R.I.P. Prince Angus of Derby

WHAT DID WE DO TO DESERVE DOGS? 

Angus

BY A. GERCKENS

I received an Amazon Echo Dot this past Christmas. One of the first exchanges I had with Alexa was as follows:

Alexa. What does the name Angus mean?

Her response: “In Celtic usage, Angus means exceptionally strong. In Gaelic usage, Angus means superior strength. In Ireland, Angus means unique strength. In Scotland, Angus means unnaturally strong.”

My dog, Angus, had to be euthanized. It was time. Angus was (I’m still struggling trying to get used to talking about him in the past tense) so much more than our pet. He became a treasured member of our family. There simply aren’t many photographs of my children growing up that don’t include him.

Angus was a purebred Boxer. When my wife and I decided to welcome a dog into our household, we had narrowed the breeds down to three.

I originally liked the idea of getting a Bulldog. To me, the Bulldog selling point from everything I read was that a Bulldog would be perfectly happy to sit down and watch tv with his master and wouldn’t require a lot of exercise.

We toyed with the idea of getting a Brittany Spaniel because I thought it would be funny to have a daughter named Brittany and a dog breed with the same name.

We eliminated the Brittany Spaniel when we realized the Brittany had a thick coat of hair. One of my rules was to consider...nothing but short-haired dogs.

The Boxer breed intrigued me. It had the short hair and by all accounts was a loyal and intelligent breed. Although the Boxer would require a little more exercise (in retrospect a lot more exercise than the Bulldog), my wife, Patsy, wanted to get out more and thought a nightly walk of the dog would be a great source of motivation.

Within days of deciding on the three breeds, someone at work mentioned he knew of a new litter of Boxer pups. The people were his friends and they were looking to find homes for the puppies.

I realized it was a lot of work to take care of a puppy so I was still not convinced that I wanted to bring a dog into our house. After all, my wife and I were just finding it a bit easier now that our twin daughters were no longer toddlers. I can honestly say that for the first four or five years of their lives, it seemed like we were never able to catch our breath. After much pleading, I decided to take a look at the puppies.

I brought a pal of mine whose sole task was to be surly and help discourage me from making any rash decisions.

We drove to the address given and were greeted by a very strong and handsome looking Boxer. His ears and tail were clipped and he looked like one bad-ass dog. He started barking and I thought maybe a Boxer would not be the right fit.

Soon, the couple brought out a litter of eight puppies. I have to admit they were all very cute, but I knew the cuteness factor is short-lived. Eventually, these cute little pups grow into something like...well, I glanced over my shoulder and took another peek at dad.

I spotted the smallest puppy and picked him up. Although he was cute, the other pups seemed to be walking all over him. The other pups pushed him out of the way to play with us and when treats came, he was the last to get fed because the other pups kept knocking him down. I learned later that he was the runt of the litter.

There was another pup that intrigued me. He wouldn’t leave me alone. He yelped, he jumped on me, he ate his treat and tried to steal the treats of the others. He was the color of a fawn and had two distinct features. He had a spot of white fur shaped like a diamond on his back and he had a white forepaw. I learned later that this puppy was the alpha male of the litter.

The girls with their new pup

Despite my best efforts to hold out, I fell in love with this little Alpha pup. My surly friend who was supposed to keep me focused, kept pointing to the little diamond spot and said how we had to have this dog. This would be the first in a long line of betrayals associated with getting a dog. Other betrayals included feeding him, walking him and cleaning up after him.

I asked the breeder what the little guy’s name was and she replied, “we’ve been calling him Prince.”

I returned home and told my wife and daughters that I found the cutest little puppy. My wife smiled realizing the puppy had won me over.

We loaded into my truck and drove back to the house with the puppies. My daughters were thrilled to have eight bundles of fur climbing over them, but in the end, we picked the one tentatively called Prince.

One reason I wanted a male puppy was to even out the male to female ratio in the house. As the lone male I was consistently getting outvoted by a three to one margin by my wife and twin daughters. It only took a few weeks before my newfound brother-in-arms would betray me and also side with the female members of our house.

When we brought the puppy home we needed to name him. I thought of all the cool boxing names that I could give our Boxer. Rocky, Tyson, Cassius, Frazier, Norton, and Foreman all came to mind. I realized I was overloaded with heavyweight names, so I looked to the lightweights and thought I had the perfect name…”Boom Boom.”

Establishing dominance at an early age

Yes, I was going to name him Boom Boom after Ray “Boom Boom” Mancini. Why not? Mancini was a boxer, I liked the Warren Zevon song about him, and I thought Boom Boom rolled off the tongue as in, “Come here, Boom Boom.”

As you can imagine, my wife and kids hated the name so I would need to go in a different direction.

When my wife was pregnant with my daughters, we had lots of discussions about names. I suggested if we had twin boys they would be named Angus and Hannibal.

I thought they were the perfect names. Angus recognized my Scottish heritage, and was a nod to both a character from the movie The Highlander, and the guitar player from AC/DC.

Hannibal was an obvious reference to the character from the movie, “The Silence of the Lambs.” Can you imagine, the Gerckens twins, Angus and Hannibal starring on the gridiron and being the big men on campus? I could.

Potential dog names

When we learned our twins were going to be girls, I suggested Arthuretta (after me, of course) and Sweet Baby. I found humor in having a child named Sweet Baby Gerckens.

My wife and family did not find the humor in my name selections and in retrospect, Ashley and Brittany are the perfect names for my daughters. However, I was allowed to name the dog.

