The media blitz of '86

On Halloween in 1950, Harry walked into the Pentagon to start a career that spanned 36 years. So it's fitting that this Halloween we can see (and hear) his quotes that honored the day he walked out. I remember the excitement when a TV station featured his retirement -- after The Washington Post scooped the story. Now I've discovered that more newspapers ran with the lead. So here's a glance at Harry’s retirement hoopla, which is news to most of his family and friends who follow this blog.

TV news story

On June 3, 1986, “Eyewitness News” interviewed Harry for a segment on WDVM TV in Washington, DC. The clowns in the first scene were his long-time friends who managed a timely surprise! Click here for the video on YouTube. Or you can watch it here (though it may not appear on your mobile device):

Here's the video transcript:

"Early Bird Editor Steps Down"

MAUREEN BUNYAN:  The publisher of one of Washington’s best read dailies and most influential newspapers is stepping down. Harry Zubkoff, editor of the Defense Department’s most popular publication, is calling it quits after nearly four decades. Andrea Roane reports.

ANDREA ROANE:  The atmosphere at the Pentagon is usually much more subdued than this, but an exception was made today for Harry Zubkoff. After 36 years as chief of the Pentagon’s news clipping and analysis service, Zubkoff is retiring. In that position, this man who thinks of himself as just another government clerk served as publisher of the Current News, Early Bird, and other source information for high-level Pentagon officials. In 1950, when Zubkoff started with the Early Bird it was just one or two pages long filled with pertinent news clippings for a half dozen officials. But it has grown substantially over the years.

HARRY ZUBKOFF:  We now clip probably 65 newspapers every day, well over 300 periodicals a month, and we provide literally hundreds of pages of things, clippings, stories, for the people to look at who are in a – are decision makers.

ROANE:  Almost 20,000 people here and abroad read Zubkoff’s Early Bird edition. Defense Secretary Weinberger starts off his day with it. So do the folks in the White House and lawmakers on Capitol Hill.

ZUBKOFF:  What the media are saying about defense policy, strategies, doctrines, programs, weapons acquisitions, everything that they have to take into consideration in the formulation of our national defense policies.

ROANE:  Modestly, Zubkoff believes his stepping down won’t change anything in his department, but his colleagues disagree.

MAN:  Harry is so good. For me he’s a genius, honestly. He’s a tremendous man and very impressive, really very impressive.

ROANE:  Can he be replaced?

WOMAN:  I don’t think so. No. Not in my mind.

ROANE:  In retirement, Zubkoff says he plans to write a book or two. They won’t be the kiss and tell variety about the Defense Department but rather about something he knows very well after 36 years, the media. Andrea Roane, Eyewitness News.


Print news stories

Now for Harry's quotes in three newspapers, with snapshots of seven.

Washington Post, June 1, 1986:  
"Our mission has become incredibly important as the press devotes more and more time and energy to covering national security issues ... ." 

"There are so many things I'm now in the habit of reading that I really cannot relish the prospect of giving them up ... I'll probably wind up spending $1,000 a year on subscriptions." (That explains why he did just that for the rest of his life!) 

"I'm sometimes torn. I often have the feeling that not only I, but almost anybody, could have done a better job than some of the reports I read. I have had the desire to be a commentator -- a columnist or a pundit. I do feel I could add something. But I'm not actively seeking a job and I doubt anyone will invite me. I might write a book, or two, or three. I really have not decided on anything ... I'll be 65 in June. I could stay here forever, probably, but I want to do other things."

Pentagram, June 5, 1986:
"You can always predict what's going to happen ... if you read carefully." 

"The Current News does provide sort of an Inspector General-type 'eye' for the secretary [of defense]. In stories that we pick up, we will call his attention to something that is happening out in the field someplace that may eventually really create a problem. This will often be the first indication that this problem exists. Then, he can call in his staff and say, get me the lowdown on this."  

"There is never a story in any newspaper that is free of errors." 

Army Times, June 16, 1986: 
"I have no doubt, and I've read them all, that the people who cover the Pentagon beat [for the major newspapers] are doing a better job than their counterparts at the White House or the State Department. We have the best reporters in the business."

But the "good information coming out the typewriters" of Pentagon reporters doesn't always show up in the newspapers ... "They don't want to be innovative, to startle their readers, to concentrate a lot of information on subjects that demand it, like military policy and strategy. That might bore their readers, they think. They would rather devote a whole section to style and fashions and gossip and society."

