it was all of sixty-five years ago

Well, this is it. I reached a so-called milestone. Sixty-five! The traditional age of retirement... although that concept appears to be no where in sight. I expect to go out the way my father went out. Working every day until  my collapsed body is dragged out from behind my desk, a rigor mortis grip tightly locked on my wireless mouse, right in the middle of making some asshole's logo bigger for the tenth time... that day!

I suppose I should consider myself lucky. As of right now, I have outlived a lot of people who have achieved more fame and notoriety is a shorter period of time. Shorter by one year, to be exact. People like...

Lyndon Johnson and Franklin Pierce both served as president of the United States. Johnson became president after the assassination of President John Kennedy. Some pretty significant laws were passed during his administration including those concerning civil rights, gun control and social security. However, his escalation of the Vietnam War was heavily criticized. After serving a full term, he did not seek re-election. Franklin Pierce's policies were determined by historians to have contributed to the start of the Civil War. He is consistently ranked as one of the worst presidents in United States history. Both Johnson and Pierce died at the age of 64.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis was one of the most recognizable First Ladies in the history of the United States. Her iconic fashion style and genial personality made her extremely popular. She was by the side of her husband on that day in Dallas and famously wore the blood-splattered dress for days afterwards. She married shipping magnate Aristotle Onassis under much public scrutiny. Jackie became a respected editor at Viking Press and Doubleday. She died at 64 and was interred next to JFK at Arlington Cemetery.

Sammy Davis Jr. began his celebrated career in show business at the age of two. As the featured performer in the Will Mastin Trio, little Sammy delighted vaudeville audiences with his dancing, singing and personality. He went on to become an all-around, multi-talented entertainment icon, with great success in films, in nightclubs, on television, on recordings and on the Broadway stage. As a charter member of the notorious "Rat Pack," Sammy rubbed elbows with Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin, yet continued to battle racism and discrimination even at the height of his career. A lifelong smoker, Sammy succumbed to throat cancer at the age of 64.

Waylon Jennings was an influential singer and a pioneer in the "Outlaw Country" genre of music. In 1959, as part of Buddy Holly's "Winter Party" Tour, 22-year old Waylon gave his seat on the plane to J.P. Richardson (The Big Bopper) who was suffering from the flu. Waylon would take the tour bus instead to the next stop. Buddy Holly argued with Waylon about the transportation choices, until finally agreeing to take the plane, quipping to Waylon "I hope your bus freezes." to which Waylon jokingly replied: "I hope your plane crashes."  Waylon lived another 42 years, dying in 2002 at the age of 64.

Hannibal was a general and war strategist who famously led the Carthaginian army across the Alps on elephants to battle the mighty Roman Empire. His assaults spooked the Roman so that the cry of "Hannibal ad portas" (Hannibal is at the gates!") was applied to any grave and threatening situation. Hannibal lived to be 64.

Donna Reed was a popular pin-up during World War II, right alongside beauties like Betty Grable and Rita Hayworth. Always a favorite in films, Donna won an Oscar in 1953 for her out-of-character turn as a prostitute in From Here to Eternity. Based on the role, Donna was inexplicably recruited to play a typical suburban housewife in the long-running sitcom The Donna Reed Show. She later briefly took over the role of family matriarch "Miss Ellie" on the night-time soap Dallas. When original actress Barbara Bel Geddes opted to return to the role, Donna sued for breach of contract. She passed away a short time later at the age of 64.

"Shoeless" Joe Jackson was a pretty good baseball player. He had a career batting average of .386 and set several team records that still hold today. In 1919, as a member of the Chicago White Sox, Joe, along with his teammates, was accused of throwing the World Series as part of a deal with organized crime. Although he admitted to accepting bribe money, Joe made several spectacular plays and  hit the only home run in the series. Nevertheless, ruthless baseball commissioner Kennesaw Mountain Landis imposed a lifetime ban from baseball on eight players. Joe went on to manage a few amateur teams and later opened a dry cleaner with his wife. He died in 1951 at 64.

Malcolm Young was a founding member of the Australian band AC/DC. With his younger brother Angus on lead guitar, Malcolm assembled the band who opened a 1977 European tour for headliners Black Sabbath. Their stage presence, searing guitars and screeching vocals by Bon Scott catapulted the band to international stardom. Malcolm suffered from alcoholism, then later lung cancer and heart ailments. An eventual diagnosis of dementia ended his playing career in 2014. He retired from the band and passed away in 2017 at the age of 64.

