The Luna Park Gazette

“Life is like eating artichokes, you have got to go through so much to get so little.” ― Thomas A. Dorgan You know things are bad when you make Geraldo Rivera upset. Pat Cooper was one of my favorite comedians when I was growing up. Born Pasquale Caputo in Brooklyn, my hometown, Cooper based his act on his experiences growing up in an Italian family. My siblings and I were all half-Italian, so we thought he was funny, and I have such fond memories of seeing him on The Ed Sullivan Show . “I got a genuine Italian mother — four feet eleven,” he said in one of his bits. “She has a bun over here, knitting needle over here, gold tooth over here, mole over here.” He joked about being an outcast in school, noting that while other kids had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches his mother gave him an artichoke for lunch, so he had to put the leaves between his teeth to pull off the good stuff. “Look at that kid, he’s eating flowers!” his classmates said. I distinctly remember my Ita...

I was in the middle of a qigong routine on Saturday morning when I heard my niece speaking to me from 35 years ago. “ It’s time for the turning chair!” The line came to me from seemingly nowhere, but it was exactly what I needed. I was recuperating from previous evening’s emotional assault where a planned night of Netflix and Chill mutated into self-inflicted bout of hell on earth. I was watching Steven Spielberg’s “The Fabelmans” and instead enjoying the autobiographical film like a normal human being, I elected to use the movie as an excuse to resurrect my mile-long list of regrets about the direction of my life. I had all these big dreams about getting into the movie business and I never even got close. There’s a guy who worked to get what he wanted , I thought. He didn’t just talk about it, he didn’t fantasize about it, he went out and did it . I put myself—and those around me—through these spells on a regular basis, but on Friday it was extremely bad. My usual ...

For a guy who hates commuting I’ve been spending an awful lot of time on buses lately. As I've mentioned before, I’ve been working from home ever since covid came to town. While I do miss seeing my colleagues in the real world, I’m also enjoying saving time, money, and energy working from my kitchen rather hauling into town on the X27. Ironically, my last commute was one of the easiest I’ve ever had: 35-40 minutes on a good day and I always got a seat. And my last office was fantastic. The place had stunning views of lower Manhattan and New Jersey, a great food court, and tons of fine shops and restaurants. I really enjoyed the location—for the three weeks we were there. But I still prefer working from home. On Saturday I did a time traveling when I went to the MTA’s Bus Festival in Downtown Brooklyn that represented “more than 90 years of New York City surface transit history.” The park under the Brooklyn bridge was just a short ride from my home on the ferry, which i...

The Roman historian Tacitus once said the “unfair thing about war is that victory is claimed by all, failure one alone.” Nearly 2,000 years later, John F. Kennedy put a modern spin on the idea when he described the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion. “Victory has 100 fathers and defeat is an orphan,” he reportedly said. This little history lesson is brought to you—in a roundabout way--by my dentist, who inadvertently sent me off on a musical expedition while he was preparing to put a crown of my tooth. Last week was the second round on this biting tale and kicked off with me back in the dental chair, mouth pried open, suction tube going full blast and listening to the Sirius Sixties station while Dr. Joel worked his magic on my mangled molar. Name That Tune Once again, I heard some great tunes from my childhood, including “Mony, Mony” by Tommy James, “Kicks” by Paul Revere and the Raiders, and “You Got What It Takes,” a hit for Marv Johnson in 1959, but I think Sir...

Many years ago, I applied for a job as an obituary writer for the Chicago Tribune . I was sharing this news with my oldest brother, who was living in California at the time with his wife and daughter. (They have since moved to Colorado.) My niece, Victoria, who was about 8 years old at the time, and, who, of course, was listening to in on the speaker, was appalled at the idea of my potential gig. "Writing about people who died? " she said, leaning heavy on the melodrama. "How tragic! " Writing about people who died, as she put it, may sound morbid, but the obit section is the most-read section of any newspaper. As my editor at the Pocono Record once told me, “Most people only get their names in the newspaper twice in their lives: when they’re born and when they die.” I read the New York Times obit page every day--and not just for the famous names, but I also check out the lesser known individuals. A well-written obituary goes beyond one perso...

My dentist was all set to start drilling when he paused inches away from my mouth. “I promised you a little more numbness, didn’t I?” I nodded my head vigorously, yes, you promised me more Novocain, so please don’t go back on your word. He picked up a massive syringe, zapped my gums and went to work moments later, while The Jarmels came over the sound system to say that a little bit of soap will never wash my tears. I will be 66 years old in a few days and all the soap in the world will never wash away those years. I need all the numbness I can get. My dentist and I are in the same age bracket, which explains his SiriusXM channel selection, so as he chipped away at my battered tooth, I got to hear Richard Harris singing about McArthur’s Park melting in the dark, and the Four Seasons telling me to walk like man. Luckily my dentist is a craftsman, and I didn’t feel any pain at all—no Marathon Man cracks, please—but I was uncomfortable as hell as he drilled and drilled. ...

“I can imagine no heroism greater than motherhood.” —Lance Conrad Back in the Seventies my mother had a parttime job teaching ceramics to learning disabled adults at a local facility. She loved all kinds of arts and crafts and really enjoyed working with these kids. Unfortunately, she butted heads with the buttheads who ran the operation and eventually she had to leave. I forget why the managers had such a problem with my mother’s teaching style, but one thing does stand out even all these years: they were idiots. Okay, obviously, I’m a little prejudiced here as she was my mother and I’m even more sensitive since today is Mother’s Day. It must have really hurt her to lose her class, but she did stay in touch with one of the kids, Willy, and she arranged for him to visit our house once a week to work on various pottery projects. And bear in mind that she wasn’t getting paid for what amounted to private tutoring sessions. Working with Willy was all the payment she needed...