyone I spoke to had the same reaction – shocked silence, a sense of profound sadness, a feeling of deep and irrevocable personal loss.

It is a symptom of mankind’s shortsightedness that we seldom recognize the true stature of and worth of the giants among us until they are gone. So it is with Al Skolnik. Though he received some measure of recognition while he was here, it was not nearly so much as he deserved. The high regard in which he was held found some expression in the community’s mass attendance at his funeral Sunday morning, and in the moving eulogy so eloquently voiced by Rabbi Berger. But much remains to be said. We are not finished with Al Skolnik; more to the point, he is not finished with us. His presence, his influence, will continue to touch all of us, felt not only by those who were close to him, but by the entire community he loved and served so well.

Of course, he never realized the impact of his presence on the community. I remember the overwhelming support the people showed him when he and the News Review were sued for libel by a land developer whose name has faded into obscurity. Yet, with characteristic modesty, he preferred to believe that we were fighting solely for a principle – freedom of the press. He would not accept the fact that we were just as deeply committed to supporting him personally. Yet, he was the catalyst around whom the support was rallied and upon whose courage steadfastness that most precious of American freedoms was extended and strengthened. I can see him now, in the aftermath of that oh-so-sweet Supreme Court decision, declaring that it was a victory for principle.

“But, Al,” I said, “It was as much a victory for you personally.”

“Me?” he said, a look of genuine bewilderment on his face. “But I didn’t have anything to do with it, I was just incidental.”

When we held that grand banquet a year or two afterwards, it was billed as a tribute to Roger Clark, the defense attorney who had carried the case all the way to the Supreme Court and ultimate victory. In reality, though, it was a tribute to Al and Elaine, who had carried the heavy weight of responsibility during the years of trial and trouble. It represented a massive outpouring of warmth, good will and gratitude for their total commitment to the service of their community. We tried to persuade Al, beforehand, that he should get double billing with the attorney as the guests of honor, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“I don’t want anything to detract from the tribute we’re paying Roger,” he declared flatly. “This should be his night.”

“But Al,” I argued, “everyone wants to pay tribute to you, too.”

“What for?” he asked, and he was really puzzled.

“For the sacrifices you’ve made,” I replied. “For the contribution you’ve made to the community.”

“That’s not a good enough reason,” he was adamant.

“Al,” I sighed, “you are stubborn and incorrigible.”

Of course, he won. But despite his protestations, the community paid tribute to him that night anyway. And he enjoyed it. I have never seen him grin so broadly or so continuously. He positively beamed. He was jovial. And when the staff of the News Review presented him with an electric typewriter, he accepted it gracefully and cheerfully. But afterwards, just to keep his record intact, he said: “You shouldn’t have done it.”

Like I said, incorrigible!

I never could understand why the plaintiff in that case insisted on including Al personally as a party to that law suit. Perhaps he, and his attorney, as well, perceived Al as a threat. Well, if objectivity and dispassionate honesty can be perceived as a threat, they were right. No one else was or could be as rigorously objective or as dispassionately honest as Al. He used to drive me up the walls with his insistence on knowing and presenting both sides of every controversial issue. He was forever trying to be “fair” to everyone; he even leaned over backwards to be fair to those with whom he disagreed.

I felt some sense of responsibility for Al, since I had recruited him to work on the News Review. At least, I persuaded Elaine to charm him into joining the staff and, as everyone knows, Elaine has the talent to do just that. Of course, we had to wait a few years, until he completed the requirements for his PhD, but he finally joined the staff and the rest is history. I wish I could take some credit for the enormous contribution he and the newspaper subsequently made to the community, but he did it on his own. Anyway, when Al joined the staff, I felt obligated to pass my wisdom and experience along.

“Al,” I would say, “a newspaper is not obligated to be fair or objective. It is obligated only to present the facts in its news columns, but it can be as unfair or as prejudiced as it wishes in its editorials.”

“Everybody and every side deserves equal consideration,” he would stubbornly insist.

“Not in editorials,” I would say. “Editorials can and do take clear, unequivocal positions, either for or against any given proposition, without regard to the opposing views held by others.”

“Greenbelt deserves better than that,” he declared. “We ought to show the merits of all opposing viewpoints so that people can make up their own minds.”

“Al,” I said, defeated, “you are exasperating.”

With such an attitude, he often appeared to be straddling the fence rather than expressing or taking clear-cut positions. To those of us who hold strong opinions without regard to facts, this insistence on an objective appraisal seemed irrational. Looking back on it, I am reminded of Star Trek’s Mr. Spock, who viewed all events in the light of cold logic. Thus, when something occurred that defied all the rules of sensible behavior, he was neither horrified nor offended. Instead, he would find such occurrences “interesting” and, some things, even “fascinating,” and would proceed to analyze them in meticulous detail in order to understand them and explain them.