Tiny Tim was born Herbert Khoury and had been performing his brand of folk singing since the 1950s under a series of stage names. He performed on a stage at the Expo 67 World's Fair, where the crowd pelted him with beer cans. Tiny Tim appeared on the very first broadcast of Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In, much to the bewilderment of co-host Dick Martin. Tiny Tim went on to appear on the show 22 more times. He became a pop culture curiosity, with stints on The Ed Sullivan Show, The Tonight Show and even charting on the Billboard Hot 100. He enjoyed a nine-day run at Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas. He remained an enigmatic performer into the 90s. In 1996, he suffered a heart attack on stage while singing his signature "Tip Toe Through the Tulips." Several attempts at resuscitation were unsuccessful. Tiny Tim was 64.

Al Jolson was wildly popular in his day. He was known as "The World's Greatest Entertainer" years before Sammy Davis Jr. Al's unique song stylings and exaggerated facial expressions were keys to his success. His appearance in 1927's The Jazz Singer, the first "talking" picture, only added to his mystique. Al was the first performer to entertain troops overseas during World War II. He even provided his own voice for actor Larry Parks to lip-sync in the biopic The Jolson Story. He died four years after its release at the age of 64.

Lisa Loring played the adorably morbid "Wednesday Addams" in the 1964 sitcom The Addams Family, based on the cartoons of the equally-morbid Charles Addams. Later, Lisa was "Cricket Montgomery" on the long-running CBS soap opera As The World Turns. Lisa stayed in the industry, working behind the scenes as a make-up artist. She frequently appeared at conventions where she loved to mingle with her fans. She died unexpectedly from a stroke at 64.

Gig Young was a well-known and popular actor, although reportedly difficult to work with. Always an intense performer, Gig won the 1970 Best Supporting Actor Oscar for his role in They Shoot Horses, Don't They? His reputation as an alcoholic lost a lot of acting roles for him. Producer Mel Brooks offered Gig a "comeback" role in his comedy Blazing Saddles. Gig showed up drunk for the first day of shooting, experiencing an episode of the delirium tremens on set. He was fired, with Gene Wilder taking over the role. In 1978, just three weeks after marrying his fifth wife, Gig fatally shot her then shot himself. He was 64.

Joseph Pulitzer was a renowned newspaper publisher and a leading figure in the Democratic Party. He had a fierce professional rivalry with William Randolph Hearst. He set up and subsidized the world's first school of journalism and Columbia University. Six years after his death at 64, Columbia University awarded the first prizes for journalism named in Pulitzer's honor.

Allan Pinkerton was a barrel maker by trade. While out in the woods looking for wood, he stumbled upon a band of counterfeiters. Allan observed their actions and reported them to the local sheriff's office. This led to his appointment as Chicago's first police detective. This led to his own private detective agency. Allan foiled an early plot to assassinate President Lincoln. He also provided military intelligence for the Union Army during the Civil War. Later, he became a major opposition to the labor movement in the United States, generally tarnishing the Pinkerton legacy. In 1884, Allan slipped on a sidewalk and bit his tongue. He contracted gangrene and died at the age of 64.

Malcolm McLaren served as manager for early punk bands including The New York Dolls, Bow Wow Wow and Adam and the Ants. In 1977, he introduced the world to Johnny Rotten and the Sex Pistols. Malcolm dabbled in fashion merchandising, as well as a solo musical career and an unsuccessful run for Mayor of London. He was diagnosed with peritoneal mesothelioma and died from the disease at 64. His last words were "Free Leonard Peltier," referencing an imprisoned Native American activist convicted of murdering two FBI agents.

None of these people lived long enough to collect Social Security, be eligible for Medicare or obtain a SEPTA senior pass for free transportation. I may not have started a detective agency or a journalism school. I may not have represented famous rock bands. I may not have dodged death in a plane crash or been elected president of the United States (or even married one), but I'm here to write about it.... and they're not.

