SHIP SHAPE

SHIP SHAPE

They call Fort Lauderdale the Venice of the United States. It’s also known as the boating capital of the United States. The beautiful beaches, outdoor cafes, and sunshine are a magnet to tourists world wide. In the last few years Fort Lauderdale has gone upscale, distancing itself from its former claim to fame as the college spring break place to be. Newly built high end condos and five star hotels now trace the shoreline.
Health conscious and very fit joggers, skaters, and bikers exercise along the roadways and sidewalks. It’s very scenic as you look past the palm trees, the white beach, and out over the water to the cruise ships and tankers anchored and waiting patiently offshore for their turn to enter the port. Fort Lauderdale Beach is defined by the inter-coastal waterway running the full length of the city and separating the mainland from the beaches it’s a boater’s paradise. Each year the city also hosts the country’s largest boat show. Hundreds of boats, yachts and accessories, from around the world are on display and priced to sell. Rich buyers from around the world attend with their check books at the ready.
It just makes sense that ocean loving people are drawn to this area and to the boating life style. In other parts of the country, people buy large homes in gated communities, because they are in good school districts, or close to great golf courses, in Fort Lauderdale it’s all about making sure your yacht has a good home. There is even an annual night time lighted boat parade each year to showcase your newest toy.
The exclusive south Florida location brings together a unique mix of great weather, excellent fishing, easy access to deep water, and most importantly: Money, lots of money. Even when the rest of the country is experiencing a down turn, these folks don’t feel a thing. I’m not sure if its old money, new money, stolen money, or drug money, but its here in abundance. A quick trip down the inter-coastal will reveal lavish houses and mansions, along the palm tree lined and always calm waterway.
The abundant man made canals, rivers, and waterways, are lined with the homes of the rich and famous. These well tanned tycoons run the gamut from Captains of industry, lawyers, doctors, movie stars, yacht brokers, car dealers, drug dealers, and perhaps the richest of the rich…plastic surgeons. There are huge multi-million dollar houses with carefully manicured lawns and gardens, complimented with custom built swimming pools, fancy cars, and pool houses.
A few of the things that make these homes stand out are the hi-end cars in the driveway and the boats that they have docked behind them. Boats, or more correctly yachts are docked majestically behind most of the homes. In this city, wealth is measured by the size of your boat and how many feet of seawall you control. On the east side of Broward county, Sailboats, trawlers, go fast boats, and sleek fishing vessels are the rule rather than the exception…Not to be outdone by other locations, these are the types of yachts you will see in other major resort destinations world wide, like Miami, Virgin Islands, and the French Riviera.
I can’t help but wonder what type of individual needs a boat of these dimensions. These things are the size of small cruise ships or mini- aircraft carriers. The cost of most of these beauties can well exceed the G.N.P of a small country. The price tag for this type of luxury toy can easily exceed a million dollars with many in the 5 to 40 million ranges. They shout. “I have money. I have arrived.” (I’ve cheated on my taxes) The owners of these marvels can well afford the price and they typically spend more money topping off their fuel tanks, or tipping the dock master, than Joe Average makes in a month.(I winze when filling up the old pick-up truck at the 7-11)
I’d love to be a fly on the wall when these future boat owners were justifying these multi-million dollar price tags in their own minds. “Hey, I need a boat like this to take the guys fishing”. (Fishing off a boat like this is akin to hunting duck from your own Lear Jet.) Or, “think of the money I’ll be saving on hotel rooms.” Lets see: at $99/night at Embassy suites it would only take one hundred and one thousand nights (or 376 years) to pay back a ten million dollars boat. (I could stay at a real Embassy if I had that kind of jack).
Well, I guess you can justify or rationalize anything in your own mind. To be honest, yachting is a great life style; in fact my grandparents were sea going people also. They traveled many miles across the Atlantic on a big ship (ok..perhaps it wasn’t their own ship…it was more like a one way voyage that they had to share with hundreds of other Poor Italians immigrating to the United States in search of a better life)
At some point, the boat ownership at this level becomes a type of competition. A high stakes game of keeping up with the Jones’s. My boat costs more than your boat, my boat is newer, and my dingy is bigger than your dingy. (and I mean that it the nicest possible way) There also seems to be a contest as to who can have the cutest or fanciest boat name. Most sport a name that is a clever play on words like: Reel Time, “C” Dweller, Pier Pressure, Salesmen Ship, or Seas the Day (I must be lucky because my boat came with a name already lettered on the back..it just says “Boston Whaler”).
These boat owners also feel compelled to equip their boats with all the latest and greatest amenities. I mean any self respecting yacht owner would not be caught dead with little creature comfort options like: radar, satellite TV., swimming pools, outriggers, 24 year old girlfriends, hot spas, sun decks, barbeque grills, generators, elevators, GPS, and fish finders.
As the owners up the ante with bigger and more expensive toys, the purchase price and operating costs go thru the roof. Once you go over 45 foot or so it gets difficult to take the boat out by yourself. As the marine real estate passes the 65 foot mark, you must begin penciling in wages for a deck hand and crew. These guys can really run up the payroll and will sit around in shorts and boat shoes, and wax the boat every day until you are ready to take a little cruise. (talk about a great job).
At 75 to 100 foot you are playing with the big boys and probably need a captain and a few more deck hands. Now you will find yourself needing extra state rooms just for the crew. Hey, and with all those extra mouths to feed you had better hire an executive chef. When you break the 100 to 200 foot mark you then join an exclusive club as the owner of a “super yacht”. These giants belong to the elite “super rich”. You have to wonder what their house looks like if they own a 60 million dollar super yacht. Don’t get me wrong, I like boating as much as the next guy, it just that I don’t see the need to dock the Queen Mary in my yard. If I wanted to see exotic places and travel around the world on a boat that big, it would be cheaper for me to just join the Navy.(at least I’d been done paying in a few years)
To tell you the truth when I pass by, it doesn’t look to me like most of these boats have even left the dock in a while. To be honest with you it’s kind of a hassle just to take one out for a spin. I see the same boats in the same places all the time. I mean what’s the sense of having an expensive toy like this if you don’t use it. I just don’t see the logic in spending millions of dollars on a yacht capable of going around the world and then just using it as a floating spare office or bedroom 50 feet behind your house.
The worst part is that south Florida is very susceptible to hurricanes. During hurricane season everyone keeps a close eye on the weather reports and boat owners have to make sure their marine insurance is paid up and be ready to sail to safer waters if a hurricane threatens. But even living in paradise has its price to pay.
To be honest, I’m kind of saving up for a super yacht myself, but I’m still a little short on cash.( ok.. a lot of short on cash) If I could just ask each of you to buy one copy of my new book: “Life as seen thru the eyes of a Poor Italian Boy” (at $19.95 plus shipping and handling) I could rush out and buy my dream boat(after I finish paying restitution) and after I sell the first half a million copies. (now that’s not too much to ask, is it). Then I too could wear stylish yachting clothes, ( I might even try one of the Hugh Hefner style smoking jackets in the evenings), name drop, have outrageous parties, talk incessantly about all the money I have, and maybe wear one of those little captain’s hats. (perhaps even tell my friends to call me captain) If you don’t want the book,(or already own a few copies) I will gladly accept cash donations, inheritances, gratuities, lavish gifts, home cooked meals, and even well meant I.O.U.’s (with a qualified co-signer and 10% down)
Overall, I think I could easily get used to being a mega yacht kind of guy, but until I win the lottery…I’m gonn’a just shut up and keep rowing.
Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com
P.I.B.

