Fractured tales

Adventure and Discovery and a new game.

Back in old Italy, way before That’s Amore, way back in the 15th century, there was a young man by the name of Luigi Boccetetrazini. He came from a well to do family in old Napoli. Luigi’s father, Marvin, was a merchant and owned a chain of party stores. Although back then they were called casas del vino e spuntinis. Marv worked hard everyday going from each of his casas to oversee the daily take. Luigi was only interested in the dough re mi and not the work involved. His father would tell him, ..”Luigi, whatta we gonna do widd you, ? (loosely translated from the Italian) You either gonna be a priest or a soldier, no more runnin’ around doing nothin’. You hang around all day and night with your hooligan buddies and whatta we got? Just spendin’ the money.” Luigi knew that he had to come up with something. So he told his father that he wanted to go to sea and become an adventurer and explorer. He wanted to see new things. Marvin decided that this was better that what was happening now, so he agreed. But he told Luigi, that he would have to travel to Portugal to make his way in the adventuring world. At that, Luigi panicked, as Portugal seemed like it was at the end of the world, or at least another country. Luigi had not spent a lot of time in school, so his geography skills were lacking. He wanted to see if he could just try things out first in Naples. His father knew better, he told Luigi to pack some extra underwear and socks and be ready to leave in a week. He had some merchant connections in Lisbon. They would take Luigi in and help get him started learning about sailing, navigating and even basic geography.

Before he knew it, Luigi was on the way to Portugal. It was a long and winding road, to the door of the great merchant Pasca de Basta Esq. of Lisbon. It was a fine house in the city and overlooked the Tagus River. During the day Luigi spent time studying and occasionally was taken out to see the many ships in the harbor. He still had a lot of free time on his hands and eventually picked up enough Portuguese lingo that he found a group of vino louts to hang out with during the warm nights. They tried their hands at cards, where Luigi excelled, and also at darts and other games. One night during a night of enhanced wine guzzling, Luigi came up with an idea to have some fun. He set up a number of wine bottles at the end of an alley and proceeded to roll a small melon at the bottles. When the melon crashed into the bottles, the crowd would yell, … way to go Luigi!, or cool! you the man Lou! (but only in Portuguese). As time went on, Luigi and his pals refined their new sport. The melon never lasted too long, so they had to come up with a better ball, and also they had a problem with the wine bottles. When they found a stronger substance for the ball they threw, the wine bottles were not up to the crashing of the ball. The bottles were breaking and they couldn’t drink enough wine to keep up with the requirements of the game. A high score might only be in the 20s since they couldn’t find enough unbroken bottles. Eventually Luigi and the boys grew tired of the sport and moved on to other endeavors. It was at this time that he received a letter from his father inquiring about how the preparations were going for the upcoming voyage. Luigi decided to turn his attention to the boat to pacify his father.

So down to the harbor he went. He had a fine boat, a ship actually, that would easily be able to take Luigi on his voyage of discovery across the seas. So Luigi enlisted some of his jolly companheiros to sail as his crew on the maiden voyage. As the captain of this ship, Luigi soon discovered that his lack of talent for sailing a ship was only overshadowed by the ignorance of his crew. After a quick jaunt of careening around the harbor and swamping a few fishing smacks, they returned to port. Standing on the shore watching the would be sailors dock the ship with a thud, was a small group of kibitzers or as they called them ‘caras espertos’ in Portuguese. As they descended the plank , the razzing increased and Luigi had to defend his honor. The best that he could come up with, was,: ..so you guys could do better? The leader of the group responded quickly, .. amigo, I could do better blindfolded with one hand holding a parrot.   After a few more minutes of insults and bad words thrown around, yelling and a couple of yo-mamacitas, Luigi laid down the challenge. “Ok, smarty pants, lets see what you can do. Let’s take her out right now.” So, the leader of the group took his pals along with Luigi, and jumped back on the ship. With a couple of, Avasts, and Shiver me Timbers (in Portuguese) they moved out into the harbor. The sails were unfurled and the wind came up and before you could say, well blow me down, they were scudding across the waves just like downtown. Luigi was very impressed and asked if the man could teach him how to sail. The leader thought about it, and started to say no, but then said he would do it if Luigi would let him be the captain. Luigi figured he would humor the man and would learn how to sail the ship and then send the guy packing.

Over the next few months, Luigi with his new friend Vasco, spent as much time as possible putting together a crew and getting out in the harbor in all types of weather and showing Luigi how to sail. And so it happened, Vasco was able to make a real sailor out of Luigi.  He even learned to sing some soulful sea chanteys as they worked.  If karaoke had been invented, he would have been a champ.   Unfortunately, Lou got cocky as usual, and started spending a little more time in the dockside saloons. He got back together with his rowdy crowd and introduced them to his new game that he had been devising in his mind while he was out sailing. His new game would involve throwing balls, but without the wine bottles. One night he was in his cups and showing his gang how his new game would work. At that moment, his tutor, Vasco,  came into the bar and confronted Luigi. He told him that they had to take the ship out tomorrow for a little longer voyage and Luigi needed to sober up and be ready in the morning. Luigi was not interested in sailing, as his father would not be visiting for another couple weeks. So Vasco asked him if it was ok if he borrowed the ship for this little trip, as he had a couple other guys who had ships and they were all going out together. Luigi gave him the okay, but just told to remember to bring it back when he was done.

And so on the morrow, history was made. Luigi’s mentor took out his ship along with a few others and disappeared over the horizon. Vasco, was of course, Vasco da Gama. He and his four ships would sail on a great voyage of discovery and adventure and would not return for two years. After a few days, Luigi realized that “borrow’ meant something different in Portuguese than it did in Italian. Undaunted, Luigi went back to work on his new game that he was inventing. Eventually he perfected the game by using one small ball and four larger balls that would be thrown towards the small ball, to see who could get closer to it. The game took off like wildfire in all the bars and saloons and parks of Lisbon. Luigi had discovered a new form of entertainment for young and old, sober and drunk. According to most historians, it was the greatest game to come along until the invention of video games. So Luigi Boccetetrazini did not get to sail around the globe with da Gama, and he also missed out on inventing bowling, but he did have the claim to fame of inventing Bocce…ball. Which he eventually took back to Naples where the game is still played the same way to this day.  Luigi became something of local legend, and never thought of sailing again.