Happy birthday to me. Another one down.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the masterplan

Laurie Jacobson started following me on Instagram a few years ago. Just out of nowhere, based on our common interests in old Hollywood, dead celebrities, pop culture, she started following me... dumb, ol' Josh Pincus. This struck me as odd, because I'm just a nobody in the vast world of social media. Laurie, on the other hand, is a celebrated author who has appeared on CNN, Entertainment Tonight and The History Channel. She has produced high-profile television programs like Mary Tyler Moore's Twentieth Anniversary Special. She is a noted and respected authority on Hollywood history. If that isn't enough, she was enrolled in a comedy workshop taught by Harvey Lembeck. Among her classmates were John Ritter and Robin Williams. Oh yeah, and she's married to Jon Provost, the star of over 250 episodes of Lassie. And me? I'm just some yutz who draws pictures of dead celebrities and posts pictures of things that make me laugh. But, Laurie likes my sense of humor and we've enjoyed lively on-line exchanges centered around our shared passion for Hollywood trivia. However, we have never met.

But I had a plan.

Laurie and Jon make appearances at various fan conventions all over the country. Laurie talks about her books, the latest of which is an exclusive, behind-the-scenes look at the Beatles iconic performance at Shea Stadium in 1965. Jon signs photos and cheerfully greets fans who grew up watching his adventures with the world's most famous dog (no, not Scooby-Doo!) Because Laurie and I are "Facebook Friends," I saw that the couple were going to be at the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum on Memorial Day weekend, as part of the society's celebration of America's 250th anniversary. Situated just an hour outside the birthplace of America (Philadelphia, for those of you who flunked history), the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum presents a sort of mish-mash of history. Its permanent displays highlight people and events that impacted the germination and growth of our country. Some are specific to Allentown, Pennsylvania (the actual location of the museum). Most, however, are not. It's as though someone from the Lehigh Valley Historic Society visited the museums in Philadelphia and said to themselves: "Fuck this! We'll start our own museum!" Their hearts are in the right place. It's just their actual history isn't. (In their defense, in September 1777, the Liberty Bell was hidden in a church in Allentown for nine months to prevent the advancing British soldiers from melting it down for weapons. Oh, and Billy Joel sang a pretty disparaging song about Allentown.) 

I presented the idea of driving up to Allentown to Mrs. Pincus. My wife, who is also a Facebook connection of Laurie Jacobson's, is always up for any sort of long car trip. I also decided not to tell Laurie that we were coming. Again, we have never met and the pending surprise would be... um.... surprising!

My day started early. I had an appointment to have my car inspected. So there I was, in the waiting room of a Subaru dealer, scrolling through Facebook while I waited for my friendly Subaru  service representative to let me know my car was ready. On Facebook, I saw pictures of a smiling Laurie and Jon buckled into their airplane seats, along with the caption: "On our way to Allentown." This sort of excitement, of course, is the sentiment of folks who have never been to Allentown. 

With my car all serviced, I drove home. Mrs. P was getting ready for our little adventure. She gathered together a few small Philadelphia-centric items from her Ebay store stock to give to Laurie and Jon as a memento of their friends in the City of Brotherly Love. I grabbed a few "Josh Pincus"-branded pins and keyrings as a reminder of the evils of the internet. I loaded the address into the trusty Waze navigation app on my phone and we were off. We followed Route 309 North, which is a straight shot to Allentown from our house. As we got closer to our destination, Waze led us through a few small, congested neighborhoods dotted with shopping centers and housing developments — hardly the place one would expect to find a museum... speaking as a spoiled Philadelphian who is used to museums being sprawling architectural marvels placed along side other architectural marvels. But, as we turned a narrow corner, there it stood — the Lehigh Valley Heritage Museum — just like it looked on its website. We found a convenient parking spot right on the street out front. I gathered up a little gift bag with the goodies we planned to present to Laurie and Jon and we headed in.

A fair amount of folks had gathered and queued up in the facility's auditorium to have a quick chat with Laurie and Jon, as well as getting some memorabilia signed. I purchased Laurie's TV Dinners book and joined Mrs. Pincus in line. Ahead of us, Laurie and Jon were seated at a long table. They were chatting and laughing and posing for pictures with a crowd comprised of people mostly around my age. There were a few youngsters (around eight or nine) who seemed bored with being dragged along on grandma and grandpa's little jaunt. The line crept along at a pretty steady pace until we found ourselves in the coveted "next" position. As Laurie was speaking with the woman in front of me, she shot me a glance and, I could tell that she did not recognize me from any picture I may have posted on Facebook. I interjected a smart-ass comment into their conversation and Laurie smiled. Then it was my turn.