Doubting there will ever be the same kind of consensus toward military operations that existed during World War II, Harry said: "When I was a kid, there were 120 million Americans. Now there are 240 million. It's impossible to obtain more than a modest majority of opinion in favor of anything."

More retirement accolades

Pentagon admirers published a Special Issue of his Current News ...

And created a caricature that featured his reputation as a pilot, poet, and cowboy hat wearer.

Back to basics – a lesson on Israel’s independence

Harry and Jeanette sightseeing in Israel, 1972

My dad always followed events in Israel, and he practiced what he preached: He read, listened to, watched, and analyzed every news source possible. When it came to Israel, Harry spoke with authority. In 2011, at 88 years old, he wrote this article for his synagogue newsletter. 


At the end of the War of Independence in 1948, when Israel’s neighbors had tried unsuccessfully to wipe the new country off the map, the parties to the conflict, Egypt, Syria, Jordan and Lebanon, signed an armistice agreement with Israel that set up interim demarcation lines pending the establishment of permanent borders to be negotiated. These lines were not based on any geographic formation or demographic consideration. They simply marked where the respective forces were deployed when the cease-fire was declared by the UN Security Council Resolution 62 on November 16, 1948. The lines were drawn on the map that accompanied the Armistice Agreement with a green marker pen, so it became known as the “Green Line”.

Let’s be clear about this. The Security Council stressed the temporary nature of the armistice lines and that permanent peace would necessitate establishing permanent borders that would be different from the armistice lines. Permanent borders were never established because the Arabs steadfastly refused to negotiate. So the armistice lines remained in effect until the “Six Day War” of 1967, when the Arabs once again tried to wipe Israel off the map.

This time, the Arabs lost everything they had gained in the 1948 war—and then some, including the entire West Bank and Jerusalem. Yet Israel, it has been said, is the only country in history which, having won a war started against it, has to sue for peace. The Arabs, on the other hand, having lost three major wars against Israel, are now pursuing their goal of eradicating Israel by means other than war. 

A new phrase has now entered the vocabulary—delegitimization. So, while declaring that Israel is an illegitimate state, thrust upon the world by the colonial powers and other such nonsense, the Arabs are now talking of establishing a Palestinian state using the 1967 borders, ignoring the fact that there never were any 1967 borders, and even the temporary armistice lines of 1948 were nullified by the war they started and lost in 1967. Forgotten, too, is the fact that they could have had another state by accepting the UN Partition Plan in 1948, as the Israelis did. They could also have had another state several times over the past sixty-two years but chose not to do so, and there is no reason to take seriously any unilateral declaration of statehood now.

Meanwhile, a revolutionary fervor is sweeping through the Arab countries of the Middle East, exposing the hypocrisy of those who have been claiming all these years that the root of terror and unrest is the unresolved conflict between Israel and the Palestinians. What the Arabs want is what peoples everywhere want—freedom from their oppressors. If I may paraphrase Winnie the Pooh—they have met the enemy and they is them.

When my parents left to vacation in Israel in 1972, I got a ride from my New Jersey college to the NYC airport to bid them farewell. (Imagine traveling in a suit and tie these days!) At home they played Israeli music, and these classics became two of my favorites: Yerushalayim Shel Zahav and Erev Shel Shoshanim 

Rhymes for the bosses, with words of wisdom in all

Before the computer era, my dad saved some of his drafts, like this one showing handwritten edits on the final poem on this page. I consider them a gift to future generations of our family. So, my advice to others: try to be kind when your parents want to keep so many boxes full of memorabilia each time they downsize their homes.

Most of Harry's family and friends knew nothing about his reputation as a poet throughout his 36-year career in the Defense Department. So here's a taste of why he was dubbed the "Pentagon Poet Laureate." I selected three bosses because I remember my dad talking about them.


To Harold Brown, Secretary of Defense, 1977 – 1981

Before he was Secretary of Defense, Harold Brown was Secretary of the Air Force. Harry must've written this poem when Brown left in 1969.

The Secretary’s role is not so easy to define,
He keeps the programmed forces and the budget all in line,
He formulates the policies, and analyzes trends,
In short, it’s not a job in which to make a lot of friends!