 

the end

 

copyright 2017

Movie Fame and Misfortune

Most of us are aware of some of the great stories of Hollywood stars who passed or missed out on famous and memorable roles. You may recall that George Raft, a hard-nosed star of gangster films of the 1930’s, passed on the lead role in Maltese Falcon and Casablanca, both of which went to Humphrey Bogart. Even the youngsters remember or know of Humphrey, but Raft? Not so much. My case in point. When they were making The Raiders of the Lost Ark, the director wanted to cast Tom Selleck in the role of Indiana Jones. Unfortunately, Selleck had just committed to playing the lead in the television show, Magnum P.I. and felt that he could not back out of his commitment. The role went to Harrison Ford, and the rest is history. Ford should thank Selleck for being an honorable man. Also, for the part of Mrs. Robinson in the film, The Graduate, they originally wanted Doris Day to play that role. She turned it down and it went to Anne Bancroft. (This might be true, or I just made it up.)
Currently, I did hear of a rumor about a remake of Green Acres. It is to star Meryl Streep and Robert DeNiro in the lead roles, and will still be a comedy, but with a greater emphasis on the GREEN in Green Acres and hype the environmental issues. Al Gore is being considered for the role of the local storekeeper, as he will also be a scientific consultant for the series. Stay tuned for more details on this.

So much for the regular movies and what ifs and what might have beens. There has been very little information available on similar situations in the field of animation history. In my studies and research, especially in Europe, I have come across the unpublished papers of Professor Giuseppe von Ponzi of the University of Taurusfoemus, in Tuscany Italy. With permission from the professor, I would like to share some of the research and interesting facts that I think movie buffs would appreciate knowing.

When they were casting the original Popeye cartoon series, the role of Popeye’s sidekick was originally offered to a young and upcoming cartoon character by the name of Elmer Fudd. Fudd, after seeing a few scripts, turned down the role, because he saw that his character did not have much dialogue and he was always eating hamburgers and doing not much else. So the role went to a gentleman by the name of Wimpy. Fudd, soon after tested for a role with Warner Brothers in the Looney Tune series and eventually became an established star of numerous pictures. A good move made by Mr. Fudd.

Staying with the Looney Tunes series, they were looking for a dramatic and comic foil to play against their star, Bugs Bunny. Looking for a duck, they decided to see if Donald Duck would fill the bill, so to say. After a number of screen tests, and doing some work opposite Bugs Bunny, they made a decision to go in another direction. Donald had a bit of a temper and with his speech impediment, the angrier he got, the harder it was to understand him. The Looney Tunes would be written with a lot of witty dialogue and they felt that Donald would not be able to hold his own versus Bugs. The job, we know, went to Daffy Duck who ran with the part and even made a number of pictures in a starring role. Donald went back to Disney and made a number of films, some with his erstwhile nephews. (Who were actually some former circus performers, and much older than their screen characters.) Donald was eventually completely overshadowed by Mickey. After the onset of the Mickey Mouse club and other Mickey highlights, Donald became a bit player and in bitterness was rarely seen again. He tried a comeback in Vegas, but the act was panned as he had become quite overweight and the audience was turned off by a fat, crabby duck.

Another interesting and amazing casting note. When MGM decided to get into the cartoon business, they were working to develop a cartoon with the two main characters being a cat and a mouse. They found their mouse star Jerry, almost immediately, but they were having a problem coming up with the cat. A little known fact, is that Sylvester of Looney Tune fame, decided to try out for the role of the Cat. He did a test, but when he looked over the scripts, he was quite astonished. He saw that each film would be without dialogue! There would be music and sound effects, but no words. Sylvester felt that his speaking voice was his strongest point and it would all be wasted in this effort. Also, he consulted his long-time buddy, Tweety Bird, who he had worked with in vaudeville for many years. Tweety advised against taking the role. So Sylvester turned it down and went on to a longstanding career with Warner Brothers and worked in many pictures with Tweety Bird as well. The cat role went to a cat named Tom, and he made numerous films with Jerry in that series. Most critics agree that the Tom and Jerry epics pale in comparison to the high energy, well written, Looney Tunes, but that argument can be saved for another day.

A little later in cartoon history a new show was being prepared as a television series. It was to be called Rocky and Bullwinkle. There were going to be about a couple of spies who would be confronting and dueling with Rocky & B in every episode. The casting call went out over Hollywood and one screen veteran showed up to try to rein in the male character part. His career had been waning for a number of years, but Yosemite Sam, badly wanted to reprise his role of a heavy and felt he was perfect for this part. In his screen test, he finally agreed to get rid of his cowboy hat and his boots and would wear a suit for the role. Unfortunately, the directors also wanted him to drastically trim his handlebar mustache. He was reluctant to agree to it. When he also could not change his southern accent to accommodate a Russian or at least a European accent, the directors sent him packing. They gave the role to a foreigner, a newcomer to Hollywood, by the name of Boris Badenov. They then looked around to find a veteran performer to play the role of the female character. Surprisingly, when they opened the door one day, there was Olive Oyl standing there, looking for one more shot at fame. Sadly, Oyl had been out of work for a number of years. She no longer had her girlish, slim figure. She had packed on the avoirdupois in recent years. Oyl had gone into business with Wimpy on a hamburger chain, and had become addicted to triple cheeseburgers with bacon. Olive ate her way through the profits into chunkiness. Out of respect for her, they gave her a chance, but she did not test well versus Badenov and that role also went to a foreign actress, who went by the name of Natasha Fatale. Olive Oyl has drifted from sight and has not been seen on the screen since that time.

Once again, readers of this blog and learning about things that you will not find anywhere else in the world.

 

copyright @2017

Not All Fairy Tales are True

We all remember reading all the old fairy tales or having them read to us. Some were even made into movies or full length cartoons. Some were changed from the original story to make it a better narrative for a movie. We knew  the stories and were enchanted with the tales of enchanted forests, brave princes and beautiful princesses. All adventures made to thrill and entertain the young and even some of the old. But, did we ever check to see what was the origin of these old fairy tales? Luckily for those who are reading this, you will now be told the truth about these stories.