I stepped up to the table and said to Laurie: "I just wanted to make sure that you've been getting my holiday cards.*"  Laurie looked at me with a half-smile and a puzzled expression. Then I spilled it. "I'm Josh Pincus," I announced and I dropped a handful of JPiC buttons and stuff  — all emblazoned with my 5-yerar old redheaded visage — on the tabletop in front of her. Laurie lit up! She jumped from her chair and exclaimed: "JOSH PINCUS! You're Josh Pincus!"... and she threw her arms around me. I introduced her to Mrs. Pincus and she gave my wife's hand a warm embrace. Mrs. P offered her Philly souvenirs and Laurie smiled and beamed with appreciation. It was so humbling to see Laurie express such excitement to meet dumb ol' me... but it was very sweet. Laurie signed my book. She told me that I keep her laughing all day with my Facebook posts. I thanked her several times and Mrs. P and I took seat at the back of the auditorium for Laurie's and Jon's presentations.

After some brief introductions, Laurie delighted the room with stories of Hollywood acquaintances. She revealed secrets of what it took to stage the Beatles show at Shea Stadium at a time when rock concerts at a ballpark was just not a thing.  She talked about meeting and marrying Jon and then spooked the crowd with an eerie tale of the last days of Marilyn Monroe. Laurie was followed by Jon Provost's account of life as a working child actor in the 1950s. His compelling stories were both informative and amusing, as he spoke of working with the likes of Jane Wyman (his mother's idol), Natalie Wood and Robert Redford. He offered heartfelt memories of the late June Lockhart and humorous anecdotes concerning Kurt Russell. At the conclusion of the presentation, my wife and I made our way down to the front to say our "goodbyes." before leaving for home.

Laurie was cornered by three women who were gabbing non-stop about classic television. They weren't having a conversation as much as they were droning pointlessly. They peppered their dissertation with memories of long-forgotten stars of black-and-white series, some of whose names slipped their minds. But, they weren't headed towards any apparent conclusion. Mrs. P and I politely hung back, waiting for these ladies to wind down their time. But, they showed no sign of stopping. Laurie smiled politely and offered me a wink and silent plea of "help!" Finally, she courteously attempted to bring their filibuster to a halt by saying she had to say goodbye to some friends. The women would not relent, so Laurie just stepped past them to greet Mrs P and me. We said our farewells and Laurie posed for a quick picture before reiterating how happy she was to finally meet us in person. It was truly sweet. We waved to Jon, who was busy with a couple of fans. He smiled and gave us a wave back.

My plan was successful. 

www.joshpincusiscrying.com.

* A few years ago, Laurie asked for holiday cards to cheer up her friend, actor Jay North (of Dennis the Menace fame). Jay was ill and she thought some cards from fans would brighten his spirits. I sent one and also sent a separate card specifically for Laurie and Jon. Sadly, Jay passed away in 2025.

doin' alright

Today is my birthday. Another trip around the sun and here I am... 63. I am three years away from the age at which my father died. I like to think I am in much better shape than my father was at 63. He smoked a lot. He ate a lot of red meat and he ignored any remote symptom of an illness. It's a wonder he lived as long as he did.  But, I digress....

There are a number of folks who didn't make it to the age of 63. Some... make that all... accomplished way more than I did (thus far) in my life. However, I am still breathing and still have the opportunity to achieve. eh.... who am I kidding. Bottom line, I'm alive and these people never made it to 63... so there's that.

Carl Sagan was a renowned astronomer, long before Neil deGrasse Tyson was everybody's go-to guy for all things cosmos. As a matter of fact, Carl Sagan hosted a popular television series called Cosmos that dealt with the universe, the stars and the possibility of life out there. He was an author and frequent talk show guest, where he would enlighten the unenlightened and propose the very real idea of extraterrestrial life. Unrelated, he was an early advocate for the legalization of marijuana. After a diagnosis of myelodysplastic syndrome and receiving several bone marrow transplants, Sagan passed away from pneumonia at the age of 62.

