andy graziano.com / text

Unexpectedly Puerto Rican

This is going to feel weird

WANTED / Good Guy with a Gun

Lock Down

Commuter Breakfast Ritual

A way-too-late Preview Review of
Aaron Sorkin's Adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird
with Blood and Guts to Boot.

Unexpectedly Puerto Rican

It is the first Sunday of spring and I am sitting alone in one of my favorites spots. My bench in Dunker Hook park looking out over a man made waterfall and the river it feeds. As the river twists and turns, it pulls dirt from the roots of the trees at its banks. For the past 20 years I have seen this river change the landscape that surrounds it. Cutting away soil, toppling trees and depositing that soil to its new location. Incremental change over time. I'm sitting here trying to feel normal. Unlike this landscape, I have been changed dramatically, instantaneously and now sit, trying to make sense of it all. Yesterday I found myself unexpectedly Puerto Rican. 

I have been Puerto Rican for five days now. Well actually, to be accurate, half Puerto Rican. Back story... The man that I thought was my father was not, biologically speaking. I had been half Italian for the first 56 years of my life but now, Puerto Rican. My mind has been racing from place to place and in time I know I will settle into my new normal. I am wondering how long this might take. I am the same person that I was but also totally different. 

The first thing that popped into my head when my mom told me that I was Puerto Rican was how hard I had sucked in Spanish through middle and high school and how much more embarrassing it would have been if my last name had been Santana. 
Ralph Santana is my bio dad's name.

Pretty good so far?

It was quite a thing for my mother to tell me this after having kept her secret for so long, and I am so glad that she did. But this is not her story. If she hasn't told you all the details of her 1960s romance yet, then chances are she won't.  Don't take it personally, it's just very personal, so please don't ask.  I do understand the need to spill some details so here are a few I don't think my mom will mind me sharing. 

First, my sister Lisa and I have the same father. That's a big one.
Next is a story about Ralph.  Sometime in the 1950s Ralph was confronted by someone that he knew through business. This man thought "poorly" of Puerto Ricans.  Ralph's solution was to pay for this man to travel to the island, meet the people, and see the place that he hated so blindly.  The man went on the trip and returned with a new perspective on himself.  He had learned for himself how wrong he had been.  Nice old memory I just got.  In the summer of 2019 Ralph Santana would be 95.
I have lived with this news for months now,  And I have come to realize that before my mom told me that I was Puerto Rican, for a tiny moment in time, I could have been part of any nationality. l could have been Swedish, or Palestinian.  I felt part of every group, every nationality all at once.  

Having my identity go fluid has brought up feelings of anger towards the bastards who weaponize  ethnicity as a tool to grab more power and profit.  It has brought up feelings of sadness for all the people who have been hated and those trapped in their hateful lives.

I have a bond to a group of people that until a few months ago were strangers. The few friends that I have told this story have been excited, shocked, and very funny. A few have cried and that was a gift that I never expected.  Thank you.
I am thinking, how much does our family's past inform who we are now?  Answers can get more interesting as your past changes.What have I lost in this ethnic swap?  I have never marched in the Columbus Day Parade, or belonged to any social or religious organization.  My last name helped me get hotel rooms in Italy but that is the extent of my Italian-ness.
Well I like to live in America and unless you are an Apache or Algonquin, you are an immigrant to this country.  If your self-image is based on your perceived place of honor in the gene pool, then you are swimming in shallow waters. You are already part of a larger, deeper group, a bigger family that you have chosen to ignore. You only need to look back a little further time and you can find them. 

I am going to have to tell my son that he is Puerto Rican. Quarter Rican. From European to Caribbean in a heartbeat.
I have been Puerto Rican for six months. I am reborn Juan Epstein, a Puerto Rican Jew from New York,  flying low, below the racist radar in full stealth mode. 

We are all from somewhere else, and ultimately, all from the same place.  Won't it be better when you accept that you are more than you once thought? Wouldn't it be better if it turned out that you were just a little Puerto Rican? 

This is going to feel weird

I can tell you all that you really do see the world differently once you think that you may lose your sight. 
That sounds like a bad fortune cookie, but it's true.

A cautionary tale.
Twelve weeks ago, I began to see white lightning bolt flashes in the peripheral vision of my right eye. This happened mostly when I quickly turned my head but not exclusively. On the way home from school one day I took a close look into my rear view mirror and saw more big hairy floaters than ever before. I can also see what seemed like layers of millions of tiny floaters moving within the different currents of my eye.
Time to go to the doctor, who luckily is only a few blocks from away.
After a few questions and drops for dilation, my doctor takes a look. He immediately  asks his assistant to make a phone call.
“How long have you been seeing flashes?”

