Out West For a Farewell

Got a little time until the show tonight, so I thought I'd wander around the Hollywood area and check out the sights. Already posted some photos on FB, but I got one that has a cool story behind it.

Kind of hard to see, but this is a photo of the street signs at the intersection of Hollywood Blvd. and Argyle St. Okay, I'll give you all a minute to think of what it could be.

(Paul is humming the theme from 'Jeopardy').

Give up? Okie dokie, here we go!

In 1933, a comic strip about a group of cavemen first appeared; the name of the comic, and the lead character, was Alley Oop. This comic was wildly popular throughout the 1940's and 50's (and is still published in some 500 newspapers to this day). In 1960, a song about the comic was written. Several groups recorded the song, including Dante And The Evergreens, whose version went to #15 on Billboard.

But the biggest version featured a group of studio musicians backing up a fellow named Gary Paxton. Paxton had his own record label (Garpax), and was also under contract to another label as 'Flip' of the duo Skip & Flip ('Cherry Pie', 'It Was I'). Therefore, he needed a name for this studio group that would hide his true identity. The song was recorded at the American Recorders studio, next door to Lawrence Welk's Palladium Theater, which was at the corner of......Hollywood & Argyle. Thus, The Hollywood Argyles were named, and had their one and only hit.

Can I dig up the nuttiest stuff, or what?!?!

Hey Hey, They're The Monkees - One Last Time

Hard as it is to believe, it's been just about 50 years since four young men burst onto the pop music/television scene. On September 12, 1966, The Monkees, a television sitcom about a struggling band living on the beach in L.A. was first broadcast. The four actors who'd been hired to portray this band could never have imagined the lasting impact this show would have on our culture, and on their lives.
Micky Dolenz, Davy Jones, Mike Nesmith, and Peter Tork had been hired to act as musicians in this fictional group; it was never imagined that they would, or could, ever become an actual band. The music, considered integral to the show, would be produced by the legendary Don Kirshner, who had a great roster of songwriters at his disposal. The music was to be done by the legendary "Wrecking Crew" studio musicians, and the four actors would provide the vocals.

 Turned out to be a pretty good formula. The first single, "Last Train to Clarksville" was released and climbed up the charts before the television show ever aired! Two albums, done under Kirshner's direction were major hits. And then, things got interesting. The decision was made to send the make believe group, The Monkees, out on tour. And so the four guys threw themselves into the project. Mike, Peter, and Micky were all musicians of some caliber; Mike having played at the Troubador in L.A., Peter having been classically trained at Julliard, and Micky had been in a band (playing guitar) in L.A. Davy, of course, had been performing since childhood, mostly singing, but he was competent on drums, and could strum a guitar as well. Long story short, as Michael has said, eventually it was like Pinocchio becoming a real boy, or, as Micky said, Leonard Nimoy becoming a Vulcan! The guys made music - much of it their own compositions - and toured to full houses all over the world.
And then, as quickly as it began, it was over. The television show was cancelled, Peter left the 'group', the three remaining guys went on for about a year, and then Mike left, and it was really the end.
Until something called MTV came along. In 1986, they ran a weekend marathon of most of the television episodes. Demand was high again, and a 20th reunion tour was scheduled. While Mike did not participate fully in the tour, he endorsed the plan, and even played with the other guys at the Hollywood Bowl. Records were re-released, and a new song, "That Was Then, This Is Now" hit the top 20. A tour that was initially limited in scope and number of dates eventually became a year long one that played stadium shows.
Through the years, the guys would get together and tour. Sometimes Micky, Peter, and Davy. Occasionally, just Micky and Davy. All four toured England in 1996 in support of the "Justus" album. They toured as solo acts as well, and enjoyed good crowds and happy fans. A full reunion was in the works back in the spring of 2012, with all four guys ready to go. And then, it happened; Davy passed away on February 29 of that year. The sadness remains to this day. But, the plans for the reunion went on, and eventually, we got to see the group nobody ever thought we'd see - Micky, Peter, and Mike.