UNSUNG HERO

UNSUNG HEROES

We were just kids when we got married. I had just turned eighteen and Wendell was only a year older. He was just out of high school and although he was captain of the football team, he didn’t have the skills he needed to get a good job. After bouncing around from one lousy job to the other, he went down and talked to the navy recruiter.

That night he told me that he had made the decision to enlist. The navy offered great training and even a paid college tuition down the line. I was so proud of him but I guess we never thought thru what that decision would mean to our marriage and family life.

Originally we had planned to wait another year or so, but while he was still in basic training, the war broke out. It soon became clear that all the guys would be shipping out as soon as they finished their training.

Wendell somehow managed to get a weekend off after boot camp and before they were due to ship out, and we decided on the spot to get married. I guess it was a rather impulsive act, but I had just recently discovered that I was pregnant and I wanted our baby to have a real dad. Besides, we loved each other and I thought it was the right thing to do.

To be honest, I never thought he would have to ship off so soon. In retrospect I really hadn’t thought thru all the implications of being a navy wife. Anyway, I’ll never forget going down to the dock that day to see him off. It was overcast and gloomy, which kind of matched my mood for the day. The dock was draped in American flags and the music played as the men waited to board the ship. There were T.V. cameras and reporters covering the event because the men had been assigned to a brand new ship. This was their first mission together and the captain addressed the crowd from under a small white tent. He told us that he planned to take the ship into harms way, but that he wanted us to know that, both he, the men, and the ship were more than up to the task. It was a good send off and there were hundreds of family members, mothers, fathers, and children, and we all stood there in a light rain as our loved ones boarded the ship.

I don’t think it really hit me until the boat started pulling away that I was going to be alone. I wasn’t even sure when I would see him again. I can remember standing there as the ship sailed out of the harbor. Most of the crowd had already disbursed as the rain began coming down quite hard. I stood there in a daze wiping a mixture of rain and tears from my eyes, until the ship was just a small dot on the horizon. For some reason I wanted to hold onto that sight, because I felt that maybe he was still looking back at me. I guess a lot of the family members had been thru this experience before, but for me it was the first time and it was a heart wrenching experience.

That night the loneliness set in and it seemed almost unbearable. Gone were the music, the cameras, flags, and fanfare. This was to be the life of a women married to a U.S. servicemen that they don’t show in the recruiting commercials. Today I have joined this unwilling fraternity, the uncertain and lonely life shared by women for as long as their men have been going off to sea. Somehow it seemed even worse for me. Here I was a young women and pregnant for the first time. I laid there and held my hand on my stomach. I think I felt the baby move for the first time, but I wasn’t sure. I remember crying until I fell asleep. This was supposed to be a moment that we both shared.