I still liked the name Angus and that’s what we ultimately named him. Not many people outside of our immediate family realize that we incorporated his given name “Prince” for formal occasions. His full name was Prince Angus of Derby.

I have so many memories of Angus. I feared he would never learn to walk because my girls would carry him everywhere.

One of the great things about Angus was that he was raised almost exclusively around children and especially little girls. He went to the youth soccer games and the cheerleading practices. We would try to sit quietly with him but ultimately the kids playing or cheering had trouble focusing when Angus was around.

Angus loved food, especially cheese. He could hear a cheese wrapper from a block away. Whenever we wanted him by our side, we would crinkle a cheese wrapper and he’ would come running.

When he was brought home he was taught he couldn’t eat until I released him. I would place cheese or bacon in his bowl, and he would just sit there drooling until I clapped my hands and released him. At least that part of his training went well.

When he was very young, we took him to dog obedience training. This was an absolute waste of money. Angus loved other dogs and was always stepping out of line to play with the others in his class. He kind of reminded me of me when I was in school. He was bright, but was more interested in having fun, yet somehow he managed to pass the class.

Some puppy time with the girls

As Angus grew, he became incredibly powerful. In fact, he became so strong that we had to purchase a Gentle Leader collar for him so Patsy and the girls could control him better. This was highlighted one night when I drove down the driveway. Patsy had him on his regular leash.

Can anyone guess what happens when the man (as in man’s best friend) comes home from work and gets his pal overly excited? I can. Let me describe what happened. I rolled down the window as I passed Patsy and Angus and yelled, “Where’s my good boy”, as I drove down the driveway.

Angus looked up, saw it was me, and started in a full sprint to greet me at the bottom of the driveway. There was just one small problem...Patsy didn’t have time to let go of the leash and she was pulled down unintentionally as Angus came to greet me. Lesson learned. It would be the Gentle Leader for him when he was walked by the rest of the household.

It has been said there are two types of dogs in the world with regards to skunks. Those who get sprayed once and learn their lesson, and those who don’t. Angus was squarely in the don’t category. He must have been sprayed six or seven times in his life and if given the chance, I’m sure he would do it again. He didn’t seem to care for skunks.

He wasn’t crazy about deer either. Since we live next door to a state park, our yard was constantly being used as a trail by the many deer who frequent the area. If he was in the house he would bark and throw himself at the picture window (which in our house is dog height).

When we walked the trails of Osbornedale, we would keep him off leash unless other people were around. Many times, we would stumble on a herd of deer and off he’d go. He’d never catch them but boy would he try. He’d then come back panting and belly flop in the streams and mud that dot the park.

I got my eye on you

Another thing Angus couldn’t figure out was cats. Cats were an enigma to him. He would see them occasionally walking up our driveway or crossing our paths on walks and he would pull or bark at them.We travelled to Arizona and California for two weeks and had a buddy watch him. My buddy said Angus was a pleasure to watch but spent the two weeks staring down and barking at his two cats. When I say barking, it was all day, every day. The cats ignored him as cats so often do, but Angus wanted everyone to know that he was on to these cats and had the situation under control.

Not on my watch

Despite being outwardly fearsome looking, he was the most gentle creature. Others would often go to the other side of the street when they saw us walking, but little did they know that Angus was more likely to lick you to death with that huge tongue of his than show any aggression.

I have no doubt, however, that Angus would protect my family. As my daughters were getting older and we began to go out for a couple of hours, it was reassuring to know that Angus was in the house.

Yes, Angus was a good boy who put up with a lot. He was dressed up, poked, prodded, and awakened by countless teenage girls during slumber parties and always took it with a grain of salt.

You think you're so smart

Our research indicated the life expectancy of Boxers can be anywhere from eight to twelve years. We knew that his twelfth birthday would be coming soon but his regular visits to the vet indicated he was in fairly good health.

He had two health issues that seemed to be getting worse. He had developed a gum disease that apparently affects Boxers. His gums had become red and swollen. The fix would have been to give him anesthesia and let a vet oral surgeon cut away the swollen gums. We declined because he was getting old and weren’t crazy about having him knocked out for the procedure.

So he lived with the swollen gums, since they didn't interfere with his eating.

The other issue was he was starting to drag one of his hind legs. We stopped taking him for long walks because we noticed after the long walks he would limp for a day or two.

An x-ray indicated he was developing arthritis in his hind legs and spine.

When my daughters returned from college for their Christmas break, he was ecstatic. He licked them and they made a big fuss over him. While they were home, he would casually climb onto the couch and sit on them. I was in disbelief because this was forbidden. I would yell at him but he’d just look at me as if to say, “What are you going to do, I’m old.”

Shocking everyone by
sitting on the couch

Upon reflection, I have this beautiful image of my old dog sitting on the couch with my wife and daughters as they watched television on a cold December night with the fire glowing.

On Christmas, he was the same old boy. We always gave him a squeaky toy and we filmed him as he took his gift from under the tree and tore the wrapping paper to shreds. Once he succeeded he would pounce at the toy causing it to squeak. This was always a highlight of our Christmases.

On the Friday night before Martin Luther King Day, we gathered the family together to have pizza and say goodbye to our girls since we would be taking them back to college. Angus was in the other room sleeping as we laughed and shared stories.

When it came time for pizza, I called for Angus to have some pizza crust. Some people argue that the crust of a pizza is the best part. I’m not one of those people. I had been giving Angus my pizza crust for over ten years. He expected it and I never failed to disappoint him.

I was sitting at a wooden bar stool and called, “Come here Angus. Do you want some crust?”