His mind must be receptive to a host of different things,
From the nuts and bolts, the details, to the systems’ functionings,
On which to base decisions that result in strategies,
In short, it isn’t hard to make a lot of enemies.

And yet, throughout your tenure, you have won our deep respect,
For pronouncements and decisions, both direct and circumspect,
You have helped to shape the nature of the future generation,
And in doing so have fully earned our deepest admiration.

But even more importantly, please bear this thought in mind,
You have left a goodly host of U.S. Air Force friends behind,
And somehow we look forward to a brighter future, when
You’ll return once more to government, and we will meet again.

Harry was right! In this letter, dated December 30, 1976, he welcomed back his boss:

Dear Dr. Brown:

When you left, almost eight years ago, you may recall that I wrote you a little farewell poem. It is only fitting, therefore, that I write a welcome-home poem now. So:

On behalf of those who populate the Pentagonic maze,
Who occupy the back rooms half the nights and all the days,
Let me welcome your return as the commander of our fort,
And assure you that you have both our respect and our support.

We'll be keeping you apprised of what's occurring in the press,
(A fact which might contribute to your quotient of distress.)
And throughout the coming crises that inevitably rise,
We will round up all the comments, both the foolish and the wise.

So don't lose your sense of humor and, whatever your desire,
We will help in any way we can to put out every fire,
And while formulating policies and solving problems, too,
Just remember, let your inner warmth, from time to time, shine through.

Five days later, Dr. Brown wrote this reply on a copy of the poem:
"Harry Z, Thanks for this superlative effort and the advice. It reminds me that though most of the work is oppressive many of the people here are nice! H.B."

______________________________

To Eugene M. Zuckert, Secretary of the Air Force, 1961 – 1965

When the man of the hour acceded to power,
And you were confirmed in this job,
You found a whole host of old friends and old ghosts,
In fact, you confronted a mob.

This place was a literal beehive of guys
Who remembered the old days of yore,
When they were one quarter of their present size,
That is, when you served here before.

They thought of the days when you wielded the whip,
When you cracked down on spenders galore,
When you helped form the structural shape of this ship,
When you crammed with the cream of the Corps.

Small wonder, old friend, that they welcomed you back
With a cheer and a sigh of relief,
For here was a pro in the business we know,
To steer the ship clear of the reef.

Your basic approach to the job as our coach,
Has confirmed our opinion of you. From

The day that you left to the day you returned
It is obvious, too, that you grew, some.

We hasten to say with a note of dismay
That each morning you’re not a slow starter,
And though we complain of the pain and the drain,
We all find ourselves working harder.

So let us conclude with sincere gratitude
And on one thing we all will say “Yes,”
We’ll never get sore while you’re minding the store
For you are our boy, we confess!

We’re glad that you’re here on birthday this year
And we hope that you always will be,
So each year on this day we can greet you this way
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU, MR. Z.

______________________________

To John A. Lang, Jr.
Administrative Assistant to the Secretary of the Air Force, 1964 – 1972

The time has come to say good-bye, as come it must, at last,
And never did some seven years fly by so very fast,
So pause with me and see if we together can review,
The golden years of John A. Lang, and of his happy crew.

So many things have happened in so short a span of time,
That we can only capture but a few of them in rhyme,
For you have filled the passing years with so much work and fun,
And never did so many owe so much to anyone.

Now all of us remember who recruited you, you see,
Our former boss, the Secretary, known as Mr. Z.,
But tell use, did he twist your arm before you would agree?
Or did you volunteer to take this job quite willingly?

And all of us remember, for a year you wore two hats,
And set a pace of action that would kill us normal cats,
You also had both Frank and Ray, a pair of great execs,
And both of them, we have to say, wound up as total wrecks.

And all of us remember that in any given week,
You reluctantly accepted invitations that you speak,
No, there weren’t very many, just a million words or two,
Which we bound up in four volumes as a souvenir for you.

And all of us remember all the many jokes you told,
For sometimes we would hold our breath to hear how they unfold,
And some of us remember just as clear as yesterday,
The never-ending research to find something new to say.

And all of us remember every trip you had to take,
The times when you were gone we didn’t have to stay awake,
But you surely led Bill Richardson a very merry chase,
As you charged through every speaking trip like speeding through a race.