And it was a great tour. Karen and I saw three shows in a row in the NY area, and I can tell you, at the first one, when Michael was introduced, there were a lot of wet eyes in the theater - including mine. I would have gone to every show they did that year and the next, they were that good.
Michael went on a few solo tours after that, and again, Karen and I were lucky enough to see him, and meet him backstage after his show at Town Hall in NYC. Something I'd always hoped would happen, but never thought it would.
And then, we hit 2016. 50 years since they first came 'walkin' down the street'. Everyone wondered, would there be a tour? How about a record? Would Michael join in? To our delight, we got a terrific album, "Good Times", featuring all four Monkees - Davy via a song originally recorded in 1967 but never released. And the album rocked! Debuted in the top 20 download and CD sales charts. The vinyl LP hit #1 on the vinyl charts the week it was released. And Micky and Peter went out on tour, with a great band, doing an incredible show. Michael joined them via "Skype" at their NY show (Karen and I saw that), and onstage at one of their L.A. shows. The tour goes on, and Micky and Peter are heading to Australia and New Zealand. Michael, however, just made an announcement that left some fans stunned.

In a post on his Facebook page, Michael has announced that he has been talking to Micky and Peter about playing with them at their Sept. 16 show at the Hollywood Pantages theater. And, he has said, it will be his final performance as a "Monkee". To quote him, "I expect it will be fun, and a great way for me to sign out. I see the specter of the multiple Sinatra retirement/farewells - and this seems like the perfect time for me to step off, sit down, and shut up".
So there we go. Truly the end of a big part of my life, having been a fan since the early days. Hard to imagine that after the 16th, we'll never see the three guys onstage as "The Monkees" again. As noted, Micky and Peter do a great "Monkees" show, and will carry on. But the finality of this has not been lost on me. And so, as some of you could probably have predicted, I am going to the show in L.A.
Managed to score one of only about 2 dozen tickets that were left after Mike's announcement. Last three rows of the theater, on the side - not a great seat, but I'm IN the theater. Booked the flight (yes, I will be flying), and a hotel just two blocks from the theater. As I told someone the other day, I do regret never having seen all four of the guys together; circumstance just worked against that for me. And I'm blessed at having seen Micky, Mike, and Peter in the past. But this time, circumstances are on my side, and I can manage this. The pool closes on Labor Day, I have some free time before my business kicks in again, and I can squeeze the funds together to do this. Karen, not surprisingly, said one word when I asked her if she thought I should do this: "Sure". She has gotten to know me well enough to understand what this means to me. I did offer to bring her with me, but unfortunately her schedule and workload does not permit it.
And so, on September 16, I will be in the rear of the Hollywood Pantages, which is now fully sold out (with good seats going for as much as $1,500 on the secondary market). I fully expect that I will again be among the folks in there with the 'wet eyes'. In fact, knowing myself, I'll be disappointed if they're not REALLY wet.
I'll do a couple of posts for you on the trip, and certainly will give you a full and complete posting on the show itself.