He tells me that I have blood inside my eye and need to go to a retina specialist now. 
“Can you drive?”
In 95% of the population, somewhere around your fiftieth birthday, your vitreous humor  (the goo inside your eye)  separates from the retina without event. 95% of you never know it happened. But with the lucky 5% of us the goo sticks, pulls, and tears the retina.

An hour later Dr. Guttmann takes a look.
“This is going to feel weird. I need to use some pressure.”
Squeezing an eyeball makes it easier to see any tears.

Fun Fun Fun
He finds three tears and explains what will happen next.
If any fluid gets behind the retina, it will detach, requiring surgery to repair. With a laser, we can burn a ring around each tear, sealing it and stopping a detachment before it happens.
Great

My doctor needs to take a good long look to help aim his laser to its target. My eyes have always been sensitive to light and now I am looking directly into the sun. Ready, aim, fire. Suddenly everything goes green and I realize that the sun is just a cheap flashlight. Quick bursts of green flashes are burning the inside of my eye. Somehow I can see the patterns of my retina's blood vessels. We take a break.
“OK, that’s one done.”

After twelve treatments, and twelve tears I am nothing but grateful. The previous treatment for a retinal tear was to freeze the site of the tear, creating “a very large scar.” Before that, fifty years ago, there was nothing, just a dog.
I have a fifteen-dollar co-pay for each visit and every time that I get change back from my twenty I think of the people who don’t have my insurance and can’t afford this treatment. I don’t believe that keeping your vision should be predicated on someone’s ability to make a profit on the process. How about you?

This problem resolves in a few months when the goo in your eye is finished detaching from the retina. I think I have turned a corner. I am one of the lucky few, in so many ways.
A few days ago, I stepped out of the shower into a darkened room. I keep it dark to delay the knowledge of what has happened inside my eye overnight. I turn on the light in the foggy room to see the largest, scariest, hairy floater I have ever seen. My mind is flashing to what is in store for me when the floater starts moving up. When I realize that my floater is just a spider hanging an inch from my face, I realize what I need to write about next.

So, if we run into each other, and I say "it’s good to see you", you will know how much I mean it. 
Things are looking up… 
Only one more eye to go.

WANTED Good Guy with a Gun

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Earn extra money
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Contact D.Trump
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Washington, DC 20500
202-456-1414

Lock Down

I am sitting on the floor with twenty of my 2nd grade students. The classroom has a large area behind a wall of shelves that hold all my art supplies. We are sitting in the dark, all squeezed in. In a lock down drill, protocol says lock your door, turn off all lights, blinds down and move students to the least visible part of the room.

We are also told not to listen to verbal requests to open the door by anyone. This is because the person you are talking to may be under duress, meaning that they may have a gun to their head.

I am trying to keep them occupied, quietly, because this is not a drill. The longer we sit in the darkness the more sure of this I am.
In New Jersey, we have drills twice a month. Fire drills, shelter in place, evacuation, lock down and active shooter. It is Spring 2013 just a few months after Sandy Hook.

I pull out my phone to make sure it is set to silent and text Jen in the library.
A "What the hell is going on?"
J "The whole district is on lock down. This is real."

I begin a game of silent Simon Says.
Eyes, Nose, Ears, Eyes, Eyes, Chin, Chin, Chin... raising my finger to my lips. Shhhhh Kira.
Eyes, Nose, Ears, Eyes, Chin, Nose, Nose, Nose, Nose.
As we play, my brain is exploding.
This is the price we pay for our second amendment rights.
Who the hell needs a banana clip to hunt deer? A true hunter would do the job with one shot. You could take out an entire herd of deer with a gun like that. What do you call a group of deer, anyway?
Eyes, Nose, Ears, Eyes, Head, Head , Head … Shhhhh Quiet Gus.

What if one of these kids needs a bathroom? They are only seven years old and they have to deal with this. I hope my face is not giving away that I am scared. I will protect them. I’ll do what has to be done.
Eyes, Nose, Ears, Eyes. Head. Belly, Nose, Belly, Head, Belly, Head, Belly, Head.

Do you really need a gun to protect your family from a Mad Max existence? Do you fear a right or left wing government coop? Do you think that Anti-Christ Uncle Sam is going to take your guns, close your church, enslave you, and force you to be vaccinated and drink fluoridated water?