And all of us remember all those meetings with your staff,
When each dreary Monday morning would produce at least one laugh,
For you spent the time critiquing what we did the week before,
And with humor in predicting what the next one held in store.

And all of us remember in deciphering your scrawls,
With just a few, short scribbled words you’d have us climbing walls,
And the colorful expressions with a twinkle in your eye,
Can you repeat the one when you were called to testify?

And of us remember that when things did not go right,
When the prospects looked quite dismal and the future less than bright,
We could always count on you to turn a frown into a smile,
And to make us feel much better, if for just a little while.

And all of us remember, you reminded us each day,
That a love of flag and country is what made the U.S.A.,
We salute you as a gentleman who really loves this land,
For your patriotic fervor you deserve a hearty hand.

And all of us remember, when the flag becomes unfurled,
That the State of Carolina is the center of the world,
And to take it one step further, it was so ordained by Fate,
That the little town of Carthage be the center of that State.

Yes, all of us remember many things we cannot say,
For memories come flooding back when you are gone away,
But this we know and this we say, we’ll miss you very much,
And this we hope, and this we pray, that you will keep in touch!

Hundreds of people who knew Harry at the Pentagon received a poem at one time or another. (I know because I now have copies.) And, they probably saw his annual "Season's Greetings" poems to all in the Defense Department -- stay tuned; I'll post one down the road. And, did you know Harry submitted rhymes to greeting-card companies, Hallmark for one? I'll save those for later, too. Next week I'll get back to his "regular" writings.

Rhymes of freedom, fate, and friends

My father considered flying his greatest hobby -- until he couldn't fly anymore. At that point, he told someone in a letter, his love of Big Band music took over. Another hobby, he said, was editing a weekly newspaper. Did he consider poetry a hobby, too -- or a way of life? I don't have a backstory to any of the five poems below, so let's assume Harry wrote them simply for his own enjoyment. Or, do you think he penned a couple of them on behalf of someone else? 

Harry in the sky

Untitled (Undated)

If those who live and spend their lives on land

Could once, just once, with freedom soar the skies,

If they could see from high just where they stand,

And knowing this, lift up their sights, their eyes,

And draw direction from the truths above.

If they could feel the strength within their souls,

that powers men with God's sweet energy,

Then set their course without regard to shoals,

They'd know the dignity of being really free,

And soon the world would learn to trust -- and love.

 __________________________________________

Untitled (Undated)

I wonder if Harry ever presented this poem.

Now and then, from time to time,

I feel compelled to rhyme a rhyme,
The reason why, I do deplore,
Is GIRLS – parading past my door,
My door – and desk – and me – you see,
Front on a traffic artery,
And girls from near and far away,
Lead my quivering eyes astray.
(Especially those from down the hall –
They pass – and off my chair I fall!!)

Now those who pass with nose in air,
I follow – with a wicked stare,
And those who pass with eyes on floor,
My eyes pursue them out the door!!
But those who pause and glance inside,
With artful look and twinkling eye,

No, he's not looking at girls; he's relishing
his mother-in-law's chicken soup, 1960s

I cannot face – I shrink – I hide,
I size them up (just shoulder-high!)
(Especially those from down the way –
They know me off my chair each day!!)

There’s a saying, and it states,
All things come to he who waits,
So here I sit – so patiently,
And wait for girls to come to me.
The trouble is, there are so many,
All I want is one, most any,
In fact, I’ve picked her out already,
Whatta dish – now down, boy, steady!!
(One of those from down the street,
Knocks me off my chair and feet!!)

But just when all my dreams get started,
I’m told that soon we shall be parted,
Such is fortune, such is fate,
We never even made a date!
We had barely got acquainted,
She spoke to me – I almost fainted!!
Now she’s leaving, and what frets me,
I will die – while she forgets me.
(OH, that doll across the heather,
Now we’ll never get together!!)

__________________________________________  

Untitled (Undated)

At an office event, 1960s

A thousand thousand years ago,
Before we existed – it was long ago,
I dreamed a dream so vividly,
And the dream was all about a girl and me.
The sky was blue and the stars were high
And the girl, it was you and the guy was I!!!

I dreamed we walked by the sandy sea,
The girl who was you and the guy who was me,
And the blue-green sea and blue-green skies,
Were reflected so suitably within your eyes.
And we both held hands as we walked along,
And our hearts were young and love was strong.