Let’s start with Little Red Riding Hood. She was taking a basket of goodies through the forest to her grandmother’s house. Grandma was not there and the wolf was in the bed posing as old granny. Quite the story, no wonder they called it a fairy tale. No one ever bothered to check up on Red’s story. What really happened was this. All that walking through the woods to grandma’s house really got her pretty tired and very hungry. Red stopped at little park bench in the woods, she cracked open the basket to see what was in there. When she spotted the fried chicken, potato salad, and cherry pie, she could not control herself. She went to work on the comestibles and before you could say, big bad wolf, the basket was quickly emptied of all the goodies. Now what was she to do? While she was picking her teeth and trying to figure things out, she saw a dwarf cutting through the woods, and heading in the general direction of grandma’s hovel. Red stopped him. She asked him if he would like to make some fast cash. The dwarf was short in more ways than one, and it was a couple days till payday. So, Red gave the dwarf, who’s name was Kenny, two silver doubloons from her purse. She told Kenny to stop by her grandmother’s house and tell her that Red was being chased by an ugly, bad wolf and could she find a hunter to come over and save her. Kenny agreed and was soon on his way. Red then took the long way to her grandmother’s house. The rest was easy. When she got to the cottage, granny was gone looking for a guy to shoot the wolf. Red sat at the kitchen table and dumped over the basket and spread the leftover crumbs on the table and broke the lid on the basket. She then practiced crying and proceeded to wait. She was reading a comic book, when she heard someone coming. She laid on the floor and started crying. When grandma came in, she gave her the story about the wolf in the bed in her clothes, and how the wolf chased her around and ate all the food. She told a tale of how she finally chased it out the door with a big broom. Grandma consoled her and said that the hunter who went looking for the wolf, actually came across him while he was sleeping under a tree and let him have it with both barrels. So an innocent wolf was plugged, Red got the food, and they all lived happily ever after.

Another fairy tale that was rewritten completely for the movie version was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Just some of the discrepancies from the original were: there were not seven dwarfs but at least 14. They completely wrote them out of the final script, they left out Dumpy, Stinky, Cheesey, Tony, Vic, Nosey, Shrimpy, and maybe a few others. They were coal miners who supplied coal for the local palaces. They were not happy go lucky guys, who sang on the way to work. It was a tough job and they hated it. When Snow White showed up, they were going to send her packing, but she did wow them with her cooking skills, so they did agree to let her stay till she was able to find a better situation. The old queen,  jealous of Snow, showed up at the cottage when the boys were at work.  She didn’t have a poison apple to give Snow, but it was a whole apple pie. She was supposed to share it with the dwarves, (as the queen had a bone to pick with them as well) and serve it with dinner. Snow White let her well known sweet tooth get the better of her, and soon polished off the whole pie with a pot of coffee. When she passed out, she thought it was from over eating. When the dwarves came home, they found her on the floor with the empty pie tin. They were unhappy that dinner wasn’t ready, but when they couldn’t revive Snow, they knew something was up. Nosey then spied an old tennis shoe that the queen left behind when she ran away after hearing the dwarves marching up the hill.   The boys got out the dogs and tracked down the queen. They beat her up to get her to tell them if there was a cure to bring back Snow White to life. After a little more convincing, she told them about the kiss of a prince and then they heaved her over the cliff. On the way back home, they found a wandering prince who was lost and trying to find his way back to his kingdom. They explained their predicament and the prince agreed to return with them as long as they would show him the way home. He said his name was Prince Sal of Hepitica. Prince Sal came into the cottage and gave Snow White a sincere kiss on the lips and she came back to life. A couple of the dwarves took Prince Sal back to his kingdom, Snow White got back up and made dinner and they all lived happily ever after.

There are a number of other fairy tales that have been editorialized and adjusted for modern consumption in movies and children’s books. Another quick example would be the story about Goldilocks and the three bears. As the story went, she was a cute kid and stopped off at the three bears house & sampled the porridge on the table till she found one “just right” and the same with the chairs and then the bed. Well, the real story was a bit different. Old Goldie, who was actually a bottle-blonde, was cutting through the woods and came across the house of the three bears. She peeked in the window and saw that no one was at home. So she snuck in the front door and saw the three bowls of porridge on the table. She quickly devoured all three bowls. That was not enough for her and only whetted her appetite for more, as Goldilocks had not had a decent meal in over a week, due to some recent bad luck. She looked in the fridge and saw some cold cuts and cheese and had a couple sandwiches. On a shelf she saw a bottle of hard cider which she drained to wash down the fresh boysenberry muffins that she found. After all this heavy eating, she wandered upstairs and passed out on the beds up there. When the three bears returned from their outing, they were famished and papa bear yelled: “ mother, it’s time to put on the feedbag, let’s have some supper.” Mother bear went to the fridge and screamed: “..we’ve been cleaned out, no food in there, the porridge is gone, so are the muffins and the cider jug is empty!” Well papa bear let out a roar, and baby bear started crying and all this racket woke up the sleeping beauty upstairs. A terrible brawl ensued, Goldilocks was getting her clock cleaned by the tag team of mama and papa bear, when Goldie noticed papa bear’s bowling ball, she leapt across the room and let papa bear have it right in the  7-10 split and when mama went to help him, Goldie pulled mama bear’s girdle over her head and gave her a rabbit punch for good luck. She dashed for the door, but not before she picked up little baby bear to take with her as a hostage. When she got back to the village, she jumped on her bike with baby bear in her basket. She came across a traveling circus, and after a short negotiation, sold baby bear for a pretty price and had enough money to open a nice shoppe in the big city. The end.

All this information is readily available if you look in the right places.

 

 

copyright @2017

Tattoo or not tattoo…

When we first consider the word ‘tattoo’ we think of many things. We are not thinking of the diminutive tuxedoed sidekick of Mr. Roarke on Fantasy Island. Also we might consider the slow drumbeat of the sound of retreat on some British garrison. Here we are looking at the modern phenomenon of the covering of many bodies, male and female with colorful inked pictures and words. In the days of yore, many of the men who went to sea would return with a distinctive tattoo on an arm or leg. Sometimes a picture of a fish, or maybe a buxom woman or sometimes a big heart with the word – Mother- in the middle. Few would go to the extent of old Queequeg, right hand man for old Captain Ahab. (for those that did not get that far in the book, Q’s body was covered in tattoos.) Many a soldier or sailor returned from Vietnam with a tattoo commemorating the time there. Most were just on the forearm or leg, some maybe on the chest or back. The science fiction writer of Fahrenheit 451 and other tales, Ray Bradbury, even wrote a story called the Illustrated Man, about a circus performer covered in tattoos. It was conceived as science fiction, but today it has become reality. We have men and women of all walks of life who are walking tattoo billboards. The young gentlemen who have them arrayed on their legs, have to wear shorts in all seasons to display their art. You spend that much money and you can’t keep it covered. Girls have to wear short tops to show off what they have imprinted just above their tailbone or sleeveless tops so everyone might view the colorful pictures inked on their shoulders. All these exhibitionists have something to say, and since they spent so much money on saying it, they must share it with the rest of the world. Thanks for sharing.

