I'm not following the news much these days. I have writing to do and it goes slower when my blood pressure's up. I especially don't want to waste any of my life (and elevate said blood pressure) by stressing over elections far in the future. It may be effective clickbait but many things will happen — including the selection of candidates and us voting — before any party will have a lock on '22, let alone '24.
But I do enjoy Jordan Klepper and his great talent for finding people who don't know better than to talk to Jordan Klepper…
This column ran here on August 27, 2013. It drew a lot of mail from folks who had been thinking, as I had when both my parents were alive, "I hope they die in the right order." I heard from another batch of people when I raised that matter with regard to Jack and Roz Kirby in my first book about Jack. (Another is coming, though currently roadblocked by a matter I'm not able to discuss.) Jack and Roz died in "the right order" as did my parents…
From the day my parents married in March of 1951 until the day my father died in March of 1991, they were darn near inseparable. Oh, he went to work every day and she had some part-time jobs — but every night with very few exceptions, they were together.
Twice after they were wed, my mother felt it was necessary to go east on family-type business. My father had bad memories of Hartford and no desire to accompany her back there so he didn't go either time. There were also occasional periods when one or the other was hospitalized for some reason — like when he had a bleeding ulcer or when she had me. But apart from those instances, they ate together and slept together every night.
My father came from a big family and lived with brothers and/or sisters until the day he moved to Los Angeles to find a job and an apartment to rent. Once he had both, he sent for my mother, she flew out and they drove to Las Vegas and got married. The weeks it took him to get set up in L.A. constituted the only period in his life when he truly lived alone.
He hated it. And once he and my mother had a home together, he hated the very occasional nights when she'd be away or in the hospital. He hated the empty house. He hated the empty bed. He didn't know how to cook or clean so that made things more difficult. Putting my father in the kitchen and expecting food preparation to result was like putting an otter in a hospital operating room and expecting successful open heart surgery. I would have bet money on the otter before I wagered hard cash on Dad assembling a grilled cheese sandwich.
The first time my mother went back to Hartford, I was nine or ten and I went with her. Cleaning out my mother's house last year, I came across letters they exchanged during that ten-day period. My father's were all about him going out of his mind, not being able to find anything, not being able to sleep, etc. My mother's were all about reassuring him we'd be home soon. She had made the bed in layers, bottom sheet over bottom sheet over bottom sheet. Every few days, he just had to peel off the top bottom sheet and there'd be a clean one under it to sleep on. He was somehow unable to do this.
The second time she went back, I didn't go. I was about twenty-six then and it was after I'd moved out of their house. My father was panicked at the thought of being without her for, I believe, five whole nights. He asked if maybe I could sleep at the house those nights so he wouldn't be all alone there.
I wasn't wild about that idea and when I talked about it with my mother, she wasn't, either. It was, after all, within the realm of possibility that she might predecease him in this world. As they got older, it was also likely that she would be hospitalized for longer periods or have to go back to Hartford a few more times. "He's got to learn that it's not the end of the world to be alone in a house for a few nights," she said and I agreed. My father then asked, well, could I at least have dinner with him every night? Even as he asked that, I was hatching a plan. It began with me telling him, as I did, "If I'm free, I'll give you a call."
The first evening my mother was away was a Monday and I didn't call him. Instead, I figured out where he'd be eating and when. That was not as difficult as it might seem. My father's two favorite restaurants‚ the places he ate when he went out to lunch or he and I went out to dinner‚ were Nate 'n Al's Delicatessen in Beverly Hills and Clifton's Cafeteria over in Century City. He loved the pea soup they served on Tuesdays at Nate 'n Al's so I figured he'd do Clifton's on Monday, Nate 'n Al's on Tuesday. As for the precise suppertime itself, that was simple. My father always wanted to eat dinner at 5:30.
So I went over to Century City and found a bench near Clifton's. I got there about 5:10 and watched the door until around 5:25 when, sure enough, I saw my father walk up and go in. He didn't see me — so I went in and got into the cafeteria line right behind him, unnoticed for about two minutes until I did the following. We were halfway through the serving area, loading delicacies onto our respective trays, when I finally leaned over and asked him to pass me a plate of the steamed carrots. He handed one to me, realized it was me and did a "take" that would have been considered overacting in a Tex Avery cartoon.
He was so glad to see me — gladder than if we'd made a date to meet there. We dined together and talked for a long time‚ until I told him I had to get home and finish a script. He started to ask if he could come over and sit in my living room and watch TV while I worked — but he stopped himself. Before I could even reply, he said, "No, I have to go home and face it. It's just an empty house. I can get through this week." He did ask if we could have dinner again the next night and I told him, "If I'm free, I'll give you a call."
The next day when I hadn't called, he figured, "Well, I guess the boy's too busy." He drove over to Nate 'n Al's, walked in — and there was "the boy" sitting at a table for two, waiting for him. He laughed, sat down and said, "I'll bet you won't be able to figure out where I'm going to eat tomorrow night." I said, "I already have. You're going to go back to Clifton's and you're going to eat the exact same meal you ate last night."