But the All-Wise God looking down from above,
Decided that the Earth wasn’t ready for our love,
And he sadly laid us down to rest,
And our Souls were exalted and our love was blessed.
And we slept a deep and peaceful sleep,
For we had an appointment with the future to keep.

But the question is – is the future now,
Or is it a thousand thousand years from now?
Do we start once more and go on and on,
Were we destined to meet inside the Pentagon?
Or did Fate decree we should wait some more?
Does the future have another dream for us in store?

__________________________________________

Untitled (Undated)

Relaxing at home, 1980s

The time has come, I must confess,

When words with which I can express,
My feelings simply can’t be found.
They echo with an empty sound.

It’s difficult to say good-bye.
For I am not too old to cry,
And this I know, within my heart,
We two are growing far apart.

But life is joy and sadness, too,
And you must do what you must do,
And though we nevermore will meet,
My memories of you are sweet.

I wish the very best for you,
May all your fondest dreams come true.
I wish success for you, and more,
In finding what you’re searching for.

__________________________________________

Dozing with a friend, circa 1970. Was he dreaming up his next poem?

Friends (Undated)

A friend is not a casual acquaintance or a date,
And this is not a matter that is open to debate.
A friend is someone whom you like, to share your woes and joy,
And it doesn’t really matter if a friend’s a girl or boy.

A friend is someone whom you like, to share your blues and bliss,
To share a smile, a word, a look, a fond embrace or kiss.
A word, a look, a smile, a kiss, a touch, a fond embrace,
Each of these is precious at the proper time and place.

Indeed, a friend’s a precious thing, and also very rare,
Each person has so very few with whom these things he’ll share.
A friend is like a brother whom you fight for and defend,
No matter what he says or does, he’s yours until the end.

And friendships are quite strong, I think, not puny things or wrecks,
For friends are much like lovers, but of course, without the sex.
Now is it wrong or wicked, is it really very bad,
To confide in one another when you’re happy or you’re sad?

Well, if these words or thoughts or deeds do easily offend,
Then maybe you don’t understand the meaning of a friend,
You must accept, you cannot change the foibles of a friend,
But if you cannot stand me, then our friendship’s at an end.


In case you missed them, you can read more of Harry's poems in the previous two posts on this blog. Next week, we'll see why Pentagon officials hailed his poetry.

Once a poet, always a poet

I never asked my dad to name a favorite poem or a poet who inspired him. I have a hunch, though, that his poem-writing flowed without influence from the greats or anyone else. One thing's for sure -- once he started, he never stopped. Only in the past year have I learned the extent of his poetry -- about people he knew, places he went, events of the day, and just ordinary thoughts that drifted through his mind. Even when he wrote a Letter to the Editor, he did so in rhyme! Harry submitted the four poems below in the 1960s, each to a different publication.


Harry might have submitted this one to FLYING magazine, which still publishes.

On Zero Defects

Harry, smiling through the '60s

The question that I often hear,

I’ve asked myself the same.
Is Zero Defects’ meaning clear,
Or is it just a name?

Can this apply to us? I said,
Or should we pass it by?
Is this alive or is it dead?
I wonder – so said I.

I pondered it, by day and night,

And really thought it through,
And in the end I thought, they’re right.
This is the thing to do!

Harry and Jeanette, 1962

For none of us is perfect, see?
This thought occurred – in rhyme,
Not him, or her, or you, or me,
We’re not right all the time.

We make mistakes, we’re sometimes wrong.
We’re human, but, good grief,
This poor excuse won’t last for long,
Let’s turn a brand new leaf.

And leave us all get on the ball,
Let’s shift our gears to high.
And let’s support it, one and all,
Let’s do it right – let’s try.

_________________________________________ 

In August 1965, Harry wrote this letter to The Washington Post columnist Bill Gold.

Dear Bill:

Here is an unsolicited testimonial from your faithful reader and long-time admirer:

I start each morning, every day,

Circa 1965

With breakfast -- and the Post,

I read what pundits have to say,

Both here -- and coast to coast.

But first, a habit that is mine,

I carefully unfold

The paper, to The District Line,

And read each word by Gold!

Your column sets the tone each day,

And cheers me up no end,

It matters not what others say,

At least you've got one friend!