But you might be saying to yourself, so what about all this tattoo nonsense, when did it all begin? And where will it all end? The answer to the first question, is not easily accessible on the internet or in most books. It is a mysterious tale which has been hidden from sight for many, many years. During my time in the Orient, I had a chance encounter at a roadside restaurant in northern Thailand with a wizened, befuddled old man.  He told me that for the price of a bottle of Mekong whiskey and a pack of cigarettes, he was willing to share a tale that stretched back for many centuries. Being young, and having nothing but time on my hands, I asked him to proceed.  The old man lit up a Lucky Strike and began to sip his whiskey. The more he drank, the easier the words came to him as he began to recollect the story. It was back in the ancient world, near the kingdom of Mesopotamia. In the small country of Lesopotamia, which had succeeded from the larger kingdom some years earlier in a bitter civil war.  The ruler was King Tahtmohotep, first of the Carrington Dynasty. He was a strict military leader and ruler of his country. Since they were always threatened by their larger neighbor to the north, King Taht had to keep a large standing army and a fleet of chariots ready for battle at any time. Now his son, and heir to the throne was a ner-do-well of the best kind. He spent his time thundering over the desert tracks in his favorite chariot, accompanied by his pack of hooligan friends. They would spend time hunting any wild animals that came across their path. They would shoot their arrows or fling their spears while trying to bag some big game. The prince was always the best marksman and had his artist slave, Monk, paint pictures on the side of his chariot, depicting his latest conquest. He even named his chariot, Mabel, after his girlfriend, and had Monk paint a highly stylistic portrait of the buxom Mabel on the side of the chariot.

Now, on a normal Saturday night, the gang would be all hopped up on fermented pumpkin wine and riding around the block terrorizing the populace in their out of control chariots. This one memorable Saturday, the prince and his pals eventually repaired to one of the royal palaces in the suburbs. They sat around playing a game of Dudoo, which was a card game involving spitting and drinking shots and hoping you were not the last one out. As that person had to go sit in the outhouse for an hour. This night, the Prince was so intoxicated, that he started rambling on about how he no longer had any more room on his chariot for the pictures of all of his conquests. One of his friends, Prince Donamocous by name, suggested something totally out of the box. He told the prince : “why don’t you get old Monk and all of his inks, and have him print a picture on your arm or leg?” Well, even though he was pretty drunk, the prince thought this was a little nuts and wondered how the picture would stay on his arm. When he took his occasional bath, it would probably wash off. Nevertheless, they called for Monk to report on the double to the palace. One of the miscreants, pulled Monk out his bed and got him over to resolve this critical problem. Once he was suitably awake, and aware of what he was being asked to do, he decided to put on the old thinking cap (which they did have at the time, to enhance the thought process) and come up with a solution. After a period of time, Monk came back to the prince and gave him his idea. “My prince, I have a way that I can give you a beautiful portrait of whatever you want and put it on your arm or whichever limb you might chose. This portrait will stay for as long as you live.” The prince was very excited and told Monk to proceed. But Monk hesitated. “there is one small drawback to this….it will be a little painful when I apply the picture. I have to use some sharp objects  along with the ink, to make the picture indelible.” The prince thought for awhile and finally said : “…try it out first on Duke Kevin and he can tell us how much it hurts. If he can take it, so can I.” So they pulled over a drunken Duke Kevin and Monk set to work on putting a picture of a donkey on his forearm. It took some time, as this was the first attempt to ever do anything like this. Eventually, the job was done, just as Duke Kevin was sobering up. He began to whimper, but was soon pleased to see the finished product on his arm. It was a critical success! Soon Monk was applying one to the shoulder of Prince Taht. He asked to have a small picture of Mabel as his first. Of course, they had to send someone to get Mabel out of bed, as Monk wanted to be sure that he got the picture right. He didn’t want to incur the royal ire.

Now the Prince was ecstatic. He had a whole body left to have various pictures of wild beasts put all over to show everyone his prowess as a hunter and a royal dude. Soon many others began to copy the prince. All the young sports of Lesopotamia were wearing wife beater shirts to show off their inked pictures. It caught on like wildfire. Many began to ask where this crazy trend came from. The king was very upset and wanted to put a stop to all this nonsense. He did not like the whole idea of walking picture galleries. He told his son that once he got back from going to war in the north, he would see the end of it when he returned As fate would have it, the king had a bad chariot accident on the way to the war, when his buggy flipped over on s tricky dune and he was flung into a pit of quicksand. So that was the end of King Tahtmohotep I. The news quickly got back to the prince and he found out that he was now the King. After a very short period of mourning, they had a coronation, a gala ball and one heck of a shindig. The new King in his inaugural speech, decreed himself King Tahtmohotep II. He also let it be known that he expected all males over the age of 15 should get down to Monks and get a picture put on their arm. He also let everyone know that he was the inventor of this new body art. Thence forward he was naming it after himself, a King Taht-II. Which over time of course, was eventually shortened to Tahttwo, and then to what we now know as “tattoos”. So that was how they came be called that.

At the end of the narrative, I bought the old gentleman another pint of Mekong for telling me such an enchanting story. I left the restaurant and hopped a tuk-tuk taxi back to my hotel.  The next morning, I thought I dreamed all of this, but the Mekong hangover reminded me of the old man and the story.  I made some notes and put it all away.  Since I don’t have any documentary proof of this, I haven’t previously published the tale and the whole tattoo thing was not that big at the time. But now that they are a such huge, modern marvel, it was about time that the story should be shared with the world. I dedicate this story to that old man, wherever he might be.

copyright 2017

 

Bowling of the Stars

While many in the sports world continue to agonize over questions like: “What’s wrong with baseball?” or “Will Hockey ever become popular in the States?” or “Basketball, Quo Vadis?” or “Professional Soccer, who cares?” These questions all miss the point. What about Professional Bowling? What the hell happened there? This is a much more important question. It is also probably the most unasked question in American today.
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The case can probably be made that bowling is more a part of  the delicately woven afghan of American life than either baseball or the overrated football. Back in the 1940’s, 50’s and even the 60’s, bowling was the most important sport in the whole country. If you could look it up somewhere, the facts would likely back up this claim. Since we don’t have the time for that, you will have to take my word for it. Unfortunately, today this popularity is no longer true. If you really cared, you might say: “…well, what is to be done about that?” Quicker than you can say : Billy Golembieski, the answer is here.