Again, he laughed. Then he said with a big grin, "Okay, Mr. Detective. I'm not going to eat at Clifton's and I'm not going to eat here. I dare you to figure out where I'll be and meet me there." I accepted the challenge and I thought it was a good sign. Instead of being afraid to be without me, he was now half-hoping I wouldn't be there when he walked into wherever he chose to dine. It was kind of a win/win. He'd win if he outsmarted me and he'd win if he got to eat with me again.
I spent much of that evening and the next day trying to figure out where he'd eat. He wasn't going to go somewhere he'd never eaten before because that would have ruined the game for both of us. It had to be a place that I could have guessed but didn't. The trouble was that after I eliminated Clifton's and Nate 'n Al's from consideration, no other eateries stood out. I could think of about six possibles but no probables. There was a great Chinese restaurant where he often lunched with his best friend from the office but I decided he wouldn't go Chinese on me. What he liked about Chinese food was ordering several dishes with someone else and sharing. You can't share when you're dining alone.
Finally, I did what you would have done. I cheated. I drove over to his house around 4:30 and parked halfway down the block. When he came out and got in his car, I followed him at a safe distance. I followed him long enough to realize his destination was Junior's Delicatessen over on Westwood Boulevard. Then I turned down another street, took a shortcut and got there before him. I had the advantage because I had the ability to valet-park. My father, having been reared in the Depression, would park three blocks away and walk rather than pay some kid to park his car.
So when he walked into Junior's, he found me sitting in the waiting area, reading a newspaper. I looked up from it and asked, "What kept you?" He was delighted. Absolutely delighted.
Over dinner, I told him, "I won't be able to join you tomorrow night. I have a network meeting I can't get out of. So it's okay. You can go back to Clifton's or Nate 'n Al's." He smiled and said, "I'll be fine. It's not as scary being without your mother as I thought it would be." God, was I happy to hear him say that.
The next day, my network meeting was canceled and for about two minutes, I thought about going over to Clifton's, where I knew he'd be and surprising him again. I didn't for two reasons, one being that I realized it would be good for him to eat by himself that night. He was a very good man, as he proved time and again throughout our lives together. He knew it was a fear he had to overcome and he was overcoming it as much as he could.
They may not ever speak it aloud but with a couple that has a good shot at enduring "'til death do us part," there's always this concern about who's going to part first and how the other one will manage. That is, assuming they can manage. My father had long worried about what would happen if my mother died before he did. That didn't happen — by a wide margin. He died in 1991 and she lived another 22 years after that. He could never have lived 22 years without her. I'm not sure he could have lived 22 months. But after those five days she was off in Hartford, I think he was bit less worried that, should it come to that, he couldn't have lived 22 minutes without her.
So that was one reason I didn't go to Clifton's Cafeteria the next night. The other was that my father could be very smart at times — smarter than anyone expected. I had this feeling he just might double-cross me and go to Nate 'n Al's.
Colin Powell, the former chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff who served as the first Black U.S. Secretary of State, has died from complications from COVID-19. Many people lost respect for this man when he promoted what turned out to be faulty intelligence to plunge this country into war. Unlike a lot of those who did that, Powell had the strength of character to admit the error. It would be better to remember him for statements like this…
Here's the best piece online about Betty Lynn. It was posted by The Andy Griffith Museum in Mt. Airy and I believe it was authored by Jim Clark, who's been working on a book about her life. I added the photos…
MOUNT AIRY, N.C., DATE, 2021—Betty Lynn, the actress best known for her portrayal of Thelma Lou, Barney Fife's sweetheart on The Andy Griffith Show, died peacefully on Saturday, October 16, 2021 after a brief illness. She was 95.
Elizabeth Ann Theresa Lynn was born in Kansas City, Mo., on August 29, 1926. The third generation Missouri native was raised by her mother, Elizabeth Lynn, a respected mezzosoprano and organist, and by her maternal grandparents Johanna and George Andrew Lynn, a longtime engineer for the Missouri Pacific Railroad.
At age 5, Betty began studying dance with renowned dancer Helen Burwell at the Kansas City Conservatory. By age 14, Betty was acting and singing in supper clubs, as well as performing and doing commercial spots for local radio shows.
USO talent scouts visited Kansas City and discovered Betty. After she turned 18, Betty began performing for USO Camp Shows in the United States in 1944. Betty then performed as part of the USO's overseas Foxhole Circuit for the first half of 1945. She and guitarist Tommy Decker began their overseas tour with stops in Casablanca and then Iran before eventually making their way to the war's China-Burma-India Theater, where they visited and performed for servicemen throughout much of the war zone, but with their primary mission being to console and entertain wounded servicemen at military hospitals.
