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A nice editorial in this morning's Recorder honoring Karol Krajewski and the late Anthony "Jim" Draus for theiir dedication to the Fourth Ward Veterans Memorial.
I never knew Mr. Draus, but I know Karol well. He served for many years, off and on, as Amsterdam's Fourth Ward Alderman. Though we crossed political swords many times, he has always treated me as a gentleman and a friend. His life has been dedicated to happy public service. His loving devotion to the war memorial should be an inspiration to all.
The beautiful memorial, located on the corner of Vrooman Avenue and Edson Street, on a piece of the former Vrooman Avenue School property, features a fountain and the flags of the various nations making up Amsterdam's ethnic mix. Karol has always made sure that the flags are fresh and the weeds plucked and the dignity of that honorable site maintained.
May their work long endure.
 
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
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Since I've been continuously plugging my murder mystery, The Evil Has Landed, seems like this is an appropriate time for this excerpt from Chapter 7 (no charge):
Jack had settled back with his third Harp when along came the teenage nephews, Eddie and Neil, Jr.
“Uncle Jack, I hear you’re working on a murder case!” exclaimed Neil, Jr.
“Well, not so much any more, but at the beginning I was right there for it all.”
And once again in his mind’s eye, Jack was dashing out on the roof, looking exceptionally buff, and flying through the window to save his friends and doubtless hundreds of innocent civilians from the massive explosion that could have been caused by that leaky gas stove!
“Did you see a lot of blood and guts, Uncle Jack?” inquired Eddie the irrepressible.
“Ah, yes, lad. Well, not so much guts as blood. Blood everywhere. Blood . . .and mayonnaise!”
“That’s gross!” said Eddie excitedly.
“When’s the trial? You gonna be a witness?” asked Neil Jr.
“Probably October. And, yes, I expect I may be called as a witness.”
Big Neil, taking a break from the hamburger flipping, sat down next to his brother.
“You know what Tuesday is, Jack?”
Jack thought about it. Hmm. July 20. “Not my anniversary, I hope?”
Neil replied, “Not your anniversary, but a very great anniversary. It’ll be thirty years since men from the planet earth first walked on the surface of the moon.”
“You remember that, Dad?” said Anna, now momentarily halting her flitting and sitting down with the rest.
“Yes, Anna. I remember.”
And suddenly it was July 20, 1969 and young Neil Hughes, recent high school graduate, is about to miss it all. His job as the sole Sunday afternoon and evening announcer at Sanford Mills’ only radio station means that he will not be present to witness the greatest live television event in history.
At the last minute, though, his step-grandfather’s brother comes up with a long-abandoned black and white portable, and Neil sets it up in the newsroom. He remembers that he had seen a long flat antenna wire in the attic of the station, left over from those days in the late forties when the manager used to set up a microphone next to a television speaker and pirate broadcast the Friday night fights. The roof-top antenna still works.
Not much life in this cathode-ray tube. Barely any light on the screen with sunshine coming through the windows. But that will improve when darkness falls.
He checks the log and sees that nothing about the moon landing is scheduled. No, they were going to broadcast the Yankees/Washington Senators game.
Neil calls the station program director.
“You know, I really think we ought to carry the moon landing.”
“The advertisers have already paid for the Yankee game, and we have a package deal with the Yankee network. We just can’t mess that up,” says the program director. “I’ll tell you what, you monitor the news network, and when it gets down to where they’ll be landing soon, switch over for a couple of minutes, then make sure you go right back to the game.”
All afternoon the old AP teletype machine in the back room keeps setting off its loud news-flash bell, and Neil is glued to the ABC radio monitor, interrupting only long enough to throw on an occasional Genesee Beer commercial for the local breaks.
“Eagle, you are go for power descent.”
“Fourteen thousand feet and coming down beautifully.”
“Five hundred and forty feet.” And now Neil says to hell with the Yankee game and throws the switch.
“Four hundred feet . . . face forward and hatch down . . .” crackles the steady voice across the ether.
“Two hundred and fifty feet . . .two hundred and twenty feet . . .coming down nicely.