Feeling Stronger every day

He woke from the other room and staggered his way into the kitchen. He walked by me. “Hey what are you doing? Over here,” I said holding the crust in front of me. He turned towards me.

He looked dopey as if he were just awakened from a sound sleep. I held the crust and he opened his mouth and bit onto a portion of the wooden stool I was sitting on. “What are you doing dummy, over here,” I said as I moved the crust closer. Again he bit onto the wooden stool.

“Oh my God, I don’t think he could see,” I whispered to myself for fear of alarming anyone. I touched his nose with the crust and he gobbled it right up.

By now everyone had stopped their conversations and were looking at Angus.

Needless to say, the party became a downer and there were lots of tears. We decided to take Angus to the animal ER facility.

The vet confirmed that Angus was blind. In my wildest dreams I couldn’t believe how the dog who had been playing with the girls all day and who was going up and down stairs with me the night before had lost his sight.

Love snow, hate gloves

On Sunday, I had to take Brittany back to Syracuse. I decided to go alone so Patsy would be with our newly blind dog. She called her brother, Tom to help her with Angus while I was away. I drove to Syracuse in just under four hours, said goodbye to Brittany and returned just in time to hear the Minneapolis Miracle on our vans’ staticky AM radio somewhere near Otis, Massachusetts.

We made an appointment with a veterinary ophthalmologist for the following Thursday. During that four day period we were amazed at how Angus had taken it all in stride. He was negotiating his way around the house. He would go from our bedroom to the living room and to his food and water by walking gingerly and using a heightened sense of touch.

If I opened the refrigerator for a snack he would get up from wherever he was and find his way to me for a treat. A friend gave us some ramps so Angus could get out of the house and walk down the two steps to get off our deck into the yard to relieve himself.

Soon he didn’t like the ramps and would carefully step down and then step back up the steps on the deck. He was dealing with his blindness in a way that amazed us all. By the time we went for his eye appointment the vet commented on how well he was doing.

Time for One Tree Hill

His eye tests confirmed that he was blind and there was no chance for him to regain his eyesight. Further tests showed that the sudden blindness was most likely the result of something neurological (perhaps a brain tumor, stroke, or some other ugly disease). This would only be confirmed by an MRI. The vet also concluded that his weakening hind legs were the result of the canine version of ALS. There was no cure and eventually he would lose the use of his hind legs, front legs, and then he'd be paralyzed. This was all happening so quickly.

We decided to have a consultation with a veterinary neurologist and she confirmed that he had some serious health issues that only an MRI would be able to confirm the source of the problems. She said at his age, the MRI would really only provide answers to us and wouldn’t do too much for Angus.

She told us to expect seizures and painted a dim future for my little guy. Still he persevered. Thank goodness my brother-in-law, Tom stayed over and took care of Angus while Patsy and I were at work.

Thinks he's a lap dog

On the Saturday before the Super Bowl, some close friends came by and they brought one of his canine pals who Angus always tormented. Angus had to have all of the attention. If we pet another dog, he would use his nose to push the other dog out of the way. If we wanted to give a treat to the other dog, Angus would take the treat forcing us to slip the treat to the other dog when he wasn’t looking.

This time, he seemed a little excited and tried to smell his lady friend, but soon lost interest and lay on his pillow.

During the Super Bowl, he was barking when he needed attention. It seemed like he wanted to be reassured that we were there...we were.

On the Monday after the Super Bowl, he couldn’t get up. This resulted in us carrying him outside a dozen or so times for him to relieve himself. He was still eating and drinking.

On Tuesday, I made the difficult call to my children and told them that it seemed like Angus wouldn’t be with us much longer and that I was going to need to make a tough decision. Everyone wept and the girls wanted to come home and be here to say goodbye. I called the vet and made an appointment for Saturday morning.

Late Tuesday night, Angus started to have seizures. At midnight he was loaded into our van and taken to the Animal ER. He was stabilized and I was weighing my options. I called Patsy and told her it was time to do what needed to be done. “But what about the girls, they wanted to say goodbye,” she asked. “The girls will get over it,” I replied.

Ultimately, we decided to let him stay in the ER for the night and asked for them to keep him comfortable. Hopefully, he would make it through the night and we would see how quickly we could get the girls home.

I can't smile for the camera, what if a deer sneaks up on us?

The next day, my wife and I picked up Ashley from school and we went to visit him. He had made it through the night and was going to come home with us. We carried him out in a blanket and loaded him into the car. He was home.

I called Brittany and told her I didn’t know if he was going to be able to hang in there until Saturday. By now it was snowing in Connecticut and there was a blizzard going on in Syracuse. We thought of putting Brittany on a plane or a train, but realizing there would be delays, I hopped in the van with my brother-in-law and drove to Syracuse. Once there, we picked her up and headed back to Connecticut. We arrived home just after midnight.

The girls were able to spend Thursday with Angus. During the day they took turns lifting him outside but he would pee all over himself and whoever was lifting him. He was breathing harder and was only eating or drinking if his food or his water bowl were held in front of his face. I brought him inside after another unsuccessful peeing adventure and placed him in the tub. We ran some warm water over him and the girls took turns bathing and shampooing him. I placed him in his doggie bed which was surrounded by the girls' and Patsy’s sleeping bags.

The final bath given by those he loved

Friday morning, I called the veterinarian and asked if we could move his appointment up. He wasn't eating or drinking now, and we didn't know if he would make it one more day. It was time to say our goodbyes.