After the allies retook Rangoon in May 1945, Betty was one of the first Americans to visit American POWs who had been released to a Calcutta hospital after having endured horrible atrocities during their imprisonment. She is also thought to be the only American woman to have traveled the dangerous Burma Road during the war.
At one point in her tour of duty, Betty, Tommy Decker, a couple of Marines and an interpreter traveled by jeep in a remote area "on the road to Mandalay," not far from the front lines. A U.S. Marines captain had given Betty a loaded Colt revolver and told her, "Take this. You might need to use it." Betty recalled, "I didn't know whether he meant for use on the enemy or in desperation on myself, but I took the gun and always kept it close."
After the war, Betty was recognized for her service "above and beyond the call of duty" with a special commendation from the U.S. War Department. She was later named Honorary Colonel in the American Legion.
In 2009, Betty joined veterans of World War II on the North Carolina Triad's inaugural Honor Flight to visit the World War II Memorial in Washington, D.C. "I was deeply honored to be asked to participate and to have the chance to express my gratitude to the surviving veterans and those memorialized," Betty said at the time.
Betty returned to New York City after the war and quickly found work. She was touring the Northeast with Park Avenue in preparation for that new show's Broadway run when she caught the attention of Hollywood scouts. She received offers from seven studios, but ultimately decided to do a screen test for Twentieth Century-Fox. Studio head Daryl F. Zanuck immediately took out an option on Betty and eventually signed her to a multi-year contract.
Betty's first film for Fox was 1948's Sitting Pretty with Clifton Webb, Robert Young and Maureen O'Hara. Betty won a Photoplay Gold Medal for her portrayal of Ginger. Later that year, Betty also was in Apartment for Peggy with William Holden and Jeanne Crain.
Warner Bros. borrowed Betty from Fox in order to have her play the title role in June Bride, another 1948 release, with Bette Davis and Robert Montgomery. Betty made several more movies for Fox and others, including RKO, MGM and Universal. Among the films were Mother Is a Freshman, Father Was a Fullback, Cheaper by the Dozen, Payment on Demand (again with Bette Davis), Many Rivers to Cross and Behind the High Wall.
When her contract with Fox expired, Betty sought work in television, then still in its early days. Her early performances included eight months in The Egg and I, which is often considered to be TV's first comedy serial and was broadcast live from New York five days a week on CBS in 1952.
Back in Hollywood the next year, Betty played the female lead opposite Ray Bolger in Where's Raymond? for a season on ABC-TV. During this time and spanning decades, Betty also performed in live theater productions, including the lead role in Peg O' My Heart and roles in The Moon Is Blue, King of Hearts, Be Your Age, Come Blow Your Horn and Love Letters.
Betty performed in more than two dozen episodes of Matinee Theater, NBC-TV's popular hour-long anthology series that aired, usually live, five days a week. She also continued to work in radio, including for episodes of Lux Radio Theater, Stars Over Hollywood and some installments of Family Theater, as either a lead or host.
Betty was a fixture in television Westerns during the 1950s and 1960s. A partial roundup includes episodes of Bronco, Wagon Train, Cheyenne, Tales of Wells Fargo and Sugarfoot, as well as being co-star for two seasons of Disney Presents: Texas John Slaughter with Tom Tryon.
Betty was still under contract with Disney for Texas John Slaughter when producers for The Andy Griffith Show contacted her about playing Barney Fife's girlfriend, Thelma Lou. Fortunately for Barney, Mayberry and generations of TV viewers, Disney was in the process of winding down its production of Texas John Slaughter and therefore agreed to release Betty to work on the Griffith show.
"I had seen the Griffith show twice before I went to read for the part," Betty recalled. "I remember that I laughed out loud — it was so funny. I didn't do that very often. I thought, Gee, this is really unusual."
Betty always realized that Thelma Lou's role in Mayberry depended on Barney Fife. When Don Knotts decided to depart the series after five seasons in order to make movies for Universal Studios, Betty knew that meant that she would be leaving Mayberry as well.
Betty made one final appearance on the Griffith show when Don Knotts returned in the sixth season for the first of his five guest appearances as Barney. In all, Betty appeared in 26 Griffith episodes, which were originally broadcast between 1961 and 1966 and spanned parts of the show's first six seasons. Of Griffith actors still living at the time of Betty's death, only Ron Howard appeared in more episodes of the series than Betty.
Fans would have to wait more than 20 years, but all was once again right in the world of Mayberry, when Thelma Lou and Barney finally got married in Return to Mayberry, the made-for-TV movie that was a ratings blockbuster for NBC in 1986. "Once we got there to film the movie, everything fell right into place," Betty said. "The spark was still there."
After the Griffith series, Betty continued to work steadily, mostly in television. She played Fred MacMurray's secretary on My Three Sons and Brian Keith's secretary on Family Affair. She also worked with Andy Griffith again when she played Sarah, Ben Matlock's secretary during the first season of Matlock in 1986. She likewise reunited with Ron Howard in 1971 on ABC-TV's short-lived Smith Family, starring Henry Fonda.