Of Candy Stores and Egg Creams

At the risk of sounding like "Grampa Blake", back when I was a kid, there were these things called 'candy stores' that were scattered throughout the neighborhood, wherever there were shops and stores. Most of them were actually called Stationery Stores, News Stores, or Cigar Stores, as they sold a lot more than just candy. Where I grew up, there were three of these stores fairly close to my house, two of which were within walking distance, and one that was maybe 5 minutes or so away via a fast bike ride.
One was a place called "Dolly's", which was south of us on New Hyde Park Road, just across from St. Anne's church. Now, the actual name of the place was never really known to us kids. We all just called it Dolly's, because in the window there was a neon sign which advertised Dolly Madison ice cream - to us, it was Dolly's. This store was much like the others we went to; on the right as you walked in, a big rack with newspapers, magazines, comic books, paperback books, maps, and other periodicals. On the left, the counter where you paid, also where the candy was displayed, and the cigars and cigarettes were kept behind the counter. Further into the store, on the right hand side, there was a section of greeting cards; on the left hand side, the soda fountain. And in the far back of the store, the toys, school supplies, and whatever else the owners could pack into the shelves and on the racks. Much of the stuff was seasonal, squirt guns in the spring, flip flops and cheap pool toys in the summer, extra stationery at back to school time, Christmas merchandise late in the year - well, you get the idea. Dolly's, however, was a little different from the other places, in that at the soda fountain, you could also get food. So this was more like what might be called a "luncheonette". Tuna sandwiches, grilled cheese, burgers, soup, the typical small joint menu. I don't think I ever actually ate anything at Dolly's, and honestly, I didn't frequent the soda fountain there very often. If my friends and I went there, it was because we were playing stickball at the church, or goofing around the local park, Edgemere park, and we wanted a bottle of soda. Dolly's changed hands many times over the years, I'm pretty sure it's gone now, transformed into a pizza joint, I think.
Candy store number two was up on Jericho Turnpike, just a block west of New Hyde Park Road. Within very easy walking distance, this one was owned by an elderly Jewish couple, named Kaufman, neither of whom seemed to have much tolerance, or patience for kids. In fact, they were so gruff and at times nasty (come on kid, pick what you want and get going), that the store was referred to by all the kids as "Crabby's", as in, what crabby people. Crabby's was just like Dolly's, but didn't serve food. And it was a lot smaller, the soda fountain had maybe four or five stools, where Dolly's had a good 8 or 10. I can't remember how old I was when it happened, but at some point, the soda fountain stopped working, and instead of getting it fixed, Crabby just started selling bottles of soda out of a styrofoam cooler filled with ice, so all you could get was Coke, Orange, etc. No more ice cream sodas, egg creams, etc. If I recall correctly, when the fountain broke, they also stopped carrying ice cream, so unless you were in the mood for a lukewarm bottle of soda, there wasn't any real reason to go to Crabby's for the fountain. So what did you go there for? Well, for one thing, they sold all kinds of those stupid kid toys we all loved; balsa wood gliders, cheap kites, squirt guns, soap bubbles, punks, and whatever silly fad toy was popular at the time. And, of course, you went there for the candy. Crabby's was the only one of the stores we regularly visited that had an actual penny candy case in addition to the usual candy bar racks. you could get all the great penny candy there, and most of it really WAS a penny! Mary Janes, Atomic Fire Balls, Shoe Button candy, Nik-L-Nips, wax rocket ships filled with sugary syrup, black and red licorice laces, jawbreakers, Bazooka AND Dubble Bubble gum, penny boxes of two Chiclets - they had it all, and lots more! And some of the stuff was LESS than a penny - you'd get two or three pieces of some candy for .1c! You could go in there with a quarter and go home with enough stuff to last through a full night of television! Unfortunately, the Kaufman's were pretty elderly, and when I was about 13 or so, the store closed, was vacant for many years, and eventually became a nail salon or something similar.
The store that was our 'go to' candy store was further down on Jericho Turnpike, right at Lakeville Road. It had an old green and white neon sign that said "Cigars", and, at one time, I think, had been a "United Cigar" store. By the time my friends and I started going there, it was owned by a family named Weinstein, so we just called it Weinstein's. Of the three stores we frequented, this was the biggest, and the best. It had a huge magazine/newspaper section, and always had the most, and newest, comic books. The candy counter was very large, and had the biggest selection of candy. The soda fountain was big, and always open, and although they didn't serve 'food', they did make great drinks and ice cream sundaes. The selection of cigars and cigarettes was large, and from what Mom and Dad said, their prices were good (both Mom and Dad smoked). Most of the kids from the neighborhood made Weinstein's their 'usual' candy store. And for me, who loved comic books, this was THE place!
After a few years of going there, the Weinsteins decided to sell the store. Rumor was they'd moved out east, somewhere near Rocky Point, and had bought a store out that way. So new owners took over the store, two brothers, Leo and Julius Smith. Talk about two brothers who couldn't have been more different, these were them. Leo, tall, balding, outgoing and funny, always with a joke, happy to see everyone who came in. Julius (Julie), short, heavy, black hair, a scowl on his face most of the time, a chewed, wet half cigar in his mouth, he seemed to resent people coming in to buy things. Odd combination. They changed the name of the store to "Smiling Stationery", but to us kids, we called it either Leo's, or "Q's". Q's, because Leo wouldn't say 'thank you' to customers he wasn't fond of; he'd say a shortened version, sort of a fu** you that just sounded like 'Q'. Look, I told you they were odd.
Through the years we kids hung around there constantly. Almost every night after dinner, my buddy Doug and I would walk up to the store to get the "Night Owl" edition of the NY Daily News. That edition always had the latest sports news, even in the dead of winter they'd have Yankees news and reports, and we were such diehard fans that we wanted to read as much as we could about our team. We got to know Leo and Julie pretty well, and always felt welcome in the store. Years passed, and when I graduated high school, and had no plans for college, I managed to get hired at the store. Talk about a hobby or interest turning into money! I worked there for about 3 years or so, it was fun, but also difficult, as some of the work was tedious and there were times when the store was slow that Leo or Julie would be especially nasty, giving you things to do that were just make work. I get it now, they were paying salary and didn't want you just sitting around, but at times, my goodness, there really wasn't much to do. As time went on, I got pretty good at merchandising the greeting cards, and doing window displays. In fact, the guys stopped paying the professional window trim guy they'd been using, and let me do the windows all by myself. I enjoyed it, they saved money, and the windows got updated more frequently. I learned a lot about cigars from working there, and to this day, I can tell a good one from a bad one, and I know how to tell mild from strong. But the best thing I learned was how to run the soda fountain. Both Leo and Julie had been in the business for a long time, and they really knew how to make milkshakes, sundaes, sodas, etc. And they passed their tricks on to me, and I got to be the 'fountain guy' during the day at the store. It was a lot of fun, making those treats, even just taking care of the Coke machine and pouring icy cold ones for the customers was fun. Heck, I even learned the proper way to mix up a Bromo Seltzer, using two glasses and 'tossing' it back and forth between them! And to this day, from time to time, I enjoy one of these:

Yeah, a 'real' chocolate egg cream! Fox's U Bet syrup, a splash of milk, and ice cold seltzer. Gotta pour the seltzer in quickly, then use a long handled spoon to stir the syrup from the bottom of the glass in order to get the distinctive white foamy head on the drink. You can also make vanilla egg creams, and they're pretty good, but the real deal NY'ers like is the chocolate. There aren't too many places left to get a good egg cream these days. Some of the local hot dog carts make them, but they just don't seem the same when they're served up in a paper cup with a plastic top on them. A lucky few people live near places like Krisch's in Massapequa, or Hildenbrant's in Williston Park, real ice cream/candy shops that still offer fountain service. You can't go to Smiling Stationery in New Hyde Park anymore, Leo and Julie sold the place many years ago, and eventually the store became part of Pace Pharmacy, then part of a Doctor's office. The need for what was sold there is now filled by a small convenience store, located a few doorways down from where I worked all those years ago.
I guess those shops are now part of our past, our rose colored memories that we carry forward through our lives. I'm afraid our kids, and now our grandkids, are missing out on so many cool things that were fun, harmless, simple, and part of our everyday lives. Life goes on, times change, hobbies and interests change, but I'd say not always for the better. And now, damn, I'm in the mood for an egg cream. See you next time!

Of New Jobs, Stalled Cars, and Future Trips

Well gang, it's been a while since my last post, and as you can imagine, I've been pretty busy during that time. The whole blogging thing got slowed down, mainly because I decided to take a job for the summer, acting as Pool Director for the North Hills Country Club in Manhasset. 

A very nice pool, the members are great, I have a wonderful staff, and so far, I'm really enjoying doing this again. I've always said that there's nothing as much fun as working at a great facility with good people. Our members are quite appreciative of what we do for them, and of course, I'm trying to bring them a level of service that they're not quite used to - so far, so good. We'll check back in later in August to see if I'm still feeling this way!
Of course, no blog update would be complete without some automotive stuff, it's been an interesting summer so far, particularly with the little piece of crap (the Fiat 850). So far, I've gotten stuck on the side of the road 3 times with the damn thing. Once on a Sunday morning, when Karen and I met our friends Beth and Eddie for breakfast, we got stuck about halfway home. Next was when I took the car to Port Washington to pick up the fiberglass top that I'd left at the convertible top shop. Got stuck right next to Garden City H.S. And yesterday, Tom and I were trying to take it up to Oyster Bay for the Tuesday night show, but we never got past the west side of Eisenhower Park. Took about an hour to get the darn thing home from there. But, as always, there's some good news, I finally figured out what's going on with the car. Seems there's a lot of dirt, debris, gunk - whatever you want to call it - in the gas tank. It settles to the bottom when the car's parked, but when you start driving it, the lousy suspension makes the car bounce around, the gunk gets picked up, and clogs the fuel delivery system. Yesterday, we spotted a good tablespoon of crud in the fuel filter while we were trying to get home. So, I'll have to get someone to take the gas tank out, drain it, flush it out, and put it back in. Hopefully Mo and Ike up at Port Euro can do that for me.
The "Yellow Fish" is at the shop, getting a once over before Tom and I head out to Carlisle PA for the Annual "Chryslers At Carlisle" weekend next week. Always a fun time, the Carlisle Fairgrounds will be swarming with over 2,500 Chrysler, Dodge, and Plymouth cars. We'll have the usual two spots, one for the '65 Barracuda, and one for my 2014 Challenger/Cuda. I don't think we're in the market for anything crazy, like we were two years ago when I picked up new chrome bumpers for the '65 and then installed them right there on the show field, but it's always fun to walk around and see some of the great cars of the past. I'll post some photos after we're back.
And finally, I'm happy to announce a couple of upcoming road trips that will happen once we're past Labor Day (when my pool closes). I'll be taking to the road to go to Saint Louis for the National Recreation and Park Association Conference, which is always a fun and informative show. I'll get to poke around some of the route that Dad took us on during that memorable trip to Dallas back in '63. I still have his road maps from that trip, and have re-created much of that trip in the past. Then, it'll be off to Nashville TN for the World Aquatic Health Conference and a CPO Instructor School. That should be fun, Nashville is a great city, and I'll be there with all of my Instructor School friends - and Karen is planning on coming along for part of the trip, so we'll have a bit of a vacation as well.
And finally, I'm planning on taking the '65 Barracuda out on the road for a partial trip along the legendary Route 66. I've been asked to do a presentation about the mystique and the lure of the "Mother Road' for the 66th Annual Cortland College Recreation Conference this November. I want to get some new photos, have some new experiences, and share with them what it's like taking a classic car out on what is still, to many people. the classic American Road Trip.
So there you go, a quick update on things from my little corner of the world. I'm going to try and post up a few more of these updates as the summer goes along, and hopefully I'll have some good meals, or concerts, or just plain old silly things to talk about. Until then, enjoy your summer!
 