Over the next few months, I tried to stay busy and make the best of things. My mother drove down form New York to spend a week with me, which really helped but there was no way to fill the hole in my life. Not a day went by when I didn’t feel the emptiness, the loneliness, and the despair. Its hard to explain how powerless you feel when you can’t just pick up a phone or drive across town to just talk to someone you love. I tried hanging out with some of the other Navy wives in the community and we all tried to console each other. We all banned together like an extended family to help comfort each other, but none of us can take the hurt away. None of us can take the place of the special person in our lives that is thousands of miles away. The women who have been thru it before seemed to have a little different outlook, but we all shared the same loneliness and emptiness. I think the career Navy women, tend to portray themselves as more stoic but I think in reality, they just are more experienced at hiding their true feelings.

Our baby was born on November 15th, but the happy moment was tempered by the fact that her daddy was fighting halfway around the world. I know he would have given anything to be with me on that day, but it’s just one more sacrifice our little family would have to make to help keep America strong. That night my mom sent Wendell an e-mail with a few digital photos of our little girl and I latter found out from his buddies that our big tough sailor held that picture close to his heart and cried like a baby.

I had been counting down the days and fully expected Wendell to complete his deployment and be home by December 7th, in plenty of time to enjoy Christmas with us, but that’s not how the Navy works. They needed his ships capabilities and firepower and they were ordered to extend their deployment. In any case Christmas and the New Year both went by and we both had to settle for e-mails and cards instead of time together.

Finally in mid January we got word that the ship was on its way back to port. The whole naval community was excited and we planned a tremendous celebration at the dock when she came back to port. The next evening I got an unexpected visit from my girlfriend Kathy and a few of the other wives. I figured they stopped by to discuss the details of the reunion party but the look on their faces told me otherwise.

After an awkward and painful moment of silence, during which I almost tried to read their minds Kathy told me that there was a training accident. I knew the hostilities were over, but didn’t know the crews still engaged in daily training even on the way back to port. They told me that Wendell was killed along with his best friend Buck.

I stood there for a moment in disbelief. I thought, It couldn’t be so. The ship had left the war zone with no causalities and was steaming home. Wendell had done his time, we had waited patiently, he promised he’d be home soon, everything was already planned to meet him at the dock. It just couldn’t be, and yet it was.

I collapsed to the ground, crying and almost in a fetal position as the other women tried to comfort me. I could hear the baby crying from the other room, but didn’t have the strength to get up. The girls stayed with me thru the night, but they all went home in the morning. I just sat there in the house for the rest of the day, in a state of shock. The Navy sent by a counselor to try and help me with my grief, but no one can take away the sting of death that you feel when you lose a loved one.

Less than a week latter, I made myself meet the ship at the dock. Its Navy tradition that new fathers who had a child born while they were at sea, get off the ship first. This time Wendell was the first one off, except he made the trip in a box. The commanding officer handed me a flag from off the ship along with some words about a grateful nation and then we made our way out of the port in a short procession. I could hear the sounds of joyous re-unions from the crowd outside, but there would be no joy for me, now or for many years to come. I had lost my first love and had only a flag and a picture of him to comfort me.

I only hope that our people, our country, and our leaders realize that the sacrifices our servicemen and women make to serve their country is deeply felt and echoed by their family and loved ones that are left behind. Especially those that share in the ultimate sacrifice of losing a loved one while in the service of his or her country.

In my mind these women who bravely support, quietly wait, and often suffer, yet somehow miraculously endure, are the true American Unsung Heroes.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

PERFECT STRANGERS

PERFECT STRANGERS

I guess I never really thought about it before, but each and every day we encounter hundreds if not thousands of strangers. It’s funny how each of us can walk by so many other kindred souls each day without noticing, without acknowledging, and sometimes not even being aware of those around us.

Here we are in the midst of a virtual sea of humanity. Crowds of people just like us. Mothers, fathers, teachers, and friends. Most times they are just a blur in our much too busy lives, like quite music being played in the background. For the most part they will forever be a group of nameless and faceless fellow beings. Each one a potential future teacher, business associate, spouse, or friend. All so different, yet so very much the same. Only chance and circumstance can transform what may be a perfect stranger today into an important friend or loved one tomorrow.

This random choice, a one in a million ‘happenstance”, this spin of the human wheel of chance was about to change my life forever. Unbeknownst to me, fate had chosen to intervene on that bright summer day. Weather you choose to call it luck, or fate, or coincidence, some force had brought us together at that time and place. Ironically, the suddenness with which it started is sadly how it ended, all too soon. This is our story.

Considering everything I’ve been thru lately I decided to take a short vacation in Las Vegas. I was anxious to get out and see the sights so I left the hotel right after breakfast and headed south on the Strip. Vegas plays host to millions of visitors each year and most of them travel the strip by walking or by taxi. Even though it was only 9:30 a.m. it appeared that everyone else had pretty much the same idea. The weather forecast had predicted that today’s temperature would reach 108, and I was certain that it was at least 90 out already.

The sidewalk was already crowed in both directions with people busily going about their day. I had to slow my normally brisk pace due to the crowd and the fact that many of the tourist had stopped to take pictures. I could feel the heat radiating off the road and sidewalk as the desert sun climbed in the morning sky. I’ve heard people say that it’s a dry heat, but I can tell you that once you go over 90 degrees, hot is hot.

As I walked past the beautiful Bellagio hotel hundreds of people were gathered around as music began playing and we were all treated to a wonderful show with water jets pulsating to the music and dancing around the pond carefully choreographed to the music. After the short show, I continued on my walk as the temperature continued to climb.