Betty also appeared in productions ranging widely from Disney's The Boy Who Stole the Elephant to The Mod Squad and from Little House on the Prairie to The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour.
In 1990, Betty began participating in various Andy Griffith Show cast reunion events and Mayberry festivals nationwide, but especially in the Midwest and South. Many of these events also included performances by Betty and her fellow stars. She brought the house down countless times with her renditions of favorite tunes from the American songbook.
Lines often stretched down hallways and around buildings with devoted fans eagerly waiting for their chance to visit with Betty, have their photos taken with her and get an autograph. Betty was legendary for her astounding ability to recognize fans from even many years earlier — frequently calling them by name and asking about other members of their families, also often by name.
"The fans are so sweet," Betty said. "I really love meeting them and having the chance to visit a little bit. They come from all over the country. It's so touching that they still remember my movies and love The Andy Griffith Show like they do. And especially for the Griffith show, there are lots of young children who are fans, too. So, I think the show's popularity is carrying on through the new generations. That makes me happy."
After several years of attending the annual Mayberry Days festival in Andy Griffith's hometown of Mount Airy, Betty decided that the North Carolina town would be a good place for her to live. She made the move away from the stresses of Los Angeles in 2007.
In Betty's honor and echoing Barney Fife's description of Thelma Lou, the local Surry Arts Council annually presents the "You're the Cat's!" Award to recognize individuals who have made especially noteworthy contributions to the Mayberry Days festival.
me and Betty, 2009.
Along with other members of the cast and crew of The Andy Griffith Show, Betty was a recipient of the TV Land Legend Award in 2004. She was inducted into the Missouri Walk of Fame in Marshfield in 2006, and she was a recipient of the Cherry Blossom Medal at the town's annual Missouri Cherry Blossom Festival the following year.
In 2012, Betty was also an inaugural recipient of a star on the walkway at the entrance of the Andy Griffith Museum. On the occasion of her 90th birthday in 2016, Gov. Pat McCrory granted and Lt. Gov. Dan Forest presented Betty with the Order of the Long Leaf Pine, generally considered to be the State of North Carolina's highest civilian honor.
Betty didn't rest on her laurels. Prior to the pandemic, she greeted fans virtually every month at the Andy Griffith Museum. At the time of her death, Betty had been completing revisions on her autobiography, which is expected to be published posthumously.
A lifelong devout Roman Catholic, Betty was a longtime member of St. Timothy Catholic Church in Los Angeles. After moving to Mount Airy, she joined the local Holy Angels Catholic Church.
Betty Lynn is survived by several cousins, many cherished friends and countless adoring fans. Betty's performances as Thelma Lou and in other roles will continue to entertain generations of appreciative audiences. More than that, all who ever encountered Betty are forever grateful to have known such a truly beautiful soul.
A private burial service is planned in Culver City, CA. A memorial service will be announced at a later date.
In lieu of flowers, donations in Betty's memory may be made to the Betty Lynn Scholarship Endowment (for students pursuing a career in dance or acting) or the Barbara and Emmett Forrest Endowment Fund (for the Andy Griffith Museum and Mayberry Days), both in care of Surry Arts Council, P.O. Box 141, Mount Airy, NC 27030; or Holy Angels Roman Catholic Church, 1208 N Main Street, Mount Airy NC 27030, or a charity of the donor's choice.
You never met a sweeter, kinder human being than Betty Lynn. The actress best known as Barney Fife's girl friend on The Andy Griffith Show died yesterday in Mt. Airy, North Carolina where she'd lived since 2006. I spoke to her about ten days ago and she said she was not feeling well…but she's said that almost every time we've spoken in the last decade. She was 95 and I can't tell you how glad I am that I went to see her back there two years ago.
Betty was my next door neighbor from about the time I was a year and a half old. The photo above of her is one I took from my back yard when I was around fourteen. She was like an unofficial aunt to me.
Playing Barney's love interest Thelma Lou was, of course, only one role in a very long, productive career. This obit in Hollywood Reporter will cue you in on some of the other things she did but one correction: She played in the "Texas John Slaughter" series on ABC called Disneyland, not The Wonderful World of Disney. The latter was one of its names after it shifted over to NBC. I was around six when he did that show…barely able to grasp the concept that the nice lady next door was a TV star.
(And just a few days ago here, I reposted an article about her and that program.)
Betty with George Chakiris in Meet Me in Las Vegas.
A few things I should tell you about Betty: One was that she was a fine actress — better than you'd realize if all you knew her from was the Griffith Show. Secondly, she was serious about acting as a profession. It was what she wanted to do, not because it might make her rich or famous but because she was proud of being good at it and always aspiring to be better.