“One hundred feet . . .” and now the whole world stops breathing.
“Seventy-five feet. . .
“Lights on. Forward. Forward. Good. Forty feet . . .picking up some dust . . .Faint shadow . . Drifting
to the right a little.
“Contact light. Okay, engine stop. . .Engine arm off.
“Houston . . .Tranquillity Base here. The Eagle has landed.”
And Neil Hughes, 18-year-old high school graduate tough guy, sitting all alone in a tiny radio station in upstate New York, sits and blubbers like a baby.
And when, a few minutes later he fulfills his obligation to the beer distributorship and returns to the Yankee game, it turns out they hadn’t missed much, because, of course, as the moment came, like everywhere else in the world, things just stopped and all eyes were glued on the electric scoreboard in Yankee Stadium and when he throws the switch back all Neil can hear is thunderous cheers that just won’t stop and suddenly at the stadium a recording of America the Beautiful starts playing and people are crying and laughing and dancing and screaming their hearts out and Neil Hughes knows that if he lives to be a thousand he will never experience another moment like this and he savors it. He savors it.
And finally Phil Rizzuto says, “Holy cow! I don’t know about you, but I’m all choked up!”
Several hours later, and now it’s dark and the old picture tube lights up a little and Neil’s namesake on the moon opens a little hatch and a camera springs to life and there he is at 10:56 P.M. EDT, one man, alone, stepping on the surface of the moon.
Just in time, too, for young Neil Hughes has to finish the broadcast day with the 11 o’clock news and the National Anthem.
He goes out into the parking lot and looks up at the clear night sky, all the stars in the heavens and that moon that could never, ever look the same again and then, off to the side, sees a small, red steady light.
Mars.
When he arrives home his parents are glued to the television and 3-year-old Jack is bundled up in a blanket, asleep on the floor in front of the tv. Neil wakes him.
“Jack, Jack. Look at the television.”
Little Jack rubs his eyes and looks.
“I know you’re awfully little, Jack, but look at this. Two men. . . two men are walking on the moon! Look at this Jack, and try to remember this, remember this for the rest of your life. Try to remember this, Jack. . . because you’ll never see anything quite this wonderful ever again.”
And a few moments later little Jack curls up comfortably in his brother’s lap and returns to blissful sleep.
And never remembered.
“Hey, Big Bro, I’m sorry, but it was way past my bedtime,” grinned Jack. “Besides, I’ve seen it on tv a gazillion times since.”
“Not the same. Not the same.” A bitter poignancy was beginning to overcome Neil.
“So, Dad, how come they don’t go there any more?”asked Neil, Jr.
“Cheap visionless bastards!” explained Dad.
“Mr. Hughes, watch your language in front of the children,” warned his wife.
“I’m sorry, dear, you’re right. Children, I apologize for my language. Please forgive me. I meant to say ‘Cheap visionless persons of uncertain ancestry.’”
“That’s better.” They all nodded their approval.
“Fact of the matter is, kids, that as far as I’m concerned, except for the birth, death and resurrection of Our Lord and Savior, that was the greatest thing that ever happened in the history of the world, and those morons in Washington threw it all away. Worthless offspring of disputed pedigree!” he elaborated.
“But what about taking care of the poor here on earth and education and stuff like that? Shouldn’t we do that first?” Anna offered, modernly.
And it was the wrong thing to say, because now the rage began to come over him and maybe it was the beer talking, but probably not.
“The poor we will always have with us!” he roared. “But this, this was a time when all mankind joined together on a glorious adventure, led by the free and God-fearing American people. It wasn’t a matter of military conquest or subjecting a people or seeking out selfish gain. It was about challenge and discovery and excitement and small men with giant ideas facing the vast emptiness of the universe. It was about learning and seeing and being and believing in something bigger than yourself. It was about the human race after hundreds of thousands of years of evolution rising up out of this primordial swamp, reaching out and touching the face of God!”
And there was a great silence.
Until Neil, Jr said, “Get ya another Harp, Pops?”
“Of course.”
Buy my murder mystery The Evil Has Landed
and don't forget The Judge Report (THE BOOK) is now available, too!
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