I left work and picked up my boy for the final time. We carried him outside and placed him gently into my truck. The girls joined me for the ride while Tom whispered something private into his ears.

We carried him through a back door of the veterinarian’s office and waited for Patsy to arrive. When she arrived, the process of what we were about to witness was explained and we had a few family moments with him. A catch phrase I will always remember was my daughters whispering in his ears that he was the best doggie ever. We kissed him and hugged him and watched him as the aides prepared him.

The assistants left and while we waited for the vet to come in I pointed to what seemed to be a single tear rolling out of his eye. I don’t know if dogs shed tears or not (my gut tells me they do not) but I pointed it out to my wife and daughters. In all likelihood it was simply some type of discharge running out of his eye, but we know what it looked like to us.

The vet came in and as she was about to set the needle into his forepaw, he made a quick movement as if to give one last fight against what we all knew was coming. Each of us grabbed a body part and held him and whispered our love for him as the vet plunged the contents of the syringe into his vein.

Within five seconds, the great Prince Angus of Derby lay motionless.

It’s been a few days since we said goodbye to our dear family member. Life goes on but I have to admit there’s an emptiness in our house. The girls are back at college. We drove Ashley back to Sacred Heart and continued up to Syracuse with Brittany. When we arrived back home, there was no head popping up at the picture window as we drove down the driveway There was no full body wag to greet us when we climbed up the stairs.

We looked around and saw his empty bed and food and water bowls. When I snuck up to take a little late night snack before bed, there wasn’t that familiar droopy face with the saddest eyes you could imagine looking back at me as if to say, “hey, what about me, big guy? Got any pepperoni for me? I’m starving over here.”

The first morning without Angus was the hardest. It didn’t matter how tired he was, he would get up and he would watch me intently as I made breakfast. There were many mornings when I would tell Patsy that Angus likes his eggs over hard with the yolk broken.

Time has a way of healing all things. Unfortunately, with the passage of time, memories fade. I wanted to write down some details before they were gone forever. As I sit here and try to come up with something clever to end this narrative, the only phrase that plays over and over again in my mind remains, “Angus, you were the best doggie ever.”

Our family

It's a Wonderful Life...the Untold Story

This holiday season, I reflect on the time my Great-Uncle Henry (Hank) Gerckens read for the part of George Bailey opposite Donna Reed. He lost the part by refusing to wear a jersey with the number three on it.

Hank claimed the number three represented the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost and therefore he considered it to be a sacred number. His strict upbringing as a devout Lutheran while being raised in Germany made it uneasy for him to wear the number three, so despite wanting to break into Hollywood, he decided to stand his ground over this number issue.

Luckily for Hank, a quick-thinking member of the props department (a woman named Marguerite Michnick) realized there was a box of unused jerseys with the number forty-seven on them.
These jerseys were to be given to the crew to commemorate the upcoming New Year. The jerseys
were ordered and received but the idea was scrapped when the movie studio decided to release the
film in December of 1946 rather than January of 1947.

Hank thanked Marguerite, Capra agreed to the slight wardrobe change, and the jersey was donned for the screen test.

Donna Reed and James Stewart in a photo still from the movie
It's a Wonderful Life

To the right is a still from this timeless classic featuring Donna Reed and James Stewart.

The photo below is the only known still image from Henry Gerckens's screen test with Donna Reed. This photo has been passed from Gerckens to Gerckens for seventy years.

As it turns out, Capra claimed he wanted a taller leading man, but our family has always felt it was what we refer to as “the jersey incident” that cost Hank the role of a lifetime.

Donna Reed and Hank Gerckens in a photo still from a screen
test for the movie It's a Wonderful Life

After his brief stint in Hollywood, Hank returned to New York and married
Marquerite (the props woman). He did land a small part on Broadway in the musical South Pacific and another minor role in Mel Brook's play, All-American.

Once Hank realized there would be no acting career, he and Marguerite opened and operated a successful bakery until their deaths.

The bakery which is now long gone was located in Manhattan at 47 West 47th Street.

Coincidence...maybe, but now you know the untold story.

Merry Christmas everyone and Uncle Hank, you'd be surprised at how much of you has been passed down through the generations.

Just One More Time

Earlier in the week, one of my daughters represented her high school in track for a final time at the State Class MM Championships. It's been an incredible journey watching both of my girls and their teammates run these past four years. I enjoyed watching them and somehow managed to make nearly every single meet. This was no easy feat considering track meets often began during the middle of the work day.

The advice I gave my daughter as she prepared to step onto the track was for her to run as fast as she could and to leave everything she had on the track.

Now, this is certainly not new advice. In fact, it's a cliche. To tell the truth, the advice is not even inspiring. Who hasn't given some variation of that advice to someone preparing to take the field? I continued, "You will never represent your high school competitively again. I don't care if you come in last place, I've been so proud of you and your sister these past four years that it doesn't matter to me."

Again, there's nothing really awe inspiring about the preceding sentence. What father isn't proud of his sons or daughters.

Sensing that I really hadn't motivated and was actually giving a ho-hum speech, I was reminded of my last truly inspiring speech.

My St. Mary-St. Michael School basketball team had made it to the finals of the Greater New Haven Parochial Athletic League Championship game. We were playing a powerhouse team that we had never beaten, but had always come close.

"Girls, I know you could beat this team. The last time we only lost by five and had a lead going into the fourth quarter." At this juncture of my story, I need to back up and describe the final minute of that game.

Somehow in all the excitement, I had lost track of the score. We were fouling and putting the other team on the line with the hopes of climbing back into the game during the waning moments.