By the way, Bill, thanks for including my name in your birthday greetings (June 16). It's an honor to be in such distinguished company.

Sincerely,

Harry Zubkoff

P.S. The contribution is for your favorite charity.

 _________________________________________ 

In January 1966, Harry submitted this poem to Poet Lore, still in publication.

Harry in flight

The Brink of Space

Let sailors spin their wondrous tales,
Of ships and storms and shining seas,
Of winds from hurricanes and gales,
Of waves as high as redwood trees;
Let sailors spin their wondrous tales.

But when an airman’s contrails track the sky,
And leave his crinkled lines on God’s own face,
The magic stirs men’s minds and hearts – they sigh;
For mankind trembles on the brink of space.
Aye, mankind trembles on the brink of space.


I had to look up "contrails," did you?

 _________________________________________ 

Harry sent this Letter to the Editor to New York Daily News on September 20, 1968, the day they published an article titled "Wall Street Tickers Flip Over Sweater Girl Figure." Did you know -- "sweater girl" was a term made popular in 1940s and '50s Hollywood for shapely women wearing tight sweaters; it became synonymous with "pin-up girl" during WWII.

Dear Editor:

The attached story published in your newspaper has excited my imagination to the point where the only appropriate response could be the following poem:

Harry's copy of the original Daily News article

A Poem Maligning Sweaters

Now this has been the subject of
Much idle conversation,
And it could fill a lot of books,
That's no exaggeration.

So if what I'm about to say
Sounds somewhat idiotic,
It's because those lovely sweaters
Make me mentally neurotic!

For everywhere I look, it seems,
I see a lovely vision,
No wonder all the scientists

More 1960s photos

Invent atomic fission!

I sign in every morning,
All prepared to do my share,
Then for eight exciting hours
All I do is sit and stare!

Though I make an honest effort
To perform a job that's right,

I can't do any work at all
As long as I have sight.

I spend a whole day scheming,
Ah, fantastic plots and schemes,
Then at night I wake up screaming,
For I see them in my dreams!

Once I thought I was impartial,
I could look but never touch!
But really, now, I must admit
That this is much too much.

I used to be quite sane, you see,
But now I'm on the brink,
Indeed I'll go quite mad if
I allow myself to think.

I used to be quite virtuous,

The rejection letter

But now I'm on the verge;
These things arouse in me a
Certain predatory urge!

Every time I see them,
they contribute to my rage,
They're so easily encountered,
But not easy to engage!

After reading through this poem,
I am sure you will agree,
There is nothing worse than sweaters,
For creating misery!


I didn't find the original NY Daily News article online, but this article gives a brief explanation of the young woman's short-lived fame: The Bizarre Story of the Wall Street Sweater Girl. And here's the complete story of Francine Gottfried on Wikipedia.

Stay tuned for more poetry next week.

Harry the poet -- yes, he was that, too

How long do you save old letters and poems from others? (Or emails in today's world.) When I started this blog in May 2015, several of Harry's friends told me they would look for the poem he'd written in their honor, "if I can find it," they said. One of these friends was referring to a 61-year-old poem (shown below, to Alice). 

Sure enough, I found a copy of their poems in Harry's files. He saved them all -- poems he'd crafted for countless family and friends on a variety of occasions (birthdays, anniversaries, retirements, fundraisers), for submission to publications, and for folks in his workplace, where he was dubbed the "Pentagon Poet Laureate."

I discovered in Harry's keepsakes that he wrote poems as far back as 1945, so it’s likely he rhymed even before then. Below are six of the earlier poems; I’ll post others in the coming weeks -- but be forewarned, he saved hundreds.


This first one was in a pile of yellowed, delicate news clippings, in a folder with Army memorabilia.

September 1945 
USO Newsletter – G.I. Journal

Harry, winter 1945

POET’S CORNER
Written by Pvt. Harry Zubkoff

When I was a civilian,
And it seems so long ago
I always used to wonder
Where the soldiers used to go.

And then I used to wonder
If the folks who didn’t know
Were doing all they could
To help some G.I. Joe.

The average civilian

Original newsletter, fragile and torn

Is the same as I was then.
He really doesn’t understand
But he wonders now and then.

But there are some civilians,
A special kind I guess,
For whom I call on God above
To cherish and to bless.

They didn’t stand and wonder
The way some others do,
If a soldier had a place to go
Or anything to do.