Thirdly, you could not have asked for a better neighbor. Growing up, it was like I had an auxiliary relative right next door. She was deeply religious and apart from acting, the only profession she had ever contemplated was to become a nun. I don't really know what it takes to be a nun but I'll bet she would have been great at it.
I'm going to think about what else I want to write about her here. I have a lot of history to scroll through…but I guarantee all it'll do is make you wish she'd been your neighbor.
Flipping through channels the other day on my TV, I caught a few seconds of some true crime show where someone was talking about someone else being under "house arrest," meaning they were confined to their homes awaiting a court date. Two thoughts hit me: I'm kind of under "house self-arrest" these days and it ain't that bad.
Leaving aside occasional trips to doctors — I got me a flu shot — I rarely leave my house. Actually, I should say I rarely leave my block since once a day at least, I go out and walk around it. Friends call and suggest outings to restaurants or theaters and I say no. I've tried going out to eat a few times in the last few months and even though it was to familiar places that I like with people I like, I felt very uncomfy and very eager to be home. So I say no to all such invites, including some I'd have loved in non-COVID times.
I'm triple-vaccinated. I have great masks. I'm less worried about getting the virus than I've ever been and I understand that this cannot be a permanent condition and I'm sure it won't be. But still even though The Pandemic is lessening in my area, I am less inclined to leave my house than ever. That's one of the reasons I withdrew as a guest from the Comic-Con Special Edition on Thanksgiving weekend. I didn't want to be anywhere near that far from home.
How do I explain this? I can't…not to myself and certainly not to anyone else. If I didn't have Instacart to bring me supplies, ZOOM to converse with others and a few friends I trust to come visit, I might have a powerful urge to be elsewhere. And like I said, I'm sure I'll ease out of this stay-at-home obsession one of these days. But right now, please don't ask me to come see you perform somewhere or to join a bunch of friends at a great restaurant. I'm happy here under "house arrest."
I like to occasionally check in on Randy "Atlas" Santel. Randy is a bodybuilder who tours the world participating in food challenges — the kind where if you can eat some huge amount of food in some small amount of time, you get the meal free, your name on a wall, a t-shirt and maybe a small cash prize.
How many of these has Randy done? Here's a recent video of Randy and three of his friends finishing off a 25 lb. hamburger in well under an hour. It was Randy's one thousandth "win." So each of them downed approximately 6.25 pounds of beef and bun…mostly bun. And I have trouble eating the entirety of what Five Guys calls a "Little Hamburger"…
8/7/10 was when this adventure was first detailed on this site. This was back when I used to actually go to Costco rather than let Instacart shop for me and bring my order — usually including one rotisserie chicken for me and one for my cleaning lady — to my door.
The piece is also dated by a reference to a lady named Orly Taitz, who was popping up on cable news shows a lot then. Dr. Taitz (she was a dentist) was a Russian-born conspiracy theorist who claimed to have irrefutable evidence than Barack Obama was born in a country other than the United States and was therefore ineligible to serve as President of this nation. Like almost everyone who ever gets referred to as a "conspiracy theorist," her irrefutable evidence turned out to be highly refutable and even people who wished she could prove her claims gave up on her. She is still apparently around, promoting other silly scenarios and she has run for office three times in California and, by an amazing coincidence, lost three times.
So here's another rerun. These will stop soon…
So yesterday I go to a Costco…and it was really a new "low" for me in that I got out for (barely) under a hundred bucks. Usually, I go in to buy just paper towels or just peanut butter and I wind up leaving with eight computers, six snow tires, twelve birdbaths and enough Eucerin to moisturize a rhino into having the skin you love to touch. But this time, I pick up just a few goodies and then head for the rear of the store to get one of the yummy, plump prepared rotisserie chickens to take home. I can live off one of them for a month.
Usually, they have a dozen or so out and in the back, you can see the expert setup where the staff is rotissering (is that a word?) more and it's all timed out so that just as customers have grabbed up the last batch, the next flock comes out. Today however, the procedure hits a snag. Two men, working in tandem and each pushing one of those Hummer-sized Costco shopping carts, come in and denude the display. With the expertise of the Ocean's 11 team cleaning out the Sands, they grab up all the available chickens that are left over from the previous output…and they're there as the latest ones are put forth so they seize all of them, as well.
They have about 23 chickens plus about a half-dozen orders of BBQ ribs in their two carts as they head for the checkout, leaving zero chickens for the rest of us. I am among about a dozen shoppers who are left to stare longingly at empty shelves. One of us inquires how long it might be before there are more available and the answer turns out to be about 40 minutes. This is dangerous, at least for me. If I hang around a Costco for 40 minutes, I will buy thirty crates of A-1 Sauce, nine more computers, enough blouses to clothe Paraguay and at least one Goodyear Blimp, except it will say "Kirkland" on the side.