With three seconds left, one of my players hit an unlikely three-point shot and I ran out along the sideline like a lunatic..."Time out, time out, time out," I screamed at the referee as I made the time out signal to him.

The girls came to the sideline and I plotted my strategy. "Girls, as soon as they inbound the ball, you need to foul. You can't let any time go off the clock. If you get a chance to steal the inbound pass you need to kick it out for a game tying three point play. This is our only chance to send it to overtime."

It was at that moment when one of the players said, "Coach, but we're down by five."

I thought for a moment and without missing a beat said, "Well, I got nothing. It's been a great year."

Once again, I was foiled by math.

Anyways, back to my speech.

"We had them the last game and let it slip away. Girls, I'm not going to talk about basketball. You all have the skills to play and win this game. I want you to look at the crowd that has been to all our games. They are your moms and dads. Your uncles and aunts. You have their blood flowing through you and do you know what is common about all of you? You are from the Valley. The Valley of Champions. Everyone knows we turn out the best of everything. We have the best football, basketball, and baseball players. We have the best cheerleaders. We make the best leaders and we are tremendous in all that we do. It is that Valley blood that flows through you that will lead us to victory tonight."

I was on a roll. I could see the intensity in the girl's eyes. Tears were starting to flow down the cheeks and I knew I had them fired up.

The game started and within three minutes we were down 18-2 and it was game over.  So much for motivational speeches.

Back to the present.

I told my daughter that I don't think there's an ex-high school athlete anywhere who wouldn't like to have one more moment on the field, court, diamond, mat, pool, or whatever the sport may have been.

She looked at me and I realized that I had her attention.

I told her that I look back at my life and dream of getting the opportunity to play just one more time.

I realize some of you will think all ex-high school athletes live in the past and dream of "Glory Days." Agreed. Go into any local watering hole on a Friday night or especially around Thanksgiving weekend and you will hear tales of athletic prowess told with such clarity that you would swear the game just ended instead of the thirty, forty, or fifty years that had passed.

However, as I explained to my daughter, I dream of getting the opportunity to play just one more time because I know my dad would be there standing on the sidelines like he did so many times while I was growing up. I know my brother would either be standing right next to him or more likely annoying somebody much bigger than he and then running away when the threat of things getting physical would become very real.

I think of playing that last game with Mark Tucci and Walt Lungarini on the field with me and some of my other departed classmates who would surely be in the crowd.

On the sideline would be coaches DeFilippo, Zuba, and Biondi. Holding the first-down markers would be Joe Daddio and Danny Dege yelling, "C'mon Derby, Baby, Boy."

My daughter responded by saying, "Wow dad, that's really deep."

I smiled as we finished our talk and I prepared to drive her to the field. I watched her run that final lap knowing that one day she'd have her own tales to tell and perhaps in the not-so-distant future she might find herself thinking about getting the opportunity to play just one more time.

A Few Memorable Thanksgivings.

As I'm about to celebrate my 54th Thanksgiving, I thought I'd share several Thanksgiving memories.

Thanksgiving Day 1972.  I'm pretty sure I have the year correct.  Derby played Shelton at Lafayette School.  I remember that it was very cold and if I recall correctly, there was freezing rain falling.  Back in those days, the Derby-Shelton game attracted thousands of people and bleacher seats (especially at Lafayette) were at a premium.  This game stands out because it was the first time I remember my dad getting angry with someone.  He got angry with my brothers and sister plenty of times, but he was generally a very nice person.  I left my seat to go buy a cup of hot chocolate.  As I was returning, a man tried to take my bleacher seat.  My dad confronted him and said, "this seat is saved."  The guy replied, "they don't reserve seats here."  My dad looked the guy in the eye and said, "they do now."  I was proud as I saw the guy walk away sheepishly while my dad stood his ground and welcomed me to stand beside him.  I'm sure Derby won...they always did back then and later the family would have all been fighting over the white meat at the table.

Thanksgiving Day 1979.  I was getting ready to play my final football game for Derby High School.  I had a decent senior year.  In my first varsity start against Branford, I caught 8 passes for a new single game receiving record.  I'm amused to think of how much the game has changed since that time.  If you think of it, Derby football had been around since the early 1900's and through 70 plus years, the receiving record was 7 catches in a game.

Later in the season against Amity, I tied my own single game record of 8 catches.  As we entered the Shelton game, I needed 4 catches to break the all-time single season receiving record held by the great Dave Berey.

We entered the game with a 4-5 record and it looked like we were going to be the first DHS team coached by Lou DeFilippo to have a losing record.  A week earlier we entered the Cheshire game with a 3-5 record.  We had lost to Seymour that year by a score of 64-16 and Cheshire had beaten Seymour.

We ended up beating down Cheshire and headed into the Shelton game with a chance to avoid a losing season.

In a previous blog, I mentioned how Walt Lungarini scored the winning touchdown against Shelton by stepping in front of a pass that was intended for me.  I remember walking from the end zone to the 50-yard line with a double claw (for those of you not familiar with the claw, it was a gesture we used my senior year...we'll leave it at that) that I extended to both sides of the field.  Coach DeFilippo hated "hot dogs" and those who drew attention to themselves rather than the team, but this was the first and last time I ever was caught up in a game moment.

Afterwards, Coach presented me the game ball and I gave a little speech to the underclassmen about never quitting.  Note:  I only caught two passes that day, so the season reception record stood.