To get Professional Bowling back to the status it once had, a multi-faceted program must be instituted at once. There are plenty of professional bowlers out there, we just need to get them together and form a professional, traveling league. We also will need some visionary big money backers, say in the vein of people like Bill Veeck, Charley Finley or some fellow who just hit the Power Ball big time and is not sure where to spend his money. Once we have the financing, we begin to implement The Plan.

Uniforms. This is the ‘sine qua non’ of all professional sports. If we do this right, it will be self financing with all the hats, shirts and memorabilia we can sell the fans. From the little tykes, to the decaying ex-jocks, flashy uniforms are something to which they can all relate. In the past, bowlers wore colorful shirts, with their names on the front and some type of advertising for their sponsors on the back. For example, it would say “ED” on the front pocket, and “Stan’s Waste Removal Service” surrounded by a border of flowers on the back. Fast forward to today. Full uniforms. Colorful jerseys, with a number on the back and the team name and team logo across the front. “Ft. Wayne Fighting Meat Packers” or “ Saginaw Screaming Pin Tumblers”. The use of numbers instead of names would help the sale of scorebooks at the refreshment stand. Coordinated, roomy, yoga-pants would complete the uniform in a statement of style and panache. To complete the ensemble, the bowlers would wear high top bowling shoes, with the little lights on the heels, that flash on and off as the bowler walks to the line.

Rules. In order to compete in the modern sports arena and also to draw a television contract, some changes will need to be made to the current rules. Taunting will now be encouraged. In the old days, quiet reigned on the alleys as the competitors hit the line to heave the old ball toward the pins. The lack of excitement, to say nothing of the unhealthy restriction on free speech and the squelching of the deep-seated competitive juices, was probably unconstitutional and un-American! Those days are long gone. When the bowler stands at the line to deliver, the opposing team are now encouraged to say anything from remarks about the other person’s physical appearance to those of his mother or girl friend or wife. You can just imagine the fun that could be had with that. Microphones will be strategically placed so that all the remarks and replies can be beamed back home to the viewers as they are being made. In addition, no longer will one bowler politely wait while the other bowler sets himself to make his approach to throw the ball. You can now throw whenever you’re ready. If you can break your opponents concentration and get a strike yourself, so much the better. In fact, one of the new rules will be called : ‘The opposing lane bonus rule/‘ If you can distract your opponent long enough to deliver YOUR ball down HIS lane, you will receive Bonus Points. The bonus will be figured on the amount of pins you can knock down on his alley. Gutter balls will be counted as points against you. The complications arise when you realize that while you’re throwing the ball, you must also protect your alley from the other bowler. That’s where the fun begins. Blocking moves and limited body checks are allowed to keep the opponent from stealing your alley. Over zealous bowlers who are caught tripping or delivering illegal body blows that could be construed by the referees as fighting, are not allowed. If the referee calls a penalty, then the penalized bowler must sit out the next two frames and his team will lose that pin count. Gross infractions could result in ejection for a whole game, so you have to be careful or at least sneaky.

Scoring. A few new wrinkles in scoring come along with the new rules. If you can keep an opposing team from throwing a ball down your lane for a whole game, that will be called a ‘Snerd’, and will add 100 points to your score. If you can go for all three games without allowing this, your team will be awarded an additional 500 point. This will be called a ‘Babushka’.
During the ‘beer frames’ (good way to plug the sponsor) the score will double for the bowlers with the highest score. At this time, the alley lights will flash on and off, the organ will play a suitable song, rock songs work well, but polka music is acceptable. For each strike made, the scoreboard above the alley will explode with fireworks and laser lights. During this time, the beer sponsor’s signs will flash overhead and on the television screens at home.
Whenever good plays are made, the bowlers will be encouraged to celebrate in any way that they feel will render the occasion with that proper amount of obnoxiousness. If a bowler has just rolled a strike, high fiveing and screaming are the minimum. When you get a double or triple, now you’re talking about a party. If done properly, spiking the bowling ball is appropriate. Also, running half way down the opponents alley, spinning around and sliding on your knees back towards the foul line is acceptable. For those who manage to achieve the higher levels, leading your team on a mambo line through the bar and back to your scoring table is a normal response. If anyone is lucky enough to roll a 300 game, the only rule limiting the celebration is that of the imagination and creativeness of that bowler. Five minutes of “NaNaNaNah, NaNaNaNah, Heyyyy, Hey-eyyyy, goodbye” would probably be a good start.
Of course, some may quibble that some of the rules might border on poor sportsmanship or even could be considered rude behavior. But this will be what sets this sport apart from all the other professional sports. It will be all part of the game and of the entertainment package. Actually in most of the other sports, they have all started becoming a little more hot-doggish in recent years. There is not enough mustard to cover some of these celebrations, especially in soccer, but even in hockey and football they are getting a little more out of control when celebrating. Professional bowling will need to be much different if it is to succeed. All we need is a television contract and some sponsors. Who is ready to be part of the future of sports?
copyright 2017

Dogs and Cats are reigning.

The eternal question burns whenever a certain group of people gather to debate which is the better pet or member of the animal kingdom, the canis, cani, canine or the catus, cati, feline. (We only will deal with normal pets in this case. If you are looking for a treatise on the benefits of goldfish, birdies, serpents, rodents, reptiles or members of the insect world, please consult those books you might find on the FREE table, in the library or bookstore,) For most of us out there, the answer is as obvious as the person in front of you at the so-called speedy check out who is stumped while trying to figure out the nomenclature of their produce items. (You should have taken all those obscure vegetables to the regular checkout and let the expert figure it out.) Anyway, the answer is of course, the noble canine, the family dog. Good old fido.

The evidence is available wherever we might look, so we might as well start throwing it out there. Let’s start with the field of entertainment. In the realm of movies, we have Lassie, Dog of Flanders, The Shaggy Dog, Call of the Wild, Old Yeller, Biscuit-Eater, 101 Dalmatians, Lady and the Tramp, Benji, Rin-Tin-Tin, you could just go on forever. Also, the vast majority of those are true stories or based on true stories or really sound like true stories. Now try and find any decent cat movies, That Darn Cat? That might be it. If you look at the plot of all the dog movies, the cats are usually the evil characters of the film or story. Lady and the Tramp is a sterling example.  (We are Siamese etc etc) You need to think about all the adventure stories here. When Timmy fell off a cliff or was captured by bad guys, who went running home to get gramps or dad or the sheriff to save Timmy? That’s right, good old Lassie. Who saved Rusty and all the troops at Fort Apache? Yo Rinty!!! The cats? If any were around, little Fluffy might look over at Timmy laying on the ground, then thinking “…well he won’t be able to make my dinner tonight, so I better slink over to farmer Jones house to see if I can mooch a meal over there.” You won’t see the sneaky, lazy, stinking, cat saving anyone. Cats, the selfish, all about me, member of the animal kingdom.