Others around me are outraged. Most expected to carry home a hot Seasoned Chicken to feed the family that evening and their plans are awry. They begin demanding immediate chickens and the beleaguered rotisserer (that can't be a word) is having trouble explaining that he cannot furnish more cooked hens on demand; that they require a certain amount of prep time. One lady in particular — our Self-Appointed Spokeswoman — proclaims she speaks for us all. We are all good, loyal, longtime Costco patrons and we are incensed that our dinner menus are inoperative. I don't recall voting for her and I don't think she has the proper outlook on the situation. She seems to think that if one is loud enough and angry enough, Costco can make fully-cooked poultry instantly appear.
Over comes a manager or some other official who's heard the shouting and also noticed that customers who couldn't care less about barbecued fowl are crowding around to watch the dinner theater. He tries to placate this woman who will simply not be placated. He explains that it simply takes X number of minutes to cook more of what we want. This does not satisfy the Orly Taitz of barbecued chickens. She insists that he grovel a bit, admit that the system is seriously f'ed up and in dire need of correction, and then present her with an immediate chicken-to-go. Or else.
The Costco boss-person insists the system works fine, 99% of the time. It just doesn't work if two guys come in and buy 23 chickens all at once, which in all his years of managing has never before happened. He explains that Costco sells no chicken that is more than two hours old; that once a hen has gone untaken that long, it's removed from the shelf and either discarded or stripped of its meat to make Costco's chicken soup. With the patience of Job or maybe even an Obama supporter, he tells her that it's all expertly timed for the normal traffic and that if they made more than they do, they'd wind up throwing out too many unsold chix and have to raise the price. And of course there's no guarantee that if there had been ten more chickens there, those two fellows wouldn't have purchased 33 chickens.
He is just explaining why Costco couldn't limit the number of chickens per person when I notice that standing next to me among the amused spectators, is a man with about fifteen Kirkland Seasoned Chickens in his cart. It's one of the two gents who'd bought out the available supply and it looks like he's returned to the scene of the crime to see if and when more might be available. I turn to him and say, "See what you caused?"
The man chuckles, then hears our unofficial spokeswoman start to ratchet it up to yelling and insulting the manager's sanity and parentage. Out of some combination of guilt and peacekeeping, the man with all the birds takes one from his cart, thrusts it at the lady and says, "Here…go home and feed your family." Then before other chicken-cravers can pounce on his stash, he turns and pushes his cart away. As he passes me, he says, "You want one, too?" I say yes and he hands me one and then gets the hell outta there. I look at all the unfulfilled folks who desperately wanted what I now have, see the expression on their faces and decide to also go and pay.
In the checkout line, I find myself standing behind the loud lady. She is still outraged in a manner that suggests to me this is how she is about everything in life. At the moment, she is outraged that she had to make a fuss to get what she should have had all along…but to me she looks kinda proud of herself.
I start to think, "I don't know how people can go through life being that rude, especially about something as mundane as a rotisserie chicken." But then I slap and correct myself: They do it because it works. For some people, getting your way is more important than what you get, and "winning" can justify any means. Even though her rudeness indirectly got me what I wanted, I wish it hadn't turned out like that.
Then again, as I'm writing this, I'm lunching on a damn fine sandwich made out of leftover chicken.
I subscribed today to Apple TV. And even if I don't watch Ted Lasso and Schmigadoon! and all those other shows that have been recommended to me, it's worth the five bucks a month for me just to see Jon Stewart's new series. A new one drops every other Thursday and here's an excerpt from the one that debuted yesterday. It's all about freedom and the odd ways people these days define it and what they will and won't do to defend it.
A rerun. This ran here on 10/26/14 and the only thing I have to add to it is that Henry Kloss died in January of 2002. If you'd like to know more about this man and his extraordinary career, here's a link to his New York Times obit.
Around 1982, I decided the time had come to purchase a projection TV — one of those big, wall-sized jobbies. The Advent was the best-selling brand but there were a few dozen makes and models on the market. Which one to buy, which one to buy?
Fortunately, I had by then developed my foolproof, never miss, infallible method of determining which item of audio or video equipment is the one to purchase. It involves careful and meticulous research, a comprehensive understanding of the technology and specifications of every product, a full and exhaustive working knowledge of all the manufacturers, their track records and — most crucial — staying close enough to the industry to be aware of what's in the pipeline and will soon be released.
My method involves all of this. But you'll notice that I did not say that I, personally, do any of it.
No. What I personally do is to call my pal Marc Wielage and just buy whatever he tells me to buy. He does all that stuff. Marc is a highly-respected video engineer and author of countless articles and reviews that cover not only consumer audio and/or video equipment but professional hardware, as well. I've known him for something like forty years and I've never known him to be wrong about anything except, obviously, the proper spelling of the name "Mark."
So I called him, told him what I had in mind and asked him what he said was the easiest question he'd fielded in months. The answer was: "The Kloss Novabeam."
I replied, "Kloss Novabeam? Not the Advent?"