Looking back, this was the last Thanksgiving my family was together.  The next year, I was in the Air Force and the year after that, my brother was in the Marine Corps.  A memory of this day is when my father called us to the dinner table.  The table was set with the same familiar green set of china that had been on our table for as long as I can remember.

Dad called at least three times before we all gradually entered the room to sit down for dinner.  We were all seated when my youngest brother, Kevin entered last and sat down in his seat with no shirt and wearing a pair of underwear.  My father said, "what the hell do you think you're doing?"  Kevin answered cluelessly, "what?"  I distinctly remember my father smacking him across the ass and saying, "don't you ever come to my dinner table in your underwear."  Of course, the rest of us laughed as Kevin went scampering off to his room.

After dinner I met with many of my classmates to celebrate our victory.

Thanksgiving Day 1980.  I celebrated the day by attending mass in the chapel of Keesler Air Force Base in Biloxi, Mississippi.  I remember being away from my family and a sense of loneliness.

Thanksgiving Day 1981.  The morning began by heading to Storks Tavern to partake in their 25-cent draft beers.  At some point, I painted my face with war paint and headed to the Derby-Shelton game.

I remember waking up that evening and realizing it was still Thanksgiving.  It was soon apparent that I was alone in the house and that I had missed the Thanksgiving meal (undoubtedly I had too much fun in the morning).

This particular Thanksgiving is memorable not only for the pre-game festivities, but also for a Vermont trip.  A bunch of my former classmates were renting a cabin in Vermont and had invited me.  When I awoke from my stupor, I washed my face, looked at the clock and realized I had 15-minutes to get my act together in order to meet my pals.

I gathered my wits about me and grabbed a tooth brush, a jacket and left for Vermont for a 3-day party.  There would be hell to pay for missing the meal and for running off to Vermont without telling anyone, but at 19-years-old, I figured I would deal with the consequences when I returned.

Thanksgiving Day 1982.  I was living in California and celebrated with my grandparents and uncle.

Thanksgiving Day 1984.  I had returned to Connecticut.  My dad was in the best shape of his life.  He was 52 and running 5-miles each day, however, he had developed a cough that had lingered for about two weeks.  He was popping cough drops every few minutes, but nothing seemed to help.

I remember coming to dinner that night and as I looked at him, I was overcome with a sense of dread.  I kept it to myself, but as he coughed during the meal, I felt something was not right.  A week or so later, he went for an x-ray and was told he had terminal lung cancer.  He was diagnosed in December and fought until April when he passed.

Thanksgiving Day 1988.  My mom and I decided to hop on a plane and surprise our California relatives.  We arose early, caught a flight to LA, rented a car, and were at my uncle's dinner table for the Thanksgiving meal.  We hadn't told a soul and it was a great day and weekend.

Thanksgiving Day 1994.  This was the day I proposed to Patsy.  I had purchased an engagement ring and decided I would pop the question after the meal.  Dinner was at her parents home and her family were around the table.

After dinner, I went downstairs to ask her dad for her hand.  Let me set the scene.  Her dad's name is Pasquale.  Pasquale was as tough as his name sounds.  He coached me in Pop Warner football and was a larger than life Derby figure.

The two of us were alone in the basement when I said, "I'd like to ask Patsy to marry me, but out of respect, I'd like to ask you for her hand first."  He replied, "Sure, do you want a beer?"

With his blessing in hand, I decided I would ask Patsy to go for a walk.  The family was laughing and joking and I finally said, "Patsy, do you want to take a walk with me?"  Her response, "What are you crazy?  It's cold and we haven't had dessert."

"Go ahead. Go for a walk," said Pasquale.

Patsy reluctantly left with me and we walked down Derby Neck Road until we got to perhaps the most scenic overlook in Derby.  We were near the barn overlooking McConney's Farm with its view of the Housatonic River below when I finally asked her to marry me.

In the subsequent years, our children and nieces were born, and we've lost many of our beloved family members.  Through it all, we still follow our old traditions (mom still breaks out the green china each year) and we've started our own traditions.

For the past decade, Patsy and I have hosted a Thanksgiving breakfast for our families and friends.  The breakfast is a way for us to get our families and friends together first thing in the morning before everyone goes their own way to dine with their extended families.

On a side note, I'm still waiting for someone to show up at my dinner table shirtless and in their underwear.  When they do, I will be sure to keep alive my dad's tradition of that great '79 Thanksgiving.

The Pickleman thanks you for reading and wishes you all a very Happy Thanksgiving.

Raider Numerology

Today I'm going to let my hair down a bit and give you a glimpse of my dementia.  I'm a fan of numbers.  Not the mathematical numbers that I struggled with as a youth (just ask Ann DiCenso, Norm Mittendorf, or any of my college professors), but football numbers.  Specifically, Derby football numbers.

There was a time that I could name the numbers of all the football players of my era.  It wasn't just me, many of my friends were talented with Derby football numbers.

Any fan of Derby football from my era could name who wore 44...John Pagliaro.  48?  Mike Sullivan.  I could go on and on.

Of course, I've had a fascination with 47, which was my number.  It was also Dave DeRosa's number and the recently departed Frank Zuba's number.  There was a time or two while Frank was alive that the three of us happened to be together.  I would deadpan, "do you realize that at this moment the three greatest number 47's in DHS history are together?"  Of course, the three of us were the only 47's that I knew.  Now that Frank has passed, I suppose that Dave and I are the two greatest living 47's in DHS history, but again I don't know of any other 47's.

This kind of illogical thinking has led me to today's blog.  I'd like to call this Project Raider or Raider Numerology.