Just as I passed the Bellagio hotel, the sidewalk took a slight detour and I found myself walking in a sheltered walkway between two rows of heavy concrete road barriers. The unmistakable sounds of heavy construction emanated from the right side of the plywood dividing wall, and the busy traffic of the Las Vegas Strip just to the left. From what I was told a major construction project was underway on this site know as the City Center. The locals told me it was an ambitious (perhaps over ambitious. to the tune of almost 10 billion dollars) partnership between MGM and a heavy dose of foreign investment from Dubai. At this point I felt the heat from the concrete around me and a damp odor where some hoses ran under the plywood wall. The narrow walkway was like a human funnel, forcing all the walkers into a space around 3 foot wide. The pedestrian walkway was filled with people walking in both directions as traffic thundered by only inches to my left and just on the other side of the concrete barrier.

Just ahead of me the barriers stopped and a worker complete with a hard hat and safety vest was directing traffic. He had a small stop and go sign mounted on a pole and had it turned to indicate that the pedestrian traffic should stop at that point. Well those of us toward the front, got the message and decided to stop, however I guess those folks a few yards back failed to see the logic in stopping at such a hot and undesirable spot.

In any case, we stood there in the sweltering heat, waiting for the cement trucks and heavy equipment to dart past the small opening in the pedestrian walkway. It soon became evident to those of us in the front of the line that the throngs of people behind had not seen the point in all this standing and waiting and decided to push forward like a large human wave. Of course, they had no way of knowing that just beyond the opening and the guy with the little pole sign, was a 30’ stretch of treacherous road that was currently packed solid with heavy trucks and equipment that were rushing into and out of the job site while pedestrian sidewalk was closed off.

It only took a few seconds before the weight of hundreds of people pushed forward on the few of us that were closest to the construction entrance and despite our best efforts we were slowly pushed into the intersection. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the guy with the sign grimacing in apparent pain. His eyes wide open and face contorted in painful anticipation. I was later to find out that he was fine but that his extreme facial distortion was caused by the fact that he was the first to see the large crane rounding the corner and quickly heading towards the unlucky few of us that were forced into the roadway.

The women just ahead of me with the sunglasses and red shorts was suddenly push forward into the intersection. Fortunately she dodged her way between vehicles and made it to the other side. The guy right behind her was not so lucky. He made it about halfway thru and then was spun around when the mirror on a passing truck slapped him in the shoulder. His rather abrupt change of direction along with the impact of the mirror and the wet dirt road all contributed to him landing flat on his back in the middle of the roadway.

Somehow the message got back to the people pushing from the rear, that they were causing great bodily harm to those of us in the front of the line, but not before I was thrust out into the roadway myself. I was yelling and had my hands up over my head waiving off the oncoming driver of a large forklift. The driver got the message, but I guess that these large construction forklifts were not designed to stop on a dime. I quickly jumped up and landed right on the extended forks with one foot on each fork. For an instant I locked eyes with the operator and it didn’t take mental telepathy for him to know that I meant stop.

I quickly turned around, still balancing on the forks and extended my hand to the poor guy that was now sitting up on the ground. I spun his body partially so that it aligned right between the huge steel forks that would have surely ran him thru if he had not been moved. In a cloud of dust and confusion the forklift screeched to a halt only inches from the injured man. It seemed like the whole episode ran thru in slow motion and then there was silence for a second or two, immediately followed by the applause and whistles from the onlookers. I had to remind myself to take a breath after that nail bitter.

I’m not really sure how many people probably called 911 at that point, but I can tell you that an ambulance arrived in a matter of minutes, followed by several policemen on bicycles. (perhaps they had one stationed on the dangerous job site as a precaution). The paramedics quickly got out and accessed the situation, as the officers began questioning witnesses as to what happened.

Although it appeared that no one was severely injured, several people suffered some minor bumps and bruises. The guy that I had helped was still lying on the ground in the loose gravel. He was thanking me over and over, but was insisting he was fine. He was being attended to by one of the paramedics and the women in the red shorts.

After inspecting his wounds and taking a few vital signs it was determined that he should be taken in for a few x- rays. It quickly became apparent that the mystery women in the red shorts that was helping him was in some way related to him. As they were attempting to load him into the ambulance she immediately made it clear that she was going with him. At this point he was still thanking me profusely and had a tight grip on my hand.

Although I never met this guy before, we now had a strange kind of bond between us. He asked me if I would please come with them to the hospital. I felt very awkward and was searching for the right words to tell him no, when one of the paramedics said in a very authoritative tone…“get in, we need to roll”. Almost be impulse, I followed her command and the next thing you know we were on our way to the hospital in a very cramped ambulance.

Well, it turned out not to be a very long ride because the ambulance left the job site and made a quick turn down Harmon street to a rather large Urgent Care facility just down the road from the City Center. On the way over, my new friend thanked me again for saving his life and told me his name was Larry. Almost as an awkward after thought, he introduced me to his very attractive sister Lisa.

When we got to the urgent care facility the paramedics brought Larry around to the back entrance on the stretcher. We were instructed to go up front and wait in the waiting room. For some strange reason I felt obligated to stay and make sure that Larry was O.K. Of the course of the next hour and half, Lisa and I got the chance to talk and get to know each other.