We also need to consider all the health issues of dogs and cats. The dogs will eat their dinner all at once and then go outside to take care of business. Most cats will let their smelly food sit around all day before they finally polish it off and then they don’t go outside, no, not them, they will relieve themselves right in the house in the putrid little cat box. P.U. What kind of deal is that? Then you have to be sure you protect your little children or yourself while you sleep. There have been numerous cases well-documented of evil cats, waiting till the baby is asleep or maybe even older children and then park their furry body right over the baby’s mouth and suffocate the poor kid! This will never happen with good old Fido. He will sleep at the side of your bed and is ready to protect you from any late night intruders, even sneaky cats. The dog will come when you call it and wag his tail and look at you with his loving eyes and be ready to perform any task that you might ask. What about SugarPop the cat? She will ignore anything you say, walk or run the other way, ready to perpetrate some evil deed as soon as your back is turned. (Look at all the dead birds in your yard! Thank the cat for that.) Their is no loyalty only selfish greed. If good old Beauregard has retrieved the stick or ball and then runs back to you, you might give the dear fellow a nice dog treat or cookie. How civilized. What about PumpkinPie? They might snack on NIP! That’s right, cats are addicted to a feline drug, known as CatNip. A little of the Nip and they are floating around like a skid row hophead. The cat is a taker and the dog is a giver and protector.

Even with all the facts and figures above to prove the case, some people still require a little more scientific data. Well, that is very easy to provide. All we need to do is to consult your handy dictionary. Where to begin? Look at all the words that begin with …CAT…! CATerwaul, CATatonic, CATaclysm, CATastrophe, CATarrh, CATcall, CATty, CATspaw, CAT-o-nine-tails, CAThouse, none of these words being of a positive ilk and then we top it all off with the way ignorant trenchermen might spell CATsup? For our loyal canine friends there is little to choose from, but think of the term….works like a dog…a most positive term. Dog tired, after a hard days work. As for some positivity, what about DOGmatic, DOGged, DOGe, DOG trot, DOG fight, DOG tag, I rest my case. Mr Webster helps make it for me.  Here you go, Kevin, good dog, thanks for fetching my slippers.  We can all relax now.  Case closed.

A lot of countries make claims for the invention of various foods, devices and miscellaneous discoveries. The French claim that they invented movies, the automobile,the airplane and many more. They did establish the way to hold the bloodiest revolution, invented a number of cheeses and perfected the look of indigestion whenever someone speaks English. The English invented cigarettes, the English breakfast, they also claim the sandwich from the Earl of, but later facts show that it was the American, Duke of Earl who can make that claim. The Chinese brag about a number of items from gunpowder to spaghetti. They did not invent Egg Foo Young, as it is well known now, that it was invented in the 1880s in a small Brooklyn deli. There are many other claims and counter claims and arguments about many dishes and great discoveries. This led me to go on a search of my own about a famous food item.

In the late 13th century, at the court of Kublai Khan, lord of the Mongol Empire there were a number of foreigners employed by the Mongols. Some were there by choice and others were captured on some of the various Mongol raids into Europe. Working in the kitchen of one rich merchant by name of Sammi Khan, was a Polish man called Pinkos Zabrowski. Sammi was a music buff and with music in mind he bought Pinkos from another merchant who said that the Pole could really sing a tune. Unfortunately for Sammi, that was not true and making the best of a bad bargain, dispatched Pinkos to his kitchen. Sammi commanded Pinkos to invent dishes that were foreign to Cathay and something that would make him the talk of the town. Pinkos of course whipped up a batch of perogis and then some kielbasa and czarnina, none of which appealed to local palates. He put together vegetarian dishes, fondues, soups and even some duck chow mein, Just like in his singing, he could not hit that high note. It is at this point of the story, that we can refer to Marco Polo’s Travels for what happened next. Marco and his entourage were hanging around the court of Kublai Khan at this exact time. If you refer to the narrative of all his adventures, turn to page 384, about half way down the page, continuing on through page 388, and a few sentences on the next page. It is here that we find the tale of who invented a world renowned delicacy.

Pinkos was now working with a new type of bread, a flat bread unlike the other doughy types then in use. He began to experiment with various types of toppings on this bread and then baking it in his large oven. He tried fish, rice, mutton, vegetables and other things. One day he had been working with tomatoes and came up with a tangy sauce, but had no idea where to use it. He decided to spread it on the flatbread and sprinkled some of his spare cheese on it. Marco and another Polo happened to be sniffing around for something to snack on, as they were always looking for free handouts. In fact, the locals were calling them ” ching wow hong chow Marco”, which loosely translates to – Marco and his moochers. Anyway, they were present when Pinkos pulled his bread out of the oven. Marco hinted that he would like to have a sample of this and grabbed it and took some large bites for himself. “Bellisimo!!!” shouted Marco, what call you this? Or something of that nature. Pinkos had to think quickly, so he said :”…it’s Pinkos tomato baked babka.” Marco thought this naming was a little overwrought, but humored him. “Senori Pinkos, this is the best chow that I have had in all of Cathay, lately. Pray share your recipe with me and I will make you a rich and famous man!” Pinkos was a little hesitant, but after reassurances from Marco, he finally drew pictures and inscribed measurements on a parchment and wrote his full name and address on it to be sure that he would get credit for this invention.

A week or two later, when he went to go visit Marco to see what progress was being made to making him a prominent chef and rich man, he found out that Marco had left town. It seemed that the great Khan was getting tired of these freeloaders hanging around the palace and gave them a bunch of stuff and sent them on a mission to go back to Italy and tell the world about what he saw in China and beyond. Pinkos was disconsolate, but he did receive some reward for his tomato baked babka, the merchant was delighted with the dish and gave Pinkos the hand of his favorite daughter in marriage. They soon opened a little restaurant in a trendy part of town and had a successful operation as word got out about the place and the crowds began to pour in.