Harry and Jeanette, November 1945

No, they arranged a place,
Where all G.I.s could go;
They arranged a darn good place
And called it USO.

So, I no longer wonder
The way I used to do,
If soldiers have a place to go
Or anything to do.

For whenever we’re in town
And have no place to go,
We know we’re always welcome
At the SA-USO.

And of one thing I’m certain,
This I surely know,
There’s a special kind of Heaven
For the FOLKS of USO!

_________________________________________

December 19, 1949 (Details unknown)
A Toast to All 
 
Oh, I'm working on a message,
That is full of hope and cheer,
But I can't get in the spirit,
Not without a glass of beer.

Mr. Noble says make merry,
For the Yuletide Season's here.

Harry with Jeanette and Earl, 1949

But as sure as my name's Harry,
How can I, without my beer!

I suppose I ought to wish him joy,
But how can I revere,
Anyone who won't allow a boy
To have a glass of beer!

Oh, I wish I had a nickel now,
for everybody here,
Who will celebrate this Friday,
But without a glass of beer!

Now if Mr. Noble's bosses

Are the kind of men I think,

First winter in Greenbelt, MD

They will celebrate this Friday too,
But not without a drink.

They will bring enough fine liquor
For a battleship to sink,
Then they'll lock their office doors and,
They will have themselves a drink.

They will make the rounds like gypsies,
And at everyone they'll wink,
Then they'll ship into their offices
And have another drink!

They will hang around the mistletoe
Like Romeos, they think,
Then with every kiss they manage,
They will need another drink.

They will put away enough, you know,
To fill a pair of floats,
I don't wish them any harm,
But may it stick inside their throats!

For while they're behind their office doors,
All dishing out good cheer,
We'll be celebrating Christmas dry,
Without one glass of "Beer"!!!!

 ________________________________________

Lament of Harry Z. (Undated, though likely the 1950s, long before I noticed that my father was a proponent of equal rights for women.)

The zaniest girls you'd ever see

Harry (far left) at an office celebration, 1950s

have organized to comfort me.
They fetch my coffee, milk or tea,
They smile so very prettily.

And when I'm blue, or seemingly,
They cheer me up so beamingly.
And when we're busy, flappily,
They follow orders snappily.

And when I think, so fleetingly,
They treat me so entreatingly,
And when I'm gazing ceilingly,
They hold my hand so feelingly.

And when I'm scared, so fearingly,
They soothe me, so endearingly,
And then, of course, occasionally,
They also do some work for me!

 ________________________________________

December 1954
Alice C. (Brown) Price

In each one's life there comes a time
To bid his friends farewell,
To leave a job, a place, a gang,
And tell them it's been swell.

It's not Alice, but here's Harry with associate, circa 1954

So now the time has come for you,
To say your sad good-byes,
And we won't look if one or two
Small tears get in your eyes.

We know you'd rather not depart
This citadel of strife,
And yet, you're eager now to start
A wonderful new life.

And if you miss us now and then,
Remember this - and smile,
We'll remember you, my dear,
At least a little while! ! ! !

So pass once more, your office door,
And walk on down the hall,
For always and forevermore,
We love you, one and all! ! ! ! !

Harry and Alice stayed in touch for life. 

________________________________________ 

Vintage photo of the pool in Greenbelt, MD

An article in memory of Harry, in the June 5, 2014 Greenbelt (MD) News Review, displayed the next poem. According to the article, “… vandalism by local youth was a recurring problem in Greenbelt’s early days and Zubkoff was particularly provoked by random acts of destruction. In addition to editorials bemoaning these occurrences, he expressed his ire and wit in columns,” such as this one in 1950.

Revenge

This is to advise a guy
In no uncertain terms,

Harry with Jeanette and Earl at the pool, 1950

That I will catch him, by and by,
And feed him to the worms.
For pranks are pranks, and jokes are jokes,
And boys are always boys,

But you will agree, won't you folks
That clotheslines aren’t toys?
Yet every time we look around
(It’s happened once or twice)
We find our clothesline on the ground,
I ask you, Is that nice?
I am sure that everyone in town
Will wish me all the best,
The day that I catch up with,
And eliminate this pest.
This I say and this I mean
And you can mark it down,
That someday I will catch the guy,
Who cuts my clothesline down!