We will all later learn that the drill was caused by someone calling the police after seeing a man remove what later turned out to be a flashlight from his pocket.
Not knowing this my door stays locked. There is a problem with the key and the door won't open from the outside. I can hear people in the hall and someone trying to get in.
I break protocol and call my principal.
He picks up…”open the door Andy”
“You are not under duress are you, Neil?”
"Just open the door Andy!!!!."

Commuter Breakfast Ritual

Strike 1
My morning breakfast commuter ritual,  limited menu from the same deli for 2 years.  I'm trying to eat at home before school but that plan is not working out today.  The place is crowded, with one line to order, another to pay, and a growing crowd in-between waiting for their food.  I notice that there is a man in the back who is washing a raw pork loin in the sink.  It is just before 7:00am.  The man, seeing the lines of people, turns and drops the pork on a tray then puts his hands under the faucet.  I start paying much more attention to this when I  realize that he is now shaking off his hands and drying them on what looks like a bloody apron.  I'm next in line. He greets me and takes my order.  I see him cut my bagel an apply the cream cheese.  A large decaf with milk, and on my way to pay.  I am paying for a breakfast that is covered in raw pork juice. My brain is trying to recover but failing.  I get my change and exit,  dropping the bag in the garbage just outside the front door.

Strike 2
I'm in my seat at the counter of a diner waiting for my buttered corn muffin and large decaf.  I don't need to place my order anymore unless there is a change.  The waitress puts my coffee in a bag in front of me and walks to the kitchen to complete the order.  It is a typical diner, across the counter is a large coffee maker with a pot of decaf on a hot plate just waiting for me. But the decaf is not sloshing back and forth the way it does after you poured a cup.   The pot is half full and is as still as ice.  When my waitress comes back with my muffin I ask if the coffee in the bag is a decaf.  She is mad quickly.
" Are you saying that I don't take care of my customers?"  She is yelling at me now.  " What kind of person do you think I am?"
I know that I am never coming back to this place.   She freaks out when I point out the coffee pot at rest.  Is it Tuesday or Thursday?

Strike 3
I am walking down the street to the deli, opening my wallet to see if there is any cash.
I hate paying for small things with a card. Best to go green.  I have one twenty dollar bill. 
Raisin bagel with butter...large decaf. The bagel is being made and  I pour the coffee myself at a large counter with different flavored milks. My order is ready and I go to pay.
I see that I have been given change for a ten. 
The man behind the counter does not like what I have to say. We go back and forth for a while and he is mad as hell as he opens the register. 
He says "I'll give you a 20 but you have to leave the change and the food."  Being falsely accused, I do the only thing possible. I lose my mind. I explode.  First I throw the cash at him.  Some bills are still floating in air as I take a step back and begin to bounce the change off the counter into his chest.  When I'm out of money I heading for the door. My arm extends, pulling everything I can off the counter onto the floor as I escape. I toss a newspaper into the air and push open the front door hard as I can.  I hear glass crash.  I don't look back.  
School starts in two weeks. 
I will need to get some eggs and breakfast bars.

Preview Review

A way-too-late Preview Review of
Aaron Sorkin's Adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird
with Blood and Guts to Boot.

by Andy Graziano

Read the terms and conditions on your ticket.

Rebecca and I got to see a preview of Aaron Sorkin's adaptation of To Kill a Mockingbird and were blown away. We felt lucky to see Sorkin on the street as we entered the Shubert Theatre

more so later that evening standing on the street as a grateful crowd filtered out of the theater into the night.

It was a daunting task, to take Harper Lee's beloved story and breathe life into its new form. Mr. Sorkin infused this classic drama with his humor and perfect timing.
Previews are a work in progress. This is some of what we saw.

As the play opens, musicians enter and begin to play at corners of the stage. The guitar player sits on an amp, five rows in front of us so he is much louder than the other musicians. This may not have been a problem in the rest of the house.

From our seats, I could not see the faces of the actors that would testify throughout the show. I could only the defendant's back. Powerful testimony could only be heard. I don't think that the table for the prosecution obstructed as much of the audience view.

It was hard to hear the dialog when the actor crossed the stage away from our seats. I found myself wondering where Mr. Sorkin was sitting tonight.
Then -- in the middle of the first act -- the first of three crimes was committed.