I Knew It!

Fair warning; this is going to be one of those "I told you so" posts, so if you don't want to hear me gloat, you probably should skip to the next blog.
Pistachios. That's what this is all about, the little nut with the split shell. Strange ingredient in greenish color ice cream, somewhat addictive, lightly salted, decent nutrition (consumed in moderation), one of those silly little snacks that most of us enjoy from time to time.
When I was a kid, I spent a lot of time with my Dad hanging around his various cars. He'd be flushing the radiator in the spring, I'd be right there, handing him tools, holding the garden hose, and generally getting in his way. Back in those days, the cars weren't full of computers and electronics, and repairing them was, for a good mechanic, kind of simple. But, there were times that even Dad couldn't fix the car, and when that happened, he'd run it up to either the Chevron or Amoco stations on Jericho Turnpike in New Hyde Park. Most times, I'd go with him, either to drop it off, or pick it up; occasionally I'd go both times. And sometimes we'd have to wait a bit for the owner to write up the repair, or to finish up the bill. I'd wander around the station office, a wonderful spot, full of auto parts, fluids, pictures of cars, and usually, a couple of vending machines.
There would be a soda machine, and maybe a couple of those glass jar vending machines that held gumballs, M&M's, cashews, or pistachios. I always tried to have a couple of coins with me when we went to the garage, and of course, I'd hit up the vending machines. My usual snack would be either cashews or one of the candies, followed by a gumball (in my mind, the gum would clean the nut or candy residue from my teeth). I pretty much avoided the pistachios, they just seemed odd, these bright red shells with the light green nut meat - an odd combination, to be sure. But, as sometimes happens, one day I mistakenly put the nickel or dime into the wrong machine, and out came about 8 or 9 of those ridiculously bright red nuts. What to do? Toss 'em away? Nah, that would be a waste of the dime, which, back in 1962 or '63, was actually worth something. I studied the nuts carefully, and noticed that each one had a little crusty salt coating on the end that was split open. How bad could they be if they had salt on them? So I carefully pulled open the shell of one of the nuts, and haltingly put it in my mouth.
Hey, this is pretty good! Slightly sweet, nutty with a nice texture, and just enough salt to be interesting. I was hooked. The rest of the nuts quickly disappeared, and instead of my usual gumball purchase, I got another shot of the pistachios. And, of course, by the time I'd eaten both handfuls, my fingers were a nice bright red - which I discovered didn't wash off easily. From then on, each time I found myself in a shop that had those little red nuts, I'd buy them, they really were good.
Time rolls on, and through the years, those old gas station garages disappeared, and with them went those vending machines. Sure, they had them in markets, and sometimes in department stores, but those machines all had gum, or little toys, bouncy balls, but rarely if ever did you see pistachios. Occasionally, I'd buy a small tub of the little red nuts at the market, they'd come home and be consumed fairly quickly - they are pretty addictive, and rather small, you can eat a hundred of them and not feel like you've eaten anything. Through the years I'd indulge once in a while, then sort of got out of the habit and didn't buy pistachios for a long time. But then, in the late 90's and early 2000's, a new marketing campaign promoted 'California Pistachios'. Larger, easier to open, full of nutrition, they were touted as one of those really good snacks, like most nuts or droops. But there was a difference; these nuts weren't red, they were a very light tan, almost white color. I bought them, and they were good, but to me, they never tasted the same as the red ones. I mentioned this many times, that the red ones tasted different, and the answer I got from lots of folks was, 'that's not possible, the red is just food coloring'. But I swore they were different - better. I also found that the red ones were becoming scarcer and harder to find in stores. I continued to buy the big plain nuts, but never really enjoyed them the way I did the red ones.
And then, late last year, I had a bag of the plain nuts, and they were so flavorless that I never finished them, and ended up tossing them after they laid around the pantry for a couple of months. I really did miss those old red nuts and their flavor. So I did a little research, and found something quite interesting.
It seems that until the late 1970's the bulk of the world's pistachios were grown in Turkey and Iran. That variety of pistachio is called the Antep, and it was the most commonly found pistachio here in the U.S. The nuts from Turkey and Iran were harvested by an old fashioned method, which caused the nut shells to become bruised and discolored during the process. These shells did not look appealing to most consumers, and so, to hide these imperfections, nut processors would dye the nuts a deep red. That red color hid the dark spots, and of course, caught the eye with their bright color. 