"No," he moaned as if I'd asked him if I could get decent TV reception on a G.E. toaster oven. "The Novabeam is the best projection TV out today, by far." At that moment, I'm sure he was right.
He explained to me that the Kloss Novabeam was designed and manufactured by Henry Kloss, a legendary figure in the fields of, first, audio technology and, more recently, home video. Among many other credits, Mr. Kloss was one of the inventors of the acoustic suspension loudspeaker, the high selectivity FM radio, the first audio cassette unit to employ Dolby B noise reduction, and the first successful audio product to utilize transistors, the Model 11 portable phonograph.
Henry Kloss
In the area of home video, he had presided over the invention and marketing of the original Advent projection televisions. Then he left Advent — reportedly, not of his own free will — and began marketing the Kloss Novabeam in direct competition. It was, Marc assured me, superior in every way to the Advent.
"Okay," I said. "Any idea where I can buy a Kloss Novabeam?"
"Only one place you can get it in town," Marc responded. "Go to Federated Electronics. They have the exclusive in L.A. But one thing — if you go in there, they're gonna try to sell you an Advent. They have tons of them piled up in their warehouses but they sell the Novabeams as fast as they can get them in."
The next day, I walked into the Projection TV section of my nearest Federated store and, sure enough, the salesguy immediately tried to sell me an Advent. Marc knows of what he speaks.
"I'm interested in the Kloss Novabeam," I said, looking around. "I don't seem to see one on display here…"
"The Advent is a very fine piece of equipment," he proclaimed. "It's the best-selling make. In fact, I just had a customer stop in and tell me how happy he is with the Advent I sold him."
"I'd like to see the Kloss Novabeam, please."
"Just take a look at this Advent. I'll put a tape on and you'll see how vivid the colors are, how bright the picture —"
"Kloss Novabeam, please."
"Oh, and the Advent has some other great features…"
"Kloss Novabeam," I said.
"Another thing about the Advent. It's real easy to get parts for them and…"
It was only when I started for the exit that he sighed and led me into a back room. There, sure enough, a working Kloss Novabeam was on display.
"We keep it back here," he explained. "If we had it out there next to the Advent, we'd never sell another Advent."
"Fine," I said. "I'll take one."
— only I didn't take one. I had it delivered. Those suckers were big.
The Kloss Novabeam worked just as Marc had said it would, which is not to say I ever doubted his counsel. The unit was in two parts. One was a big, six-foot (diagonally-measured) screen which took up an entire wall of what, thereafter, I could only refer to as my TV Room. The image was projected onto it from three lenses — one red, one blue, one green — mounted in a console that stood in the center of the room, something like a small coffee table.
For months, my guests and I would sit by that small coffee table and enjoy TV shows and movies blown up with amazing brightness and clarity. The only drawback was that, outta force o' habit, I was always pointing the remote control at the TV screen to no apparent effect. One had to remember to point the remote at the small coffee table since that, not the screen, was the TV set.
Not my home. This is a 1982 ad for the Novabeam.
All was peachy until one day, about eleven months after my Novabeam had entered my life. Suddenly, its picture became dull, blurry and overly green. When I watched The CBS Evening News with Dan Rather on it, it looked as if Dan and the newsmakers of the day were submerged in a big vat of lime jello. And now that I think of it, if Dan had actually done things like that, he'd still be on the air.
Amazingly — for when appliances go kablooey, you usually discover the warranty expired ten minutes before — my Novabeam was still covered. I called Federated and they dispatched a gentleman who knew approximately as much about fixing Novabeams as I know about fixing a ruptured aorta. Matter of fact, in a head-to-head contest, I'd lay serious money that I could learn and perform quadruple-bypass surgery before this clown could locate the Novabeam "on" button.
"Gotta take it into shop," he finally announced. And it was not until he put the coffee table half (only) of my Novabeam on his truck and drove off that something dawned on me. I had not heard him say anything about bringing it back from the shop.
Indeed, he did not. No one did. Days passed and I saw nothing of my Novabeam console. And when I tried calling Federated, the following happened…
I would wait on hold for 5-10 minutes before someone came on the line.
I would explain my situation to the person and they would take down my invoice number and name and say, "Let me check on it and I'll be right back with you."
They would put me on hold.
And that, by God, was it. #4 was me surrendering after a long, long wait and hanging up. Once placed on hold, I would remain there indefinitely, listening to tinny phone-Muzak. Not once did they ever come back.
I put one such call on my speakerphone and sat here working, waiting for Godot or a human being to get back on the line. Neither did. The first time, I admitted defeat after 45 minutes. Subsequent calls, I surrendered after 10 or 15 minutes of sitting there, wondering why a firm that specialized in high-end audio and electronics had such crappy hold music.
With each attempt, I would increasingly impress upon the Federated employee how I was always being placed forever on hold when I called, never to return. Each time, the person on the other end would assure me that they would be right back with me. They would then put me on hold and immediately retire and move to Florida — or something of the sort.
