Four out of Five Dentists

Four out of Five Dentists.....
Is a statement of 1960's ads

Is it still true?
This 80% ratio that we are speaking?

Or is it more like a simple majority-
Formulated for use as fun:

Like "horses asses" minus "horses" always equal to the lonely number

ONE!

Will the Defendant please rise...

What a shame!

We are going to be forced into watching the Michael Jackson Final Tour for four months.

Of course child molestation is the core of this trial, but we are going to get a spin-off show where we see the main character- a genius performer in childhood- psychologically unravel before our very eyes.

"The Michael Jackson Reality Hour is being brought to you by..." as Johnny's bulging eyes haven't yet gotten over his last cartoon appearance ("Why Johnny can't read....")

How could any parent allow a "Michael Jackson" become their child's liaison into adolescence in terms of what his personal history has been over 40 years? It's easy I suppose when no one in Hollywood has any sense of the reality we masses live. (Did your junior in high school take the SAT's today with the thought of getting into a college thus allowing a career in the future? Or will you be proud of a lifetime of Howard Stern or Paris Hilton antics? Oh what the hell- they make millions of dollars!)

His legal team has hundreds of stars ready to testify about his kindness and caring and every other altruistic nuance known to man, but do we really need to know what Liz Taylor has to say? I don't think so.

I did a month stint on a grand jury a few years back and was proud to be a part of the system that pre-considers the worthiness of taking a case to trial so as to not waste taxpayers' funds on frivolous state lawsuits. At the end of this travesty we are going to be seeing how the "bartender" served Jesus Juice to an underaged victim who led police to a secreted room where "rites of passage" where explained to him by someone totally unqualified. Of course the child's parents will be displayed as being irresponsible kooks who live on the outcome of lawsuits...

After everyone is dragged through the mud, it will still be wrong to (have a stranger) intoxicate a child for any reason, and particularly when he is subsequently coerced into observing or performing sexual acts that have been deemed harmful by psychologists and applied to our general laws.

Why does it take four months to re-learn this lesson when it involves a rich Hollywood icon? The answer is usually built into the question, isn't it?

A Few Month's Difference ( a friend's excerpted Blog)

Dave stopped over for coffee and dessert, and he brought along a few back issues of the NY Times Book Review for me to peruse. Conversations are always fun when Dave stops over, and today was no exception. I've been job hunting for a few weeks now, and Dave suggested offhandedly that I should consider writing. I haven't written anything in ages (blog included), but the idea definitely took seed.

I forgot how much fun it was to sit down and just drum ideas out on screen. I've been in a bit of a funk for the past month or so- not doing anything terribly productive, sleeping a lot, etc., and now that I'm actually sitting here banging things out some of the enthusiasm is coming back. Now that I think about it, a lot of my 'creative spark' took a vacation during college. I was busy all the time, running constantly to turn out papers and make it to rehearsals, but I wasn't putting much personality or quality into it. They were just things I had to do to get a grade, period.

I'm three credits away from graduating now, and I'm realizing that my time is a lot more valuable than I allowed it to be. There were far too many times where I turned in papers at the last minute, slapped together with the bare minimum of coherence necessary for a passing grade. I would walk out of the class thinking how disappointed I was in my work, but could I really do better? Was I waiting until the last minute just to create an excuse for my writing style? If I had budgeted my time better, could I really turn out higher grade work?

Now I wonder- did I sell myself short? A few months ago, I would have said it's too late and then moved on, but now I don't think so.

I may yet be able to prove something to myself; that perhaps, after all, I did learn something.

R I P Fred Fennell

-----Original Message-----
From: Cathy Fennell Martensen
Sent: Tuesday, December 07, 2004 10:37 AM
Subject: Fred Fennell

I've managed to reach some of you by phone, others not, and I did not want to leave this as a voice message.

I want you, and the greater music community to know that my father died peacefully in his sleep early this morning, Tuesday, December 7, 2004. Elizabeth and I were by his side. I had promised him that I would do all I could to get him back to Siesta Key so he could watch the sun set over the ocean. With the help of Hospice, he arrived home in time to see the brilliant orange and pinks in the western skies last evening. A bit before Midnight, dad told me he was "frustrated and disappointed." When I asked him, "Why?" he replied, "There's no drummer here yet. I can't die without a drummer!" I told him that I loved him, and that "Heaven's best drummer was on the way."

Moments later he said, "I hear him! I hear him! I'm OK now."
This was my final conversation with my dad.