Ahh, there you go, those are pistachios! And the red nuts were easily found in markets here right up until the late 1970's. And then, we hit the Iranian hostage crisis. Iranian 'students' seized the American Embassy, and held our citizens captive. President Carter ordered an embargo on Iranian goods, which included those beloved pistachio nuts. Nuts from Turkey were still available, but this was the opening that the California producers had been hoping for. California producers increased their output, and using new, modern mechanical harvesters, were able to gather the nuts without bruising and damaging the shells. They were then marketed as 'natural' pistachios. Add in the concerns about the possible effects of red food dye, and the market had shifted permanently. The California pistachio became the predominant product. Of course, the California pistachio is larger, and somewhat different in texture than the Turkish and Iranian nuts. And, they have a much different flavor profile. They are milder, somewhat 'creamier', and don't have the slightly bitter edge that the Antep nuts do.

The Iranian embargo was eventually lifted, and the imported nuts returned to the market, but the damage was done. And of course, things go in cycles, and in 2011 Mr. Obama put a new embargo into place as Iran began to develop nuclear weapons. And yes, the poor pistachio was again included in this embargo. And so, it was California pistachios for most of us after that. 
But now, through the magic of the internet, there are multiple sites that sell imported Antep pistachios. Most of these come from Turkey, and for the most part, are sold without the red coloring (although you can sometimes find the red ones around Christmas time). So a couple of weeks ago, I ordered two pounds of these pistachios from "We've Got Nuts". 

And there you go! As you can see, Antep pistachios are slightly darker in color than California nuts, are somewhat smaller and narrower, with smaller nut meats. There also seem to be a few more unsplit nuts in each batch, but......THEY TASTE GREAT! There IS a difference in these nuts; this is the taste I remember from the old red pistachios. Darker, deeper flavor, a slightly crunchier meat, this is what pistachios are supposed to taste like.
And so, as I cracked my first few nuts open and tasted them, I said to Karen, 'yeah, this is the flavor....I'm 9 years old again, hanging around the Chevron station with my Dad'.
You know, they claim that scent is the strongest memory triggering sense, that certain smells, odors, and scents stay with us, and if they are detected, even decades later, can bring back very strong memories. I'd have to guess that if scent is the strongest trigger, that taste has to be a close second. Because when I'm eating these things, they do bring back so many memories of those times, of my Dad, and of the things we did together. Very cool stuff.
And so, I can say it: I TOLD YOU SO! The red pistachios DID taste different, and better, than the white ones.
Truth be told though, I actually do miss having those red fingertips after enjoying a couple of handfuls of the red beauties!

It's baaaacccck!