 Does anyone know if they caught the bandit?

_________________________________________

This poem (actually two on the page, titled I and II) was one of many saved on thin carbon copy paper (who remembers that?)! Harry’s penciled note on the bottom of the paper says: Sat. Eve. Post 9/2/55

I

Harry and Jeanette in new Jewish Community 
Center in Greenbelt, 1955 (Photo by Mike Ratzkin)

I cannot see why it should be,

I cannot understand it,

Your constant use of clamjamfry,

Must be because you planned it.

How frequently, increasingly,

I find upon these pages,

Incessantly, distressingly,

No “wisdom of the ages.”

II

A pseudo-dialectologist

Appears with regularity,

A semi-semasiologist

Who deals in slangularity.
And magazinistic essayists

Who dabble allegorically,

Discursive dissertationists

Who write commontatorially.

While readers and semanticists,

Reject them categorically!

_________________________________________ 

Harry's talent for poetry rubbed off on some of us. Yes, I'd written many to him, as well as to others. So, too, his granddaughter, who says it was easier to write poems to eulogize her grandparents than to write the ordinary way. And, his grandson, who penned lyrics for his movie musical score, and so on. I think you'll agree when you've seen more, however, that Harry's poems are in a league of their own -- and some might blow your mind.

Yom Kippur reflections on our place in the world

Here (and below) is Harry on a day in 2011

A friend of Harry’s said she knew he was an intellectual and Zionist from his columns on Israel and Judaism in their synagogue newsletter. But she didn't know the other facets of Harry's life revealed in his writings on this blog. On the other hand, some of you knew Harry as the sweet family man and friend who sent you surprise packages, or the community activist, or the military news analyst. But you didn’t know that Harry wrote articles about Judaism. 

So, here’s a look at the latter – Harry the writer about Judaism and Israel, or as I like to think, “My dad, the authority on Israel.” Since most of us didn't see the article below in his October 2011 synagogue newsletter, it may give us thoughts to ponder on this Yom Kippur.

No, this was not on the day of Yom Kippur.

The introspection and meditation during the Yom Kippur period in October gave us a chance to reflect once again on the truly remarkable achievements of the Jewish people and their contributions to humanity. One of the primary goals of Judaism is to help “repair the world” following the principle of Tikun Olam, and in this sense the Jewish people have tried throughout history to fulfill their destiny. Thus, it came as no great surprise that of seven new winners of Nobel prizes recently awarded, five were Jewish. The statistics are worth reviewing once again.

On the world scene right now, Jews account for 0.2 percent of the total world population. That’s two tenths of 1 percent. They amount to only 2 percent of the US population. Yet, between 1901 and 2010, 22 percent of all Nobel prize winners worldwide were Jewish and 38 percent of all US prize winners were Jewish.

In some disciplines the statistics are even more impressive. In the field of economics, for example, 42 percent of the world total was Jewish, as was 55 percent of the US total. In physics, 26 percent of the world total and 37 percent of the US total were Jewish. In chemistry, 20 percent of the world total and 27 percent of the US total; in medicine 28 percent of the world total and 41 percent of the US total.

Jewish women are also well represented among prize winners in these various disciplines, accounting for 38 percent of the world total and fully 50 percent of the US total. Such achievements by so small a segment of the world’s population are more than noteworthy, they are positively miraculous and in keeping with the words of Isaiah: “You shall be a light unto the nations.”

The latest group of Nobel Laureates announced shortly before Yom Kippur included Adam Ross and Saul Pelmutter, American Jews, in the field of physics; Daniel Shechtman, an Israeli, in the field of chemistry; Ralph Steinman (posthumously) and Bruce Beutler in the field of medicine. Now, as more and more intellectual and technological marvels emerge from Israeli scientific institutions such as Technion and the Weizman Institue, the Jewish contribution to mankind's well-being can only multiply. 

In view of all this, it is difficult to understand the kind of anti-Semitic fervor that would motivate a group of Swedish academics to call for an academic boycott of Israeli institutions. They would actually boycott a number of Israeli scientific advancements that would benefit all mankind, a number of which are on display right now at the Bloomfield Science Museum in Jerusalem.


Harry wrote about the Bloomfield Science Museum in a post on this blog titled Inventions on Display. And, can anyone name the Jewish Nobel Laureates for the years since 2011?