It turns out that they are both from Florida and live just across the state from me in Fort Lauderdale. It seems Larry owns several car dealerships over there and Lisa is a lawyer with the District Attorney’s office. The two of sat there and talked for a good hour and a half, without realizing how much time went by.

It was only when Larry walked or should I say limped out the office door before we were jolted back to the here and now. Pleasantly I had just spent some of my vacation time in Vegas at a walk in clinic with two perfect strangers and was quite happy about the experience.

Larry thanked me a gain in the lobby but said he was rather tired and thought it best that they head back to their hotel so that he could rest. Just before he got in his cab he asked if I would be available to meet the two of them for dinner at their hotel and I agreed. “Ok..we will see you at the Mirage at 8 pm, meet us at the Stack steakhouse”. With that they pulled away in their cab, and I decided to head back to relax with a good stiff drink at my hotel pool.

After a swim, a few drinks, and a couple of hands of poker, I grabbed a cab and pulled up to the Mirage around 15 minutes early. I had never been to the Mirage before and marveled at the lush entrance complete with foliage and artificial ponds. The place was busy, very busy, and there was a good energy emitting from the crowd. Every one seemed to be having fun and enjoying themselves. I made my way over to the steakhouse and looked around for Larry and Lisa. Realizing that I was a bit early I told the hostess that I would wait for my party at the bar. Well, I have to tell you, I’ve been to a lot of great steakhouses in my day, but this place definitely broke the mold. Instead of a dark room with a subdued atmosphere and a heavy wooden look, this place was very contemporary, fashionable, and upbeat.


After my second drink, I began to think that my guests were not going to show up. Just as I turned to see if anyone was waiting at the hostess desk, I felt a light touch on my right shoulder. For a second I thought I was dreaming, it was Lisa. I almost didn’t recognize her and was taken back to see her in a long black dress complimented with a red glossy belt and offset by a double pearl necklace.

She apologized that her brother could not make it because he felt sore all over and could hardly walk. As much as I was looking forward to seeing him again, I had to admit this wasn’t a bad rain check. We had a great dinner and a few drinks to cap off a night that ended all too early. Lisa’s office had left her a message earlier in the day, that the big case she had been working on got pushed forward and she had to catch an early flight out of McCarran in the morning.

We promised to keep in touch when we got home, but the magic of the moment somehow seemed to wear off when we all got home. I guess in retrospect we were just a few strangers that have somehow touched each others lives. Perhaps it was chance or perhaps it was destiny, but we would never have even met if it wasn’t for that brief encounter with death. That chance meeting where fate and circumstance were the glue and chemistry that brought a few perfect strangers together in that brief instant in time. They say life’s randomness is what makes it interesting.

I guess what they say is true. What happens in Vegas….Stays in Vegas

Please feel free to contact me at; pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

GOOD GUYS FINISH LAST

To tell you the truth, I think I was in a state of shock. It almost seemed surreal as 2 police cars and an ambulance came screeching to a stop right in front of my house. For a moment it almost seemed as if everything was happening in slow motion.

I just stood there like a deer in the headlights. My eyes fixated on the flashing lights on top of the patrol cars, it was almost hypnotic. Fortunately I came out of it just in time to see that the lead two officers had drawn their guns and were screaming commands at me. I looked down and realized that I still had my gun in my right hand. My 1911 .45 caliber pistol was still hot and the slide was locked back, indicating that I had somehow emptied all 7 rounds. The whole thing seemed like a dream.

Still standing there wide eyed and astonished at the recent turn of events, I complied with their command and set my gun down on the hood of my car and then went to my knees. I started to explain what happened but my voice was drowned out by the siren and the officers repeated orders for me to lie down, face down with my hands to my sides.

The minute I complied with their wishes, the bigger guy grabbed me by the left wrist and pulled it behind my back, while snapping a handcuff on me. In one fluid motion he quickly grabbed my other wrist and expertly preformed a similar maneuver. With a quick glance up I could see his partner covering me with his pistol while the other officers were shaking their heads after taking the pulse of the guy that lay bleeding by the curb. Needless to say after eating a whole clip of 45’s there was no pulse to be found.

Things were looking pretty bad for me about now, but to put things in perspective, I really should start at the beginning. I really am a good guy, a law abiding citizen, in fact I can’t even remember getting a traffic ticket since I was a teenager.

It all started fairly innocently a few days ago, when I had taken my girlfriend out to dinner. We had an enjoyable and uneventful dinner and were standing in line at the club next door for a few drinks when all of my problems started. I was minding my own business while digging thru my wallet looking for a twenty dollar bill to pay the cover charge.

I hear a voice from behind us in line making a rude comment about my girlfriend. I turn around and look down the line in disgust to determine who made the comment, but everyone seems to be just talking among themselves.

A few minutes later we had worked our way forward in the line and could hear the loud music from inside. Suddenly, I feel a jolt from behind me as a rather large guy bumps me with his shoulder. I could tell by how hard he hit me and the fact that he didn’t turn to apologize that this was an intentional attack. Guys don’t need a body language expert to translate that statement.

Well, I’m as nice as the next guy, but it was evident that this was the same guy that made the rude comment and now he was physically harassing me. I thought about what had transpired for a second and contemplated letting it go unchallenged, but after all the guy was a jerk and I didn’t want to look like a weakling in front of my girl friend.

