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"This morning, when we were walking home
from the store, you pointed out an old man
sleeping in a white rocking chair on a lawn.
"David, thank you for doing so
because it inspired a beautiful memory
from the best summer escape
from my Bronx tenement childhood."
"Your inspirer is all ears."
"It was Summer of '61 ...
My grandparents, who owned
an Italian restaurant in mid-town
Manhattan, rented a Catskills cottage
at Grossinger's Resort for the extended
families of their four daughters.
"One cheater's dozen grandchildren
got to escape from hideous August
heat in the Bronx and Brooklyn."
"Was this before your family bought
the house in Montauk?"
"Right. That happened in 1962.
That was beachfront property
in Montauk. The house was paid for,
with $37, 000 cash, by Minnie
and Joe Nunzio."
"But I thought Montauk summers
were your favorite."
"Those summers never had
all the cousins under the same roof
at the same time.
"But less than half of them
are still alive and none of us
are on speaking terms
with each other.
"I mostly blacked out
all of the Grossinger's memories
for that reason, until this morning."
"But before you go on, I have two questions:
what is a cheater's dozen?"
"Ten instead of twelve."
"Second question. Weren't you
on good terms with your brother
before he died?"
"Not really, talking wasn't easy
for either of us and always had
something to do with our parents' estate."
"Okay, Anita, Consider that memory
signed, sealed, and delivered.
Please open the package."
"Summer of '61... mid-August ...
It was a drizzly Grossinger's morning
when Grandma Minnie took her daughters
shopping and Grandpa Joe was put in charge
of us kids, who ranged in age
from five to seventeen.
"Able-bodied Grandpa Joe set up
the croquet wickets
—despite the wet grass–
and then he fell asleep
in the white rocking chair
on the veranda.
"I won't mention my name
but guess who was the best
croqueteer on the lawn."
"Was it the same girl who won a Croquet tournament
in Newport Beach a few years ago?"
"Yes, that same girl who sits before you.
Anyway, midway through
the Ten Cousin Croquet Tournament,
my cousin Richard gives me a whack
on the butt with his mallet.
"He did it to break my concentration:
I was winning by three wickets...
and his gambit worked.
I put my mallet down, picked up a ball
that was not in play and threw it at Richard.
It hit him in the balls.
"All the cousins laughed, especially the girls
But the sky laughed the loudest in the form
of a flash flood.
"The game ended...We packed up
the croquet set. Then somebody
threw a mudball at my sister
and War was declared.
"Four boys against six girls ....
We were armed with
one thousand one mudballs ..."
"Don't tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"Your Grandfather slept through
the whole thing?"
"Of course."
"That reminds me of Ronald Reagan's
most grandfatherly moment."
"Can that moment wait until
I finish the story?"
"No. Inspiring your memory
entitles me to interrupt it."
"Sorry. I had forgotten Oliverio Rule #47.
Only you would associate Grandpa Joe–
a hardcore Democrat–with Ronald Reagan.
Allow me to pretend to be interested in
what you now have to say."
"Pretending is our greatest survival mechanism.
Anyway, Reagan was famously forgiven
for falling asleep while Oliver North
and the President's military mafia
decided to sell weapons
to Iranian terrorists."
"Wow! I had forgotten all about that."
"Yes, Reagan had to testify
during the Contragate affair...
but didn't even get a reprimand
for his snoring snafu."
"If Bill Clinton had fallen asleep
when Monica Lewinsky gave him
blow jobs in the Oval Office,
there might not have been
an impeachment hearing."
"Not true: Clinton was too slick and slimy
—and too young—
to have plead the Grandfather clause."
"The Grandfather clause?"
"Yeah. We forgave a President
—who was old enough to be
everybody's Grandfather—
for napping during crises
because napping is something
all grandfathers did randomly."
"Just as I bet Grandpa Joe
was forgiven for napping
while a dozen grandchildren
went to war."
"That's not quite true.
But he enjoyed his punishment
immensely."
"What was his punishment."
"His defense attorney–my
fifteen year-old cousin Marilyn–
pleaded extenuating circumstances
because the night before the MUD WAR
Grandpa Joe had driven up from
his Manhattan restaurant to see
how his three sons-in-law
were doing in his absence."
"And ..."
"He returned to Grossinger's
with a big bag of cash–enough
for Grandma Minnie's shopping spree."
"So what was Grandpa Joe's punishment."
"As a result of the MUD WAR,
the clothing worn by a dozen children
was irreparably stained.
"He had to replace each outfit."
"He enjoyed doing that?"
"Yes. Because all the shopping was done by
his girlfriend–his favorite waitress
from Nunzio's Ristorante."
"All the shopping was done
on Grandpa Joe's dime, I presume."
"You are a correct presumer. The waitress
was a black beauty from Harlem named
Brenda Jackson. She was also
my part-time nanny.
"Brenda once telephoned
Louie Armstrong from our apartment
and let me talk to him."
"Now, I can't wait to hear chapter two
of this story!"
"It's a very short one:
Brenda was also my father's 'favorite waitress'
and my mother demanded my Grandparents
fire her. My mother believed that happened
but everyone else in the family
knew otherwise.
"I was twenty-two years old when
I learned–at Brenda's funeral–that
it was a Louis Armstrong
impersonator I talked to.
End of story."
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It began as the GODFATHER OF MATH, evolved into the GOODFATHER OF MATH. Now this. Go figure...
The kind of humor I like is the thing that makes me laugh for five seconds and think for ten minutes = G. CARLIN...Stain glass, engraved glass, frosted glass
–give me plain glass = JOHN FOWLES ... Music is the mathematics of the gods=PYTHAGORAS ... Nothing is more fluid than language = R. L. SWIHART
I cannot live without the oxygen of laughter = DAWN POWELL ... !!! ... But laughter cannot survive without the hydrogen of gravitas = PAUL OLIVERIO
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