Finally, I had to act. I phoned Wielage again and asked him what to do. He gave me the phone number in Massachusetts of a Vice-President of the Kloss Novabeam Company. I called and explained the situation to the man who said, "Let me put you on hold…"
I yelled into the phone, "DON'T PUT ME ON HOLD! I never come back from there!"
But he swore he'd return…and that turned out to be a fib. I never spoke to that man again. However, less than a minute after he'd sent me to Limbo, someone else came on the line and said, "Tell me the problem."
I asked, "To whom am I speaking, please?"
"Kloss," the man said. "Henry Kloss." Well, that was impressive.
Amazed I'd reached the Head Honcho so quickly, I blurted out the story. I got as far as the third or fourth time they left me twisting in the wind on hold when he interrupted: "How long did they make you wait?"
I told him. He sounded politely skeptical. "You sure you're not exaggerating?"
"Mr. Kloss," I said, "I will give you the number and my invoice data and you call them. Pretend you're me and see what they do to you. But you might want to send out for pizza first."
"I've got a better idea," he said. "You call and I'll listen in. Give me the phone number." I did and he switched us over to three-way calling and dialed the service number of Federated Electronics. It was like I was phoning them again but he was eavesdropping.
A cheery young lady only kept me on hold about two minutes before taking down all my data, saying "I'll be right back" and putting me back on hold, where she thought I belonged. As we listened to the bad music, I said to Mr. Kloss, "My phone has a little timer. It's now been two minutes and —"
He interrupted. "— and forty seconds. I'm running a stopwatch on it." We made idle chit-chat about how much, apart from this, I loved my Novabeam…and we waited. And waited. And waited some more.
How long they would have left us there, we'll never know. After five minutes, Henry Kloss said, "This is unacceptable" and hung up on them. I was still on the line, feeling vindicated in my claim. He then told me, "Okay, just listen" and made another three-way call. This time, it was his turn to talk, mine to snoop.
I shall now attempt to re-create that call. I do not recall the name of the executive involved and I'm cleaning up the language but otherwise, this is pretty much what was said. The first voice you hear with be that of the switchboard operator…
WOMAN #1: Federated Electronics.
KLOSS: Peter Johnson, please.
WOMAN #1: One moment…
(short pause, bad music)
WOMAN #2: Peter Johnson's office.
KLOSS: Let me speak to Peter. This is Henry Kloss.
WOMAN #2: Mr. Kloss, Mr. Johnson is in a conference at the moment. Can he get back to you?
KLOSS: No. Interrupt his conference. No, wait. First, I want you to take down some information. Mark, give her your name, invoice number, all that stuff…
(I quickly furnish the requested info, then I shut up.)
KLOSS: Okay. Now, interrupt his conference. Tell him Henry Kloss is on the line and I'm furious and he'd better take my call right this minute if he knows what's good for him.
WOMAN #2: (a bit shaky) I'll tell him.
(another short pause, more bad music)
JOHNSON: (dripping with friendliness) Henry! How the hell are you?
KLOSS: Furious, that's how the hell I am. Two months ago, a customer named Mark Evanier had his Novabeam picked up by you for servicing and he's never seen it, never heard a word from you. When he calls up to inquire, you put him on hold and ignore him.
JOHNSON: Oh no, we don't do that…
KLOSS: You just did it to me.
JOHNSON: Well, we've had a little shortage in the service division…
KLOSS: That's not my problem and it's not his problem. I want him to get his Novabeam back immediately. Your secretary has all the information.
JOHNSON: I will personally look into it and make sure he gets it back in the next few days.
KLOSS: No. Not the next few days. You've had it for two months. You don't get a few more days. I'm phoning Mr. Evanier in one hour. If he does not have a working Novabeam in his home, I'm canceling every damn contract I have with you. I will not have my products sold by a company that treats a customer like that. My name is on that product.
JOHNSON: Henry, be reasonable. We may not be able to find or fix his Novabeam in an hour…
KLOSS: Then give him a new one. At your expense. Now, you have one hour. Goodbye.
He clicked off that call, then directed his attention to me. "Talk to you in one hour," he said. And he hung up.
Fifty-four minutes later, I heard a squeal of tires outside. I opened my door and two men were sprinting up my front walkway with a brand-new Kloss Novabeam. They were just hooking it up and testing the picture when the phone rang again. The entire conversation went as follows — and this one, I am quoting verbatim:
ME: Hello?
KLOSS: This is Kloss. You got it?
ME: I got it. Thanks.
KLOSS: Call me personally if you have any trouble in the future.
And with that, he clicked off and I never had to call him again. His product served me well for about another ten years…and while that's not as long as I might have liked, it did manage to outlive the Federated Electronics chain. Gee, I wonder how a big company like that could possibly go out of business.