I was blessed to be able to dress my father in his finest set of tails after he died, complete with the usual struggle with his tie. Elizabeth asked if he could be "dressed up" and I could think of nothing finer for a lasting memory. Dad asked to be cremated and that I scatter his ashes in the woods at Interlochen, Michigan this summer. This, of course, I will do.

Elizabeth is OK at this point. We are closely watching her, monitoring her blood sugar levels and seeing that she gets the diet and rest she needs after such a life transition.

There will be a small Memorial Service at a church in Siesta Key. No date or time has been set yet. As knowledge of my father's death is communicated, please keep both Elizabeth and me in your prayers.

Fondly > Cathy Fennell Martensen

Feel free to forward this email.

Honk if you know Bill W.

To many Bill W. is the guy who helped straighten out an alcoholic's life, perhaps their own.

My friend "Bill" W actually is a John Witte who adopted the nickname about 80 years ago for whatever reason; he came from a family that was a collection of names other than those on birth cert-papers. Wife Katherine was Kitty, Daughter Katherine was Kassie and Lynn was Pinny- short for Pinhead when she wasn't called by her given name.

I will never forget the fact that I met him through his daughter Kassie in the winter of 1965 after heading up to Buffalo for a NY State School Music Association (NYSSMA) performance at the State Music Festival under the direction of Arthur Fare, another legendary Valley Stream music teacher of which there were many. Apparently I made enough of an impression on her that she decided to split from Kenny Bannerman and join me for the busride home- 10th grade, 15, and she had two inches of additional height on me. Yikes! And at 54 in January, you would still be hard pressed to think of her anywheres past 45!

Bill was a strapping guy then- 6'2", 230ish- who worked as a maintenance crew chief at Pan American Airlines. In those days parents drove their kids who went to different schools in the same high schoool district to their friend's homes and there was usually a reciprocal drive back by the parents of the home being visited. This was a real trip for me in that Mr. Witte (pronounced "witty") had an array of the most unusual vehicles on the planet to my teenaged eyes- two Saabs with suicide doors and a Citroen. He drove them to their limits as their suspensions were far ahead of comparable American whaleboat family cars, so each trip was an adventure in A2B travel. I dated his daughter for about 8 months or so before Bob Dibble's car was deemed far more sophisticated and cooler than my 15 speeder.

Nearly forty years later I still know Bill. After escaping from Ohio State in 1980 I came back to Long Island to live and work with my new family and a career that was almost pre-destined, and certainly filled with folks lined up to have as clientele. They turned out to be some of the nicest people on the planet, and one of them was Bill Witte. This time the tables were slightly turned, however, since he had to listen to the "rinse and spit" commands coming from his dentist! LOL!

So what of it?

I have seen a man in his late 40's and early 50's mature into the fellowship of those in their 60's, 70's and now his eighties with an insight that is usually only observed by family. After Kitty passed in 1979 he was a lost soul as I was told by him just a few months later when he broke a tooth and saw my shingle up. I can remember the anxieties he displayed when he realized that he wanted to have a partner again. ( Read needed an anchor in his life.) His turmoil soon ended when he met Madeline and once again had a kite-flying mate that enjoyed boating as well. Happy and busy- Bill's best state of being!

Unfortunately he has now gotten to the point where he has being taken into "custody" at a nursing facility where Kassie works as the Speech and Hearing Department Head. His days are shortening in direct proportion to his memory banks and abilities to exercise his inate engineering skills. I doubt there will be any more bagel mornings or BS-ing about his adventures past.

It's getting harder to distinguish his being a skeleton supporting his thoughts or an emptying shell trying to still contain them. His frustrations bring on a streaming review of cusswords and "Christs", and he brags about still possessing enough personal vinegar to get him back home.

But then again he never really understood "peace" on anyone's terms...
I hope he finds some before the Long Rest and my next visit.

Twelve Three O'Four

Last year at this time a Monsterblizzard was about to hit Long Island, and in Rockville Centre, NY, children were gearing up for the NutCracker. I was finally having a great cup of coffee with babyRed, expecting to play euphonium at the Clarion, PA, TubaChristmas a couple of days from then.

I can still feel the handshake, left/left, and our first (and last) hugs.

December 3, ‘04-
Her cat has new litter and she is happy.

Happy Birthday Megin Marie Hanely!

Best wishes to you!
The FOM's-
Alex
Dave
Bill
Frank
Paulie
Mr Mucklehoney
Vic
Ritchie
& Jan