Now, after such careful appraisals, Al sometimes arrived at the same conclusion that I had reached intuitively, based on a “gut” feeling. Naturally, when someone agrees with me, I consider him a reasonable, even a wise man. But when he reaches a conclusion different from mine, that is a horse of another color. It is particularly frustrating when his conclusion is based on intellectual conviction. Have you ever tried to argue with someone whose opinion’s based on an examination of the facts, while yours is based on intuition? There is just no reasoning with such obstinate, opinionated people. Why, a man like that can change the world; on occasion, he even persuaded me to change my opinion. Exposure to logical thinking can sometimes do that.

In essence, Al was an observer and reporter, rather than a direct participant in the affairs of the city. I have no doubt at all that he could have been elected to any public office, had he so desired, but he preferred to remain in the background. He was a public person; indeed, he was basically shy and reserved, a man who felt more at ease behind the scenes. Yet, he has been as instrumental in shaping the nature and destiny of Greenbelt as any elected official in the history of the community. The many background discussions he had with community leaders, and the suggestions and quiet recommendations he made at countless social gatherings, had a way of emerging later on as officially sanctioned policies and programs.

He and Elaine were indefatigable campaigners, but always on behalf of others, never for themselves. Over the years, their efforts assured the election of a great many public-spirited citizens to office. Those of us who were beneficiaries of these efforts used to kid him about it sometimes. In another political environment he would have been known as the “Boss”; in still another milieu, he would have been the “godfather,” though he was too selfless and too gentle a man to deserve that title. In any case, he was really embarrassed by our attempts to credit his efforts for our victories.

“I only cast one vote,” he would say, “And besides,” he would add, with that sly chuckle and half grin, “I wasn’t working to help you so much as I was trying to prevent those other guys from getting elected. You just represented the lesser of two evils.”

He had such a fine mind, trained and disciplined by study and use. During that libel trial the attorney for the plaintiff mocked Al’s educational attainments, implying that a man with a PhD ought to at least understand the meaning of certain legal terms. Among other things, the Supreme Court’s decision proved that lawyers themselves, and even judges, do not agree on the meaning of some legal terms. In any event, by attempting to degrade Al Skolnik, that attorney succeeded only in diminishing himself. I could not then, nor can I today, forgive him for some of the things he said and some of the tactics he used in the courtroom. Al, however, was quite without rancor or malice at such treatment. When I expressed my feelings to him after the initial trial, he shrugged them off.

“He was only doing his job,” he said. Then lifting a hand expressively, he cut right to the heart of it. “After all,” he said, “he was playing to the jury, while our lawyer was addressing the law.” And then came the punchline. “You know,” he added judiciously, a hint of admiration in his voice, “all in all, I think he probably did it very neatly, very professionally. After all, he won, didn’t he?”

“Al,” I said, at a loss for words, “You are too good to be true. It’s infuriating.”

What can you do with a man like that?

The many social evenings we shared, say for dinner and a movie, were illuminating. Al’s orderly mind could not tolerate illogic, a quality that Hollywood’s movies seem to cherish. Invariably, as we emerged from a thrilling and entertaining whodunit film, Al would start dissecting it.

“I don’t understand it,” he would complain. “How did the hero know that the villain was going to confront the girl with an ultimatum, and arrange to intercept the bodyguard before the rendezvous?” or words to that effect. “It just doesn’t make sense,” he would add. “It lacks coherency. The characters didn’t behave logically.”

Over refreshments at the nearest Hot Shoppes afterwards, we would discuss it. It sometimes got hilarious as we tried to explain the plot, the motivation, the situation, the character development – all the classic elements that make a story hang together coherently.

In the process, we would uncover all the flaws and inconsistencies that mark any of today’s movies. So going to a movie with Al was not only an entertaining experience, but an intellectual exercise, as well. Al’s mind at work as he tore a movie to shreds was a delight to behold.

“Al,” I would say, “you are a born critic.”

“It’s easy to criticize,” he once said thoughtfully. “The problem is to create – to build instead of to tear down.”

And in a very real way, this is what Al’s life was all about. He brought a measure of order and humanitarian perspective to a sometimes chaotic public environment. He brought a measure of sanity and rational analysis to the scrutiny of public issues. But most of all, by virtue of the active role he played on the News Review, he made the newspaper the kind of all-pervasive, unifying influence that makes a community out of a development, and gives its people a sense of belonging and sharing and togetherness. He left his corner of the world a better place than he found it, and that’s not a bad epitaph for any man.

I can see him now, scanning these pages coming out of the typewriter, as on so many previous occasions, and frowning in concentration as he mentally rejects clause after clause.

“Sounds kind of pompous doesn’t it?” he would ask mildly.

Like I said, he was incorrigible, a challenging, exasperating, infuriating man, and – oh, dear God – how we loved and respected and admired him. The sense of loss will be with us always, but, for myself, I shall always be thankful for the years of friendship we experienced together and for the memories we accumulated. For Elaine and his family, no mere words can lessen their grief, but perhaps they can take some small solace in the knowledge that so many, many of us share it with them.

In his story above, Harry (far right in photo) refers to Al (seated center) accepting an award after the Greenbelt News Review won the 1970 Supreme Court case. I’m told the case became a landmark for freedom of the press.

Copyright 2016, Elaine Blackman