I have prepared on Google Sheets a spreadsheet from 1900 - 2019 that contains the numbers 0-99.  I don't believe we've ever had single digit numbers or number 90 or above, but I've included them in the spreadsheet just in case.

There is a tab at the bottom listing the decade.  40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, etc...  Find the decade you are interested in and then find the year and enter the name of the person who wore that jersey.  Keep in mind, I graduated in 1980, but my final year of football was 1979.  Therefore, the years I played would be 1977, 1978, 1979.

Here is the link to the spreadsheet.

http://tinyurl.com/hjvtsgf

You can only view.  If you want permission to edit and add names, please send me a message and I'll give you access to edit.  If we get someone knowledgeable from each decade or break out the old photos, we could get a pretty good list together.  Fill in as many names as possible over the next few weeks and in the end we should have a pretty comprehensive list.

Once we have a comprehensive list, we'll explore the second part of my dementia.

As I get older and celebrate a birthday, I celebrate by entering the Year of the Players' jersey from my era.

Here's an example.  When I turned 44, I entered the Year of the Pags (after John Pagliaro).  When I turned 45, I entered the Year of the Jocko (after Jocko Vielette).  My greatest year was when I turned 47 (Year of the Gerckens), followed by my 48th birthday when I entered the Year of the Berey (after Dave Berey).

Now, I know what you're saying, either, "how the hell did we ever elect this guy to public office" (valid point), or "Hold on a minute, I played with Bob Orchano and to me 48 would be the Year of the Orch."  That's fine.  Your year should correspond with whoever wore that jersey the longest while you played.  Except for the Year of the Pags.  Since his number was retired, anyone who turns 44 enters the Year of the Pags.

This leads to another question that deserves an explanation.  Why the Year of the Person who wore a jersey?  Back in 70's the Super Bowl announcers would try to make arguments that the Chinese New Years had something to do with the eventual Super Bowl winners.  For instance during the Year of the Snake, Ken "Snake" Stabler led the Oakland Raiders to the Super Bowl.  During the Year of the Horse, the Broncos made the Super Bowl.  This theory died out quickly when the Broncos kept getting beat and during the Year of the Dog, the Browns (remember the Dog Pound) fumbled away a chance to go to the Super Bowl.

Anyways, this is my dementia, so these are my rules.  Right now, I am rapidly approaching the Year of the Owney (55 - Owney DiMauro), but I look forward to retirement when I hit the Year of the Batman (63 - Tony Battaglino).  More likely though, I'll probably need to keep working until I reach the Year of the Agim (67 - Agim "Jim" Spataj).  I think we'd all be lucky to live to the Year of the Snowman (78 - John Snow), Year of the Garf (79 - Roy Garofalo) or better yet, Year of the Pierce (88  - Lenny Pierce from my era, or the Year of the Vicidomino for the era before me).

So there you have it.  No great meaning, no great writing style, just a quick blog inviting people to participate in my dementia.

If you'd like to contribute to the spreadsheet, contact me and I'll give you permission to enter data.

In Derby we trust.  :)

RIP Tommy

Tommy Dow passed away a couple days ago.  Tommy had many more family or friends who could talk more eloquently than me about his life.  After all, Tommy wasn't one of my close friends.  Years would pass and then once in a while I would happen to run into him or see him at the mutual home of a friend.  There was a time, however, in the mid-80's when Tommy was one of my genuine local rock-n-roll heroes.

He was the drummer for the band Bad Attitude.  Bad Attitude never made it to the big time, but boy oh boy did their music speak to me.

I came to follow Bad Attitude because I went to school with their bass player, Mark.  Soon, I was going to all their shows and rehearsals.  For several years my pal Joe and I were their unofficial roadies, sound guys, and cameramen.

I say unofficial since there was never any pay, but since we helped them move their equipment, we considered ourselves roadies.  We would put blank cassette tapes into sound boards and capture bootlegs of their live shows.  In our minds, this meant we were sound men.  I would bring a clunky VHS camera with a blinding white light to record their performances.  Of course, the fact that we had a camera made us cameramen/videographers.

A decade ago, Tommy gave Joe a cd he had burned from one of those long forgotten cassette recordings of a live Bad Attitude show.  Joe gave it to me and I converted twenty-eight live BA songs into the mp3 format.  These songs remain a treasured addition to my musical collection and a constant reminder of that time in my life.

I attended Tommy's benefit several months ago and was glad we had a few precious moments together to talk about the old days.

Click on the link to hear a live recording from the mid-80's of the Bad Attitude song, "I'm not Changing."  

http://tinyurl.com/hjd63mr

A sampling of the lyrics include the lines:

I'm not changing anything

I'm not changing a single thing

I look back at the past 30 years and although I swore by those lyrics, upon reflection, I realize I have indeed changed.  I look back at those same 30 years and can state proudly that Tommy kept right on rocking to the bitter end.

Tommy my friend, my rock-n-roll hero from so long ago, you remained true to your craft.  You rocked, you kept your terrific sense of humor, and you fought the good fight.

Thank you.  May your family and friends know that your musical talent and sense of humor spoke to countless people in the region.

Rest in peace, buddy.

Kayaks, Canoes, and Ridiculous Defined?

At the most recent Board of Aldermen (BOA) meeting, a request from the public (who we were elected to serve) denied Derbyites the opportunity to kayak or canoe on the Witek Park Reservoir.

The residents who asked this issue be pursued did everything by the book (even though that book can be frustrating).

The process started months ago with a simple statement, ”I’d like for my wife and I to be able to kayak at Witek Park, but the signs read no boating.”