These crimes have become common place. This is the new horrible normal. Tragically, we are becoming numb.
It happened when Atticus was alone with Dill. We were all learning that Dill had never met his father. Such a beautiful quiet moment. The first phone went off in seat F 11.
The sound of the Crystal Encounter ringtone filled the quiet of the theater. A collective cringe pulsated through the audience and cast.

It was Donna Jacobson "just calling to see what was up with my little sister."
"Tina! Tina! Tina! Tina! Tina! The kids are all home and bored. I'M BORED!!! BORED!!! BORED!!! call me....love you...bye....................."
After turning off her phone Tina checked her messages, email and Facebook before slipping it back into her bag. A wire silently wrapped around her neck from behind.

Brace your feet on the back of her seat, lean back and pull. Pull tight.

Tina's arms are quickly secured by the fine patrons sitting on either side of her. The struggle is over quickly with just a few kicks to the seats in row E.

Order restored to this holy temple of art and humanity.

Thank you seats G11, and to seats F9 and F13 for the assist.
Back to the show.

The beautiful sets were minimal and airy, allowing the audience to see through every room of the Finch home to the raw wall at the back of the theater.

I would love to have seen music play a larger role in the production. Musicians on stage, reacting to the dialog, playing during transitions. Add some percussion, perhaps a deep stand up bass.

The second phone rang as Atticus and Calpurnia discussed the origins of the term passive aggressive. This powerfully revealing moment in their relationship was interrupted by the sound of the Calypso Evening ringtone filling the theater.

The second call was a cold call.

"Hiiiiiiiiiiii!!! This is Josh, from State Farm, just calling to let you know that......"

Now's not a good time Josh.

Unfortunately, Tony Santana in seat MEZZ H22 forgot to turn his phone off and paid for that mistake with his life. The young woman seated to his left injected the lethal dose as she pretended to sneeze. He blessed her. A few moments later she caught Mr. Santana's eye as he quietly slipped away, still smiling. He was loving this show. It's hard to believe, but true, that Tony Santana had not been forced to read To Kill a Mockingbird in high school and unfortunately for him, he had only seen the first part of the movie.

Well, too late now.

During intermission, three women sitting to my left began their review.

Margot Tipper from West 74th St. said "Why aren't the children being played by children? I don't see why they did that."

Gail Tobin of Massapequa Park said, "This is different than what is in my head. I don't see it this way. I like Gregory Peck."

Then I hear, "They should have done it in black and white."
I reached for my hunting knife. Rebecca put her hand on my shoulder. "Not here."

We switch seats.

The second act begins and the sound crew had resolved all the issues from the first act. The show had us all hooked in. It pulled us along. Sitting in this theater I am thankful for every moment and I wish that I could be hearing this story for the first time.

And then the unthinkable. As Mr. Daniels delivered the final few lines after the killing of Tom Robinson, a phone went off just to Rebecca's left. She closes her eyes "Of course it's her."

Margot Tipper you piece of shit.

Rebecca's awl is out quickly and she plunges it hard between Margot 's frail ribs, puncturing her lung again and again. A hand from behind reached across to cover the mouth, stifling her gasps as her ribs pop and crack. Margot is in her 80's, so this won't take long. Her friends don't dare say a word. The theater quiets and the performance reached its culmination just as Margot reached hers.

I cannot possibly recommend this amazing show enough. Experiencing a performances like this is why we are alive. The theater allows us to share an experiences with a crowd of strangers and feel somehow united as we exit together. Thank you to this amazing cast and crew. Thank you to Mr. Sorkin for a night we will always remember.

Encounter with Kurt

One morning in the early 80's I was dropping off my portfolio at the New York Times.  While I was going through building security I turned to see Kurt Vonnegut yelling into a phone just to my right.  One of my greatest hero's was standing six inches in front of me. His work had been what turned me into a reader. I held the phone to my ear, pretending to be in deep conversation until he had finished his call.

This is what I overheard.

"Yes....yes...I'm down stairs..... now..... Vonnegut...yes.. Vonnegut......Kurt.....yes........yes....
her husband....yes....yes.....

His voice was getting louder as this went on and on.

I have it with me now..... Yes. ......Down stairs....
Yes....or I can come up....yes....yes...I have it with me now...ok...ok...OK

Slamming the phone down he turns and looks at me "I'm a damned errand boy now! I have become a god damn delivery boy"!

There are very few times in your life when you manage to say just what you want in the split second that you have to say it. This was one of my moments.
"Thank you so much for all your work...thank you so much ".