Now Marco wended his way over a few years and eventually made it back to Italy. He unpacked his saddle bags with all his riches and started telling the tales of the Orient to all who would listen. One day he was doing some downsizing and he came across the old parchment with Pinkos recipe on it. He immediately hastened to his cousin Tony Rotini who ran a local beanery. Marco showed him the recipe and asked if he could make this for him. Tony experimented for a couple days and finally baked up a reasonable facsimile of the original. They cracked open a bottle of wine and went to work on the concoction. Tony was very impressed and soon had visions of liras in his head. “Marco, what do you call this stuff?” Marco thought for a moment, Pinkos was back in China, so forget about him, I could call it Chinese Pie, but what about, Polo Pie? “Tony, we call this—Marco Polo Pie, or Polo Pie for short.” So Marco took credit for this invention and helped his cousin market the pies and collect the money. Soon Marco got the itch to travel again and he left town, never to come back to Tony’s. Tony was happy with his new found menu item, but secretly envied Marco for all of his fame and decided to remove Marco from the equation. He was in the kitchen studying the recipe and happened to notice at the very bottom of the parchment, someone had cut off part of the bottom, but a faded name still remained. He could see that it said Pinkos Ignasz Zabrowski!   So, he thought, Marco the crook stole this from some poor guy in China and took credit for it. Tony decided to change the name immediately. He pulled out a bottle of some good red wine and his pipe, and worked to find a better name than Polo Pie. Pinkos Ignasz Zabrowski, was shortened and shortened to Piza or Pizza Pie. He changed the signs on his door and remade his menus to reflect the change. With the new name, Tony’s business really took off and he soon had a small chain of restaurants that only sold the piza pie. He hired young boys to deliver the pies all over the city and the pizza pie became one of the main food groups of Italy and eventually the whole world.   So you can see how the Chinese and the Italians might take credit for this pizza pie, but it looks like it might belong to the Polish after all.  A heart and stomach warming story.

 

 

copyright 2017

Uncle Richard had an old leather hat that covered his mostly bald dome from dawn till dusk every day.  He had this little ritual that he loved to perform with the dogs and that hat.  He’d drive those dogs crazy  by hiding a few dog treats inside the band of the hat.  He’d tug on the hat and give a little whistle and those mutts would start jumping all over trying to get to those dog biscuits. He would finally pull off the cap with a flourish and flip the cookies in the air and the dogs would be wolfing them down in a matter of seconds, catching them before they hit the ground.  It was truly amazing to see those fat, boxers leaping straight up in the air as if they had some kind of doggie flubber on their paws.  It was the only exercise they seemed to get, but they would do anything for a treat.

My relationship with the boxer twins was not as amicable.  We tolerated each other and carefully watched out of the corner of our eyes whenever we passed.  I believed that they resented my presence every summer and were quite happy to see the back of my head each August.  They nipped at me and jumped out from corners in ambush whenever the odd chance presented itself.  I retaliated by mixing my aunt’s Morelish with a hint of tobasco sauce on their food when I had a chance.  We eventually agreed to an uneasy truce.

Our last summer together had been going much as the previous seven or eight had.  Uncle Richard puttering in the basement with his ice cream maker and Aunt Sieglinde humming in the kitchen over a pot of some new and odiferous concoction.  It was a Thursday night in August and we were all going out for a bass fishing trip in the family skiff.  The boat was loaded to the oarlocks with our gear, my aunt, uncle, myself and the dogs.  We pushed off the dock and were soon rowing around the lake.

We hadn’t had much luck with the fish and it looked like we were going to pack it in for the night.  The only bites were from the mosquitoes and the mood in the boat was one of strained civility.  I decided that I would make one last grand,  bass tempting cast for the night.  I’ll never forget that cast for the rest of my life.  I hauled back with both hands on my rod and let fly with all my might with a cast that a professional Gulf Coast fisherman might make.  In his prime.  My line was a mile behind the boat before it began its majestic flight forward.  This would be epic.  As it moved lazily, through the soft, summer dusk, unforeseen tragedy ensued.  Uncle Richard decided to stand up at that very second to blow his nose into his red hankie.  The next few moments are frozen in my mind like a slow motion spaghetti western as the bandits are caught in the crossfire from the posse.  My uncle’s hat was caught by the descending hook, it flew off his head and as it gathered speed it became disengaged from the hook and catapulted into the sunset like a flying saucer.  Fasolt and Fafner mistakenly took the sound of my uncle’s nose blowing for a whistle.  Hungry buggers that they were, they were out of that boat like a couple greyhounds after the rabbit, or at least that hat.  I saw the hat hit the water and begin to sink off in the distance.  It was about this time that the dogs appeared to realize that they could not swim.  Their greed still overcame their fear and they were following that hat to the bottom of the lake.

This all happened in just a matter of seconds.  As soon as Uncle Richard realized what was happening, he tried to row the boat over to where the dogs were valiantly trying to avoid their fate.  Aunt Sieglinde was moaning or singing a sea shanty, as she labored to pull up the anchor so we could make headway.  Sitting in the middle between them, I was no help.  It also turned out that my  cast had somehow hooked a fish.  I couldn’t decide if I should try to reel in the fish or go after the dogs.  At this point, my uncle in a fit of Teutonic rage, grabbed my rod and threw it into the lake.    Now there was no sign of the dogs and we were faced with open water and the night turning darker.  We finally got underway and headed for the shore.  Anger seemed to give my uncle super human, rowing ability.  We docked and I had to help Aunt Siegi to the house as she seemed to be in some kind of walking coma.

Between spits of rage, my uncle informed me that I’d better go to bed since I would be leaving on the first bus in the morning.  Considering the situation, I was happy to be leaving with no physical injuries inflicted on me.  Somehow I was still alive.  I felt that I shouldn’t inquire about returning next summer at this time.

The next morning, Aunt Siegi had recovered to some extent.  She made me a modest breakfast and helped me get my things together.  She said that my uncle might forgive me at some distant point in the future, but I would be best served to forget about making any farewell remarks to him right now.

As I stood out in the road by the gas station, waiting for the bus, I heard some rustling in the bushes behind me.  I turned to see two, fat water rats emerge from the woods and head down the road as fast as their stubby little legs could carry them.  With thoughts of breakfast and homecoming, they never gave me even a sideways glance.  It was Fasolt and Fafner back from the dead.  I guess they figured out that they could swim.  I would have liked to witness the homecoming of the faithful companions to their lord and master, but I knew that my time here was over.  I did not want to spoil the jubilant reunion.  I sensed that this was a watershed moment in my life, a new chapter would be beginning for me.  These carefree summer days would no longer be mine.  I was eventually forgiven by my uncle and even invited back, but I had other fish to fry.  The next summer I had a job and had discovered girls.  I was never to return to the lake of my youth, but I sometime imagine seeing my aunt and uncle tramping through the woods with the dogs jumping at their side, picking morels and eating ice cream.