Despite seeing others on the reservoir illegally paddling with their kayaks, this citizen choose to go through the legislative process so that his concern could be addressed.

He enlisted my help.  Why me?  Well, I'm currently the Chair of the Operations & Procedures subcommittee of the Board of Aldermen.  I placed this item on our agenda and for three months we've been fine tuning the ordinance.  The philosophy?  Keep the ordinance enforceable, yet simple.

At the eleventh hour of last month’s BOA meeting, it was learned that since the reservoir is a body of water within the confines of the State of Connecticut, the Department of Energy and Environmental Protection (DEEP) would need to sign off on our ordinance.  When we first started, we had been told that since it was our reservoir, we could pass whatever ordinance we desired.

Armed with this new information, we tabled the item for a month while we worked with DEEP.   Although summer was slipping away, the resident waited patiently.

After a series of email messages and corrections, we received DEEP’s tentative approval.  All we needed to do was inform them once the ordinance had passed and they would sign off on it.

Our subcommittee met one final time to hash out any further details.  When we were satisfied, we voted unanimously to send the ordinance to the full Board of Alderman with the recommendation to approve.

A brief explanation of the subcommittee process is in order.  At the subcommittee level, ideas, questions, problems, and other issues are discussed and vetted.  The public has the opportunity to be heard and once all of the prior steps have been completed, a vote is taken, and a final recommendation is made to the full Board of Aldermen.  Generally, by the time the issue has reached the full board, it is packaged and ready to be voted upon.

Normally, the process works.  Unfortunately, at this past meeting the process failed the citizens of Derby.

The day of the meeting arrived and the motion to approve was made.  The motion was seconded and it was time for discussion and then the final vote.

During the discussion phase, it became apparent that several aldermen were against the proposal (including one member of the subcommittee who had voted to send it to the full board for approval).

The arguments.

This ordinance didn’t make it clear that the opportunity to canoe and kayak was for Derby residents only.  The following is the first sentence of the proposed ordinance:

The Board of Aldermen of the City of Derby desires to provide a safe and healthy environment for all City of Derby residents wishing to enjoy Witek Park Reservoir.

The city insurance will go up.  No it won’t.  We were provided a letter from the city’s insurance broker that stated the city's insurance premium would not go up as a result of allowing kayaks or canoes at Witek.

I worry about the city's liability.   We have been told over and over again by legal that the city is always liable.  We get sued for slips and falls, debris on roadways, fights in our school system, and plain old stupidity.  If it happens in our city limits, we get sued.  There is no increase in liability.

We don’t want to be overrun with kayakers.  This will not be like the scene in the movie 300 where the Persian flotilla is attacking the coastline of Greece.  You will likely have 3 or 4 kayakers on the reservoir.  Keep in mind this is a small body of water.  The true kayakers, may do it once and realize they’d rather go elsewhere.

We need age restrictions on who can kayak.  It was suggested that a person should be either 18 or get this…21 years of age before being allowed to kayak on this small reservoir.  Despite our city ordinances, if there is a conflict with local ordinances and the State of Connecticut general statutes, the state regulations take priority.  The state allows children as young as 12-16 to operate personal watercraft (but recommends someone 18 or older accompany them).

In fact, the state allows a sixteen-year-old to operate a motorized vessel as long as they hold a permit and are under the supervision of an eighteen-year-old.

A child under the age of 12 who has obtained a Safe Boating Certificate (SBC) or Certificate of Personal Watercraft Operation) CPWO may not operate a vessel with greater than 10 horsepower, unless the youth is accompanied on board by a person at least age 18 who holds a SBC or CPWO.

It is perfectly legal in this state (although frowned upon) for a 12-year-old with a certificate to take out a small motorized boat with an 8 horsepower engine.

A direct question was asked, “So you want the regulations to operate a kayak on the reservoir to be more difficult to obtain than the state requirements?”  “Yes.”

The tougher age restrictions seems silly to me.  A man or woman can enlist in the service and risk being killed while serving their country, but cannot paddle a kayak in this small body of water located in our municipality.

The noise will be a problem.  A citizen who lives on the reservoir complained of the noise of dirt bikes and ATV vehicles running through Witek Park and didn’t want to be distracted by kayakers.  First of all, that's a whole separate discussion about police enforcement.  The splash of a paddle does not compare to the noise of a dirt bike.  In fact, there are relaxation tapes sold that include the soothing sounds of water and water splashing.

The Police Chief wasn't consulted.  Yes, he was.

The vote was actually 4-3 in favor (two members were absent).  In order to pass an ordinance, we needed five votes, so although the vote was in favor, we did not have the fifth vote that was needed.  Perhaps we will raise this again when we have a full board.

Until then, let me leave you with a final thought.  We tried to allow kayaks and canoes for the enjoyment of our citizens who already pay way too much in property taxes and sewage fees.  This effort was all about that couple who tried to do the right thing by patiently going to their representatives to make a change.

Interestingly, at the same meeting, the City of Derby received a Consent Order from the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) for among other things, discharging raw sewage into the Naugatuck and Housatonic Rivers.  The people operating that plant and who are responsible for handling 31 million dollars of the public’s money, didn’t realize that when you discharge into a Connecticut waterway or plan to repair a busted Water Pollution Facility, it might be a good idea to contact the EPA.  The kayak discussion lasted nearly twenty minutes.  There was no discussion on the Consent Order and the woeful performance of our Water Pollution Facility.

The Pickleman wonders…have I adequately defined ridiculous?