He hadn’t taken two steps past me as I in turn called him a few choice names of my own, and gave him the one finger salute. Well it was evident that this guy wasn’t one to let by gone’s be by gone’s and he immediately turned on his heels and shoved me backward with both hands. I could hear my girlfriend urge me to just walk away, but the fight was already on.

I had no formal fight training but everyone that knows me, knows I have a short fuse, and this son of gun had just lit it. Well, no sooner then I had I put my hands up in a defensive position, sasquatch throws a big haymaker right at my head. I partially blocked his punch but still managed to catch half of its force right above my ear.

At about that point my adrenaline kicked in and I answered with a 3 punch flurry, the viciousness of which seemed to surprise Mr. Tough Guy. At first he reeled back a few steps but then charged at me with his head down and tackled me to the pavement. By this time everyone in the line had formed a circle around us and a few of the bouncers from the club had managed to pull us apart. The head bouncer said he was going to call the police, so I took that as notice to get out of there and walk back to my car.

Just as we were about to get back into my car, a black S.U.V. pulled up and stopped right next to us. The tinted window rolled down and my assailant gave me a menacing look. I have to admit that I took a certain amount of joy in seeing a trickle of blood from the guy’s nose. He said something I couldn’t make out and then started laughing hysterically as he waived a black object at me. At first I thought it may have been a gun, but then it struck me that it was a wallet, my wallet. A quick but frantic pat on my back pocket confirmed that the bastard had indeed taken my wallet. Complete with cash, credit cards, and drivers license.

Well, as soon as I got home, and had a drink to calm my nerves, I decided to start contacting my credit card companies. I first checked my accounts on line and discovered that the jackass with my wallet was already out running up quite a bill on my credit cards. My girlfriend wisely urged me to call the police, but I didn’t want the hassle. I struggled to think about what else was in my wallet that was now in this guy’s possession. I was up half the night doing damage control before I finally fell asleep around 4 A.M. I was certain I would have to endure a case of identity theft, for the foreseeable future.

I slept in the next morning and woke up still feeling a little sore from last night’s workout. Coffee cup in hand I walked out into the driveway to get the morning paper, only to find my empty wallet, cut up and laying next to the newspaper. The only thing left in the wallet was a picture of my girlfriend and I, with my half of the picture cut out. In my mind, this guy was a sicko and was making this thing personal.

I could only assume that the mental midget I had the fight with, intentionally left my wallet there to send me the unmistakable message that he knew where I lived. I have to admit that it was an unsettling feeling knowing that some half baked criminal, that had a bone to pick with me, knew where my house was.

The next day and a half went without incident, but I was convinced that I hadn’t heard the last of this guy and had decided to carry my home protection gun, just in case. My girlfriend stopped by briefly on her way to work around 5pm to see how I was doing and drop off some dinner she had made for me.

After she left I decided to stay home and watch T.V. when I must have fell asleep on the couch around 11 o’clock. Around 2:30 in the morning I awoke to what sounded like someone trying to open my back door. (it’s funny how you can sleep with the television on but still hear a house sound that is out of the ordinary).

I was still groggy with sleep, but remembered that I hadn’t gone thru my usual routine of checking all the doors before dozing off for the night. My girlfriend doesn’t approve of guns so I had left mine in the nightstand next to my bed. I make a quick dash for the bedroom to retrieve it, and as I left my room I noticed a shadowy figure looking in the front window.

Outraged and with gun in hand, I threw open the front door only to see the same unmistakable black S.U.V. parked directly in front of my house. At this point I was both frightened and enraged. I must have surprised the intruder, as he then made a bee line for his car, shouting threats and obscenities the whole way. I raised my gun and leveled the front sight on his center mass, but then took my finger off the trigger and lowered it to the ground.

I couldn’t bring my self to shooting an unarmed guy running away (although the urge certainly crossed my mind). Just as the guy reached the front passenger door he turned and shouted that I had no guts. He reached inside his vehicle and spun back towards me. This time I was sure it wasn’t my wallet that he had in his hand and by instinct fired what I thought was one or two shots at him. I watched as his car window fractured, bullets ricocheted off his vehicle, and his body slowly slumped to the ground.

One of the neighbors must have called the cops, after hearing the commotion, because they were there in minutes. Now, I find myself being read my rights and then handcuffed and alone in the back seat of a police car. I have to admit I’m afraid. I don’t think I did anything wrong. There are a thousand thoughts rushing thru my mind as we pull away from my house. I’m an innocent victim, and I didn’t start this thing but now I’m facing possible jail time. I guess it goes to show you that some times, even the good guys finish last.

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

SELF DEFENSE

BRUTALITY- REAL VIOLENCE

“Real violence can be sudden, vicious and brutal. It can be random and senseless. True violence knows no etiquette, logic, boundaries, or rules. It cares not for fairness or consequence, it exists in the moment, as it vents it’s unrelenting rage upon those least prepared to defend against it.”

P.I.B.

It’s late at night as you walk back to you car. The joyous memories of the evening still fresh in your mind. Your footsteps echo in the dimly lit and mostly empty parking garage. You instinctively quicken your pace as you hear another set of footsteps rapidly closing the distance from behind you. Your heart and your mind both begin racing as you approach your car. Your anxiety subsides a little as you near the familiar safety of your car. Then, for an instant it occurs to you that someone has chosen to park extremely close to your driver’s door in an otherwise empty parking garage.