 

 

copyright 2017

As a young child it was a sublime delight to spend the summer months in northern Michigan near the shores of Lake Tippipitoo with my uncle Richard and aunt Sieglinde.  Those glorious summers occupy a hazy, warm room in the mansion of a now enfeebled memory.  The summer that stands out of all others, was the last summer I spent with my aunt and uncle.

Uncle Richard was a semi-retired ice cream magnate from Chicago.  He spent his evenings devising new flavor combinations to try and revive his once flourishing, but now melting, ice cream empire.  Aunt Sieglinde was a woman of many careers.  She also tried her hand or hands at inventing a new foodstuff.  She collected morels in the spring, as she had her favorite and highly secret, mushroom filled patches in the back woods.  After her morels were collected, she spent a number of summers trying to perfect a new hot dog condiment called “Morelish”.  It seemed that no one else had the vision that she did.  One of the local gas stations did stock it for a few summers in the cooler next to the night crawlers, as a favor to Aunt Siegi.  She was left with jars of the stuff in the pantry, a monument to mushrooms and  pickles that just couldn’t get along together in the same jar.  I believe that she was just ahead of her time and was an early pioneer of the spoon food industry that seems to be thriving in tourist-land today.

My aunt was a rather largish woman.  As my father liked to say, though never to her face; “…Sieglinde is a woman who can really fill a doorway.”  Along with her expansive girth, she also possessed a passably good soprano voice.  At one time she was the lead singer for local polka band by name of Sieglinde and the Dancing Valkyries.  The group did show some promise,  but since the locals were mostly of Polish or Bohemian extraction, they were never able to find their audience with their German tuneage.    It just didn’t have that toe-tapping beat that appealed to the beer drinkers.  They experimented with other musical genres to try to revive the band, but after a plan to do a polka tribute to Dave Brubeck failed to gain any financial backing, they gave it up for euchre and bingo.

My aunt and uncle never had the time to have any children.  They were so busy with their various projects, they rarely gave any thought to even spending any time with children.  They did tolerate me for a few months every summer.  I just figured it was an old debt that they had to pay back to my parents.  The closest thing they had to a family was their pair of English Bulldogs, or their Bullenbeissers as they called them.  Their names were Fasolt and Fafner.  They were devoted to those ugly canines and the feelings were  reciprocated.

 

part two — coming tomorrow

Doughnuts are always a popular thing to contemplate. There are many opportunities to buy a doughnut from so many outlets. You can hardly drive down a road or walk down the street without bumping into one. With so many choices, we sometimes might take the old doughnut for granted. Have we ever thought about where the humble doughnut originated. There are many theories and legends about doughnuts, but after much research and investigation we can point to one place with certainty about the origins of the modern day doughnut.

There may have been some efforts by bakers and fakers in ancient and medieval time, but we need to look to 19th century Prussia for the modern day doughnut to come out of the fryer.
Otto von Bismarck had become the Prime Minister of Prussia. He and his emperor, Wilhelm I, each had well developed sweet tooths. Otto had spent time in Paris as an ambassador and became well known around the pastry shops of Paris. When he was called home by Wilhelm, Otto tried to fill a couple suitcases with the finest pastries of Paris, but of course by the time his luggage made it home to Berlin, the bags were just full of sweet mush. Otto was determined to recreate the delights of the Paris bakeries. Unfortunately, he didnt have a lot of time to experiment with the desserts because he was busy organizing the Prussian state and fighting a couple of wars. Wilhelm was getting impatient with Otto, on the pastry front as well as with his diplomacy.

Finally in 1867 he was able to arrange the North German Confederation and the Prussians were off to the races. To honor Otto, his kuchen madchens came up with a celebratory treat. It was a doughy, deep fried delicacy filled with a variety of fresh jams or jellies. In his honor they named it the Otto! Bismarck thought it was a little too familiar and pedestrian. The von Bismarck was too pretentious even for the big O. He told the ladies that they would call it forthwith…a Bismarck! So history was made. The Kaiser was delighted and Otto was delirious. Prussia was not only successfully rolling up the middle of Europe, but they also had invented a new dessert in honor of the conquering prime minister.

As time went on, Bismarck was to enjoy many more victories, culminating in the defeat of France in 1880. (The battle of Sedan, which finished off the French, may also had some historic significance on other fronts.) He celebrated that night with a dozen bismarcks, washed down with a couple bottles of French Champagne. Unfortunately for Otto, Mrs. Bismarck was watching in alarm as Otto’s stomach was expanding as fast as the borders of Prussia. She gave Otto his marching orders, no more bismarcks until he lost some weight. Well, Otto did not become Chancellor of Prussia by luck. He decided to spend some late nights in the kitchen with the madchens to come up with something new. They finally came up with a successful design. They took a bismarck and cut out the middle and when the circle came out of the fryer, they they decorated the circle with sugar or frosting. This device was credited to Helga Doornitz the head kuchen madchen. Otto was elated, he had a substitute for his bismarck. He could polish these off at his leisure and truthfully tell his wife that he no longer ate bismarcks. He was only eating his Doornitz. Since Mrs. B. rarely was seen in the kitchen, Otto was able to pull off this last bit of trickery in spite of her.

Sadly for Otto von B. his string of successes soon came to an end. His emperor with the sweet tooth, Wilhelm I, was to die in 1888. His son W the deuce, was more of a meat and potatoes guy. He was not impressed with Otto’s dexterity with the desserts. Also, the elections in Prussia turned against Otto. He had to resign his position and retire to his estate to write his memoirs. He had to hire a secretary to transcribe his memoirs because Otto always had sticky fingers from the consumption of his beloved doornitz. The recipes for the Doornitz was smuggled out of the country to the new world and due to copyright worries, were Americanized to the more familiar “doughnuts” by a baker from Otto’s estate, by name of Stanley Paczke.  Stanley then decided to rename the Bismarcks, and took all the credit for that, when he put his own moniker on the former Bismarcks.   Which is part of another story which we celebrate on Fat Tuesday.

Another factual story, that you will not find in any history books or anywhere else on the old www, only here will you learn it, better than most reality shows on the cable. too.

 

copyright 2017.