Once upon a time, there was a cute little Italian sports car. Small, lightweight, great looking, and utterly unreliable. Of course, it's the legendary Fiat 850 Spider.
Today, after three or four attempts to bring the 'repaired' car home, we have success!
When I last posted, Karen and I had gone to Port Washington to retrieve the car, but it only got me halfway home when it performed an all too familiar Fiat trick, and sputtered to a halt in the parking lot of Christopher Morley Park. The shop I'm using had the car towed back, and decided that it was a fuel starvation issue, specifically the fuel pump. Unusual, as I had put a new fuel pump in the car shortly after taking delivery of it. All we can assume is that the replacement pump had something wrong with it. So I ordered another new pump, from a different supplier, and dropped it off at the shop on Monday. Yesterday, Ike the mechanic called and said the new pump was in and the car 'runs like a top'. Uh-Huh. I've heard that line before, including the day I picked it up and got stuck with it!
Still, I was hopeful; there really isn't much else that the darn thing could need to run properly. I couldn't get up to Port yesterday, but my sister Ginny called and said she wanted to stop in and drop something off to me today, so I asked if she'd give me a lift up to the shop to get the car (and, by association, follow me home, just in case). Ginny happily agreed, and so today we drove to the shop to get the car. Of course, for those of you who aren't in the Long Island area, today marks the first truly bitterly cold day we've had in a while. Gonna be a nice deep freeze this weekend, with temperatures in the single digits. Today, it was 20 degrees with a nasty wind as we made the trip.
Got to the shop, checked in with Ike, who was nice enough to not charge me for the installation of the new fuel pump, and out to the car we went. Ike got in, cranked the starter, and after two or three attempts, the little beast fired up. Cold weather has never been a Fiat's friend when it comes to starting. Even though the engine is tiny, once the temperature drops below about 35, the engine just doesn't like to turn over. One reason, I think, why the silly things burn out so many starter motors. Ike jokingly asked if I'd like him to loan me a space heater for the car because he was afraid I'd get cold driving it all the way home. Silly man, he obviously never drove an 850 in the cold weather - the heater in these things could melt the rubber on your sneakers if you ran it on high; at least, the heater in my old 850 could.
Got in the car, and with Ike's words of advice ('don't leave town without filling the tank with gas') ringing in my ears, off we went. Being a person who takes good advice to heart, we stopped at the first gas station and topped off the tank. Took a whole 3.5 gallons of BP premium to fill the tank; $7.57, a bit more than it used to cost me back in 1972, when I could fill the tank from almost empty with Getty premium for less than $2, but still reasonable.
Down the road we went, the little thing happily cruising at about 35-40. Doesn't seem to have much beyond that, the engine doesn't have any of the 'punch' that I remember from my old 850. Didn't dare get on the parkway or expressway, due to a) no real power, and b) no outside rear view mirror, both dangerous conditions for high speed driving. So we meandered through the local roads, Ginny following me as I re-learned the quirks and challenges of the car. And oh, yes, the heater worked so well that I never put the fan on high, and even had to shut the fan off a couple of times because I was getting hot in the car! This with both doors having huge gaps where the weatherstripping is bad. I guess my memory of the old car was right.
And here it is, back where it belongs!

I probably won't drive it around too much until the weather warms up a bit, though I will crank the engine every couple of days just to make sure it doesn't go dead on me. But as soon as the weather breaks, I'll start cleaning up the interior, put on some new seat covers, work on the weatherstripping, and have the new convertible top put on. That'll be about it for this spring, since I already spent more than I anticipated on the engine work. I might spring for a new exhaust, because the one that's on the car now is some sort of Rube Goldberg (you youngsters Google him) contraption, which I think is restricting the flow of exhaust gases, causing the engine to not have the power it should. At least that's my guess today; ask me next week, I may have a different theory.
And so chapter one of the 850 saga ends with the car happily and easily making the journey home from the shop. What's next for the little beast? Well, you'll just have to watch this blog to find out!

The More Things Change......

