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Fond Memories of Celebrations Past Ah, Thanksgiving! For me, 72 years worth of Thanksgiving memories, and reasons for which to be thankful, cascade in a cacophony very difficult to pigeonhole. Recovering from left hip replacement surgery this past June gave me plenty of time to think (sometimes too much), during the initial six weeks rehabilitation period, about almost everything that’s occurred in my life so far. Since that life has been so eclectic, mostly blessed, but sometimes cursed (much of the latter my own fault because of incorrect choices made, both personal and professional), I’ll attempt to isolate at least two of the most significant memories for which to give thanks and which will hopefully springboard some of yours. All memories past, and those yet to come, are truly, in my opinion, all we really have to grasp when times are both good and bad. They either lift our spirits (which is preferable, of course), or cause us to pause and reflect on the negatives, not preferred at all, at least for this scribe. Heaven knows, we all experience each end of the spectrum, many times, throughout this journey. Some Thanksgivings for me are indelibly etched. Several of them, in succession, involved a huge Italian family in Pittsburgh (my home town) whose last name was Armocida. They were friends of my dear late grandfather, who befriended everyone. That’s why he died a pauper, but a beloved one, and I miss him daily. For at least nine Thanksgivings, from the time I was four, the standing invitation was to have my mother, my grandfather and me join them for a feast that defied description. The Bacchanal Room at Caesar’s Palace couldn’t have matched it, nor the numbers of people, which totaled at least 50 every “Turkey Day.” Talk about blessed! (The down side: My father didn’t attend because he left to get a newspaper when I was 16 months old, and never returned. I was an only child.) Bottom line regarding the Armocida family’s Thanksgiving feasts: They were truly unique. Lavish but “earthy,” and also filled with music, with my mother playing the piano (she was great), Anna Maria Armocida playing the cello, and my grandfather playing the violin. (He had been Pittsburgh Symphony conductor Fritz Reiner’s first violinist for three years, beginning in that position just barely past his 20th birthday). Another Thanksgiving memory for me is not as rich in tradition, but nonetheless, in my opinion, worth noting, to wit: When I was program director at Seattle-Tacoma’s KTVW-TV, Channel 13, in 1965 and 1966, Thanksgiving of ’65 was to be spent with one of the station’s on-air talents named Bob Gill. Bob (now deceased) was the first African-American ski instructor in the U.S. and was a Seattle high school chum of Quincy Jones, just prior to the launch of Quincy’s illustrious career. Quincy and I still keep in touch, with many Seattle memories flowing frequently. Bob knew each of us at the station had been given a 14-pound turkey, and told me to meet him outside a popular bar near Seattle’s Pike Street Market at 11 o’clock the night before Thanksgiving. The remainder of the plan was I would then stay at Bob’s house that night with other friends, and we’d have a great time the next day. Unfortunately, Bob never showed up that rainy and gloomy evening, and I stood outside the bar, with the still frozen turkey under my arm in a bag, for an hour. There were no cell phones in those days, thus no way to learn why he didn’t show up. Across the street from the bar was another bar, but a sleazy one. I decided to just walk in and give the turkey to the bartender if she didn’t already have one. She told me she didn’t, so all I said was “Happy Thanksgiving,” gave her the turkey and walked out into the mist. The next day, Bob called me to apologize, only saying he had met some girls and just forgot I was to meet him. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy, but I was happy the bartender in the sleazy bar across the street might have had a better Thanksgiving because Bob didn’t show up. I know I did. Moral of the story, in my opinion, and corny as can be: It is much more satisfying to give than receive, when you’re able to do so. Make someone happy. (Good name for a song!) Happy holidays to you and yours. |
As Barry “Zees” It!