Keys in hand, you squeeze your way between the 2 vehicles only to find that there is not enough room to fully open the drivers door. Now you are sandwiched between the vehicles and are unable to move forward due to the partially open door. As you fumble for the emergency horn button on your remote key your knees buckle from the force of a blow to the base of your skull. In a frenzied moment of panic you turn towards your unknown attacker. Without feeling or compassion, he raises the tire iron he is wielding and takes another wild swing at you. In his fury and rage he misses and breaks the side window of the car. Injured and in a state of shock you attempt to push thru him, as your only means of escape is towards the rear of the car. Instinctively you put both arms out in front of you as you try to push your attacker away, but he again brings his weapon to bear quickly followed by a snapping sound from your arm.

Still pinned between the cars, you sink to one knee in a submissive posture hoping the assailant will stop the attack. For a brief moment you raise your head and look at the determined and grimaced face of this beast. For an instant you lock eyes with your assailant, looking for the slightest hint of compassion or humanity, but there is none to be seen, only evil. Instead the crazed attacker seems to feed on and be strengthened by your weakness, and begins kicking your now broken body unrelentlessly. Just before you lose consciousness you hear the sound of the tire iron hitting the ground as he grabs the keys from your hand and leaves you battered and soaked in your own blood.

This is a realistic portrait of a violent encounter, sudden, primal, merciless, and unrelenting. …Are you prepared, today..right now ?…Is your training in place? Are you willing to take action right now and invest less than one hundred dollars to help protect yourself and your family?

Just send me your name and e-mail address and I’ll send you my 6 free reports on self defense. Also, my self defense videos will be available soon

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

DO WE MAKE TOO MUCH ?

DO WE MAKE TOO MUCH ??

I think it’s human nature to feel that we are underpaid for what we do. How many people do you see that ask to have their pay cut back a little. I don’t care if you make $8.00 an hour or 8 million a year, everyone thinks they are worth a little more. Hey, don’t get me wrong, I’m a full blooded capitalist and I believe you should make as much as the market is willing to pay for your particular skill or service. Not only that, but we all tend to adjust our standard of living up to the level of our earnings. (Actually we all normally spend a little more than we earn, ok…a lot)

The basic premise of our economic system is that people are willing to pay more for what they need or want. That pent up Demand is matched against the available Supply in the market place and a market value is derived. (of course there are ways to screw around with that formula) More demand translates into more sales and more money that is available to pay the salaries and bonuses of those people and companies that can deliver the goods.

Even though I subscribe to the above method of determining value, I think it might need a little tweaking here and there. All in all, I’m sure glad I don’t have to explain the inner workings of the system to a group of students, as a teacher. For starters I would think that teachers would be one of the most valuable resources we have. After all we place the burden of educating our children and young adults firmly on the shoulders or the nation’s teachers, yet they seem to hover near the bottom of the pay scale.

Ok, lets set aside that tired old argument for a moment and get back to the whole, how much is a skill worth argument. A good example might be the salary of a baseball player. To be honest, I don’t even like baseball. It’s way too slow and boring for me. In any case, the star ball player makes millions of dollars a year even though most people never even go to a baseball game (or watch one on T.V. for that matter). I’m sure those guys practice a lot, but come on….its only a game. They make millions of dollars to go out and play a game. (the truth is they only play half a game, they are sitting around in a dug out chewing tobacco, the other half of the game.). Now let’s compare the ball player to your local policeman. He is out working long shifts, making split second decisions, saving lives, busting criminals, and putting his life on the line every day.( hear that guys..take it easy on me if I’m doing a few miles over the limit) Yet, our society has chosen to put a low salary value on the law enforcement officer. (makes ya kind of wonder, doesn’t it)

I think one of the biggest disparities in our pay scale is the amounts paid to T.V, movie, and Rock stars. In all fairness these guys turn out some very entertaining work, but should they really be making upwards of upwards of 100 times what my garbage guy makes? ( and getting all red M&M’s in their dressing room) I mean, I can miss a T.V. show here and there and even go a few months without going out to a movie, but if I miss the garbage truck after a few days, I’m really happy to see the boys in green. When Christmas rolls around you don’t see all of Sinefeld’s fans leaving him a few of those little liquor bottles out front of his house, now do you ?

I cringe when I hear about people who would advocate the redistribution of wealth, but I also ask myself how much is too much.(of course that depend on of its going in my pocket or not) I recently read on the internet that the network is offering Simon Cowell around 144 million to stay on board for one more year of American Idol. (aside from baseball, I think that show is the next biggest waste of air time) Despite what I said above about everyone deserving their own good fortune, I’m not sure how anyone can justify that kind of money to see Simon Cowell bad mouth hopeful singers in his T-shirt for another season. If Simon donated back a quarter to every fast food worker in America, he would instantly raise the standard of living nationwide (and I would probably pull away from the drive in window with the right order in my bag)

I think wealth is in the eye(or the wallet of the beholder) Most American’s have come to expect and demand a higher standard of living than they did in the past. In the old days if a guy had a house, a car, and a few bucks in the bank, he was a happy camper. Today, we all need a new car every few years, maybe a boat, and what’s wrong with a small R,V. or camper, I mean this is America. Forget that “chicken in every pot” deal, we need enough cash left at the end of the week to pay for cable and high speed internet or frequent our favorite restaurant. (or at least order take out.)