Time to break up the mid-winter doldrums with an update on the little piece of crap (the Fiat 850).
As those of you who follow this blog know, the car's been in the shop for a couple of months now, having a head gasket changed, electrical system sorted out, tires put on, and the usual silly stuff that comes along with owning one of these cars.
So about two weeks ago I get a call from Moe at the shop, the car is done, and it 'runs like a top'. Fortunately, Tommy is off from work for the Christmas break, so he drives over and gives me a lift to the shop. We get there, and Ike, the mechanic, meets us, takes us over to the car and starts it up. Gotta admit, the engine does sound good, running nice and smooth, no coughing or roughness, it's gonna be fun to take it home. So I pay the bill, fold myself up and get in the car, and get ready to go. Push in the clutch, find reverse, and.....damn, the clutch pedal doesn't come back up, it's sitting on the floor. Out of reverse, fiddle with the pedal, back into reverse, and the clutch pedal sits on the floor. Can't possibly drive it this way. Out of the car, over to Moe, and give him the news. He says, "yeah, the clutch has been very slow to come back up since it got cold; just put your toe under the pedal and pull it back up when you shift.". Yeah, right. I'm gonna try and squish my size 13 shoe underneath a tiny clutch pedal, in an area made for people with size 6 shoes every time I go to shift the damn car? Nope, not gonna happen. I happily tell Moe to just keep the car and put in a new clutch. Tommy and I drive away somewhat frustrated, but satisfied knowing that with a new clutch, it's one less thing to worry about later on.
Two weeks go by, and on Friday I get a call from Moe, the car is done, and it 'runs like a top'. I call Billy, who pretty much has some free time on Fridays, and ask him to run me up to the shop. He comes over, we drive up to the shop, and Ike again meets us and cranks up the car. It still sounds good, I pay for the clutch work, squeeze into the car, push the clutch in, find reverse, and.....the pedal stays on the floor, and does not come up. I try again, several times, but it still isn't right. I get Ike over, and he says, "just take your foot off the clutch, give it some gas, and it'll slowly come up." So I try that...and it stalls. Try it again, it stalls again. Several more times, same result. Out of the car I go, and tell Ike, it isn't right, the pedal isn't coming up, you have to fix it, it can't be safely driven like this. He apologizes and says he'll get right on it. Billy and I leave, disappointed, but resigned to the fact that I'm not going to take the car until it works correctly.
Fast forward to yesterday, Saturday. Karen and I are out poking around at Tanger Outlets in Deer Park when my phone rings. It's Moe from the shop. They found the problem with the car, the pedal return spring has snapped. It was working properly when they put the new clutch in, but must have broken between that time and when I came to pick the car up. He assures me that the clutch is fine, and the car 'runs like a top'. Karen and I finish up shopping, and she drives me to pick the car up. We get to the shop, Ike comes out, apologizes for making us come back again. No problem I tell him, so long as the thing is fixed. He assures me it is. We open the car, I get in and start it up, and push the clutch in - and it pops back out just like it should, it's fixed! I thank him, and let Karen know I'm going to go around the block before we start for home, so I can get the feel of actually driving the thing. Remember, I sold my 850 in the fall of 1974, so it's been 42 years since I  drove one of these things on the road. Off we go, around the block, and out onto Main Street in Port Washington. Make the right on to Port Washington Boulevard, and we're on the way home. The car is running well, although it has a lot less pep than I remember my original one having. Going up the hills through Port I have to downshift and really gas it to keep the speed up. Down the road we go, approaching St. Francis hospital, and all is well; or so it seems.
Suddenly, there's a loss of power, the car won't accelerate when I give it gas, it stumbles and seems as if it's going to stall. I pull over to the side, try several times to get it to go, but it's not cooperating. I stop, and slowly gas the engine until it's running happily at around 3,000 rpm. It seems better, so off we go.
Up the hill past Northern Boulevard, and it happens again, only this time I can't smooth it out. The thing is barely moving, and we're on a road where folks speed regularly. I manage to get the car into the parking lot at Christopher Morley Park, where it stalls and cannot be restarted. Fortunately, Karen has been following me, so I'm not 'stuck'.
I call the shop, and get Ike on the phone; he cannot believe the car died on me. I tell him I'm leaving it there, that he should pick it up, take it back, and fix the damn thing, get in Karen's car, and off we go.
My phone rings, it's Ike, he suggests that perhaps the car is simply out of gas (the gauge doesn't work properly) and that it might just need a fill. He offers to bring some gas out if I'll wait for him, so I agree.
15 - 20 minutes later he arrives with his helper and a can of gas. We gas the car, and the engine starts. Let it run a few minutes, it sounds okay, but before we leave, Ike suggests running it around the parking lot just to make sure it's safe to drive.
I hop in, and off I go. Up the parking lot, turn around, back to where we were, up the other side of the lot and.......it stalls. And won't restart. Ike and his helper come over, and now the damn thing won't fire up. They check the wiring; the carb; the fuel filters; not sure what it is, but they think it's a fuel issue. Ike tells me to leave the car, they'll get it taken back to the shop and get to work on it. I get in Karen's car, and we go home.
So....the more things change, the more they stay the same. It's 1972-1974 all over again, and I'm stuck with a dead Fiat someplace along the road. A scene, I must admit, which had been played out way too many times over the course of the 850 and the two 124's I owned  back in the day. But now, at least, I'm not dependent on the car for my daily transport as I was back then. I can relax with the knowledge that I have good, reliable daily drivers to use while this thing is in the shop. And there's no rush to get the car back, as I wouldn't be using it frequently in the winter; it is, after all, a real 'summer' car. Small consolation, I guess, just part of the daily frustration that owners of these 'classic' Fiats face.
As they used to say on the radio and television, "Stay tuned for more"!