Things are different today. I guess all Americans need to realize that we are competing in a global economy now. That means we are competing for goods and services and even the cost of labor against every other country on the world. Thanks to technology and the internet, companies can now hire workers in far away places to do the jobs that Americans once filled. Call Dell computer support and you are quickly connected to some guy in Pakistan. That guy is working for $1.50 a day and he doesn’t have to have a new car, boat and R.V. in his driveway.

It used to be that those of us willing to stay in school and get a better education could demand higher wages in the marketplace. It was common place years ago to forgo 4 years of earnings to stay in college and then make that back 10 fold on graduating. I can remember my dad saying to me “stay in school because the way things are going you won’t be able to get a job driving a cab without a college degree”. I guess he was partially right because today, guys with M.B.A.’s are driving cabs in New York and Vegas.

Things are changing pretty rapidly right now and I’m not sure you need a crystal ball to figure out where the next millionaires will make their fortunes. If I had to take a guess I’d say that the biggest paying jobs in the next 10 years might be in a field of emerging technology that isn’t even on most people’s radar today.

I noticed on the internet that President Obama wants to create an office to oversee people’s salaries, a pay czar of sorts. If that’s true I certainly wouldn’t be a proponent of that level of control, however….if they were to give me the job I jack up the wages of all the hard working nurses, fireman, and cops right away. (maybe I’d trim a few bucks from Ophra or Geore Sourous.)

Maybe in the end, we put too much emphasis on wealth and pay in the country as a measure of success and a accomplishment…perhaps if we put more emphasis on a rewarding career, with an opportunity to make a difference and do good, we could attract the best people to that profession.. Come to think of it, we already do. After all we have some of America’s best and brightest serving for the least amount of pay in our all volunteer American Armed Forces. Thanks guys…

Please feel free to contact me at: pooritalianboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.

A LAWYER'S STORY

A LAWYER’S STORY

For as far back as I can remember my parents always wanted me to become a lawyer. They were enamored by the education, prestige, and earning potential that a well schooled lawyer possessed.

I actually had hopes of making a career playing football, but like most young students I soon succumbed to the wishes of my parents. My plan had been to enjoy my college years and spend an absolute minimum time studying, and a maximum time partying and girl chasing, but soon found myself working in earnest towards my law degree.

I end up graduating with honors and surprised myself as much as my folks. After a short sabbatical I landed a job with a major law firm as a research assistant/ coffee boy. I found myself enjoying the pace, energy, and activity and came to both respect and admire the senior partners. To be truthful I was having a great time.

After passing the bar exam, I was given a small raise and noticed that I was afforded a slightly higher amount of respect around the office. I figured that I had made it, I was one of the good old boys. I later discovered you have to around a long time before you get a corner office and even longer to get your name on the door.

It wasn’t too long after that when I realized that this business was about hard work and long hours. I can tell you now that what may seem like a glamorous business to people on the outside is actually a tough and exacting business on the inside.

At the end of the day, lawyers get paid for results. We get paid well but if we don’t deliver the goods on time and consistently, our clients are quick to move on to greener pastures. Speaking from experience I can tell you that we do a lot of research and home work that never hits our clients billing statement.

I think our profession often gets viewed as a road paved with easy money. Most people just don’t see the small army of research assistants, paralegals, receptionists, secretaries, and office managers it takes to run a successful office.

Try working in an office with a dozen other type “A” personalities, that all want something done by yesterday. There is a good deal of behind the scenes pressure and time constraints that most clients and people outside the industry never see. Overall it’s a very rewarding job, but it sure isn’t an easy one.

Clients come to us for advice and legal assistance and their expectation is that we will always make the right call. I think a lot of clients expect us to give them an iron clad guarantee and there is no such thing. They trust that we will always win the case, or get the judgment in their favor. Unfortunately life, business, and the law are just not that predictable, although sometimes I wish they were. For me it’s always difficult to face a client after things in court didn’t go our way. My boss tried to ease my conscience one day after a particularly difficult decision. He pulled me aside one day and gave me some good advice. “ Some cases you will win and some you will lose. Ultimately their disposition is up to the judge and the triers of the facts. Its your job to present a well planned and researched case that aligns the facts and the law in a manner that best presents your clients case in the most favorable light.”

The truth is we are all human and come to work with the same baggage and concerns as other professions. Perhaps the kids kept us up late with a last minute school project, the new puppy kept us up all night, or maybe we are just plain tired from a 60+ hour work week. We can argue a case brilliantly in front of judge and jury, but may not be able to win a simple argument with our spouse or significant other.

At some point in our career we all tend to hit the wall. Maybe we worked too long of a stretch without a vacation or break, or maybe we just can’t find the joy in what we are doing anymore. In most cases we just push thru it and lawyer on, till retirement and that gold watch, but sometimes it occurs to us that its just time to move on.

For me, I got a job in talk radio. Now I get to make my arguments into a microphone everyday and get to go home after a 3 hour show. I feel like I am still making an impact on people’s lives but I don’t have to worry about the deadlines, juries, and office politics. Not only that, I get to show up to work in shorts and boat shoes everyday. Case closed.

Please feel free to contact me at : pooritalinboy@gmail.com

P.I.B.