Edward Smith was the captain of the ill-fated RMS Titanic. In 1912, the Titanic, on its maiden voyage, collided with an iceberg and sank in the north Atlantic Ocean. Smith, like any truly dedicated captain, went down with his ship. He was 62.

Martin Luther was a German priest who famously criticized the Catholic Church and butted heads with Pope Leo X. He was a seminal figure in the Protestant Reformation. He suffered a stroke in 1546 and passed away at the age of 62.

J. Robert Oppenheimer was the director of the secretive "Manhattan Project" and recognized as the "father" of the atomic bomb. A chain smoker for most of his life, he died from throat cancer at the age of 62.

Michel de Nostredame (better known as Nostradamus) was an astrologist and physician, famous for making astonishingly accurate predications of future events. He died in 1566 at the age of 62. He never saw it coming.

Jack Webb was an actor, director, writer and producer. A stickler for detail, he pioneered the procedural police drama way back in the days of radio with his program Dragnet. He brought Dragnet to television and the popular format spawned other shows including Adam-12 and Emergency! He suffered a fatal heart attack at 62. He was given a funeral with full LA police department honors.

Elizabeth Montgomery followed in her father's footsteps in making a career as an actress. She appeared in numerous roles in early television anthology series until her star-making role of lovable witch "Samantha Stephens" in the popular sitcom Bewitched. After eight seasons, she moved on to other, mostly dramatic, roles, including Mrs. Sundance, The Legend of Lizzie Borden and the hard-hitting A Case of Rape. She was an outspoken advocate for gay rights and a frequent guest on TV game shows. She passed away from cancer at 62.

Robin Gibb gained international popularity with his brothers Barry and Maurice as a member of the Bee Gees. In the late 70s "disco era," the Bee Gees were one of the biggest names in entertainment. Robin Gibb toured and recorded with his brothers and even embarked on a brief solo career. He was diagnosed with cancer in 2011. According to his son, Gibb's cancer had gone into remission and he died from kidney failure. He was 62.

Denise Nickerson was an actress, best remembered as the gum-chewing, wise-cracking "Violet Beauregard" in the 1971 film Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. She was later featured in multiple roles in the gothic soap opera Dark Shadows. Nickerson left show business and found work as a receptionist at a doctor's office. In 2019 and in poor health, she overdosed on prescription medication and fell into a coma. She died at age 62.

Boston Corbett was a whack-job who led the posse to seek out and arrest presidential assassin John Wilkes Booth. Against specific orders, Corbett fatally shot Booth, claiming self-defense. (It was later determined that Booth never drew his weapon nor did he even see Corbett.) After enjoying a reign of dubious fame, Corbett threatened various government officials and was relieved of his military duties at the Kansas House of Representatives. He settled in a cabin in the Minnesota wilderness, eventually dying in a fire at 62.

L. Frank Baum was a prolific writer, penning 14 books in his famed chronicles of the Land of Oz. In addition, he wrote 41 other novels, 200 poems, 42 plays and 83 short stories. Just prior to his death at 62, he had hoped to establish a studio to produce children's films

Louis Chevrolet was a race car enthusiast who participated in the Indianapolis 500 four times, with a best overall finish of seventh place. In 1911, he founded his namesake automobile manufacturing company and later the Frontenac Motor Corporation which made parts for Henry Ford's company.. He died at the age of 62.

Hernán Cortes was a Spanish conquistador who, at the age of 28, embarked on an expedition to Mexico that led to the fall of the Aztec Empire. He succumbed to dysentery at the age of 62.

Lou Pearlman, despite being a piece of shit, created the blueprints for every "boy band" of the 1990s. Starting with the Backstreet Boys, Pearlman was the marketing brains behind *NSYNC, O-Town, LFO and Take 5. He was sued by nearly every band he created and represented. He died in prison at 62.

Toby Keith was a Grammy-nominated singer and songwriter who charted 61 songs on the Billboard Country Music chart. His popularity allowed him to license his name and likeness for a chain of restaurants called "I Love This Bar & Grill," a reference to one of his songs. He died earlier this year at 62.

 

Farrah Fawcett was an actress and the dream girl of every teenage boy in the middle 1970s. With her megawatt smile and iconic feathered hair, Fawcett tried her best to break out of her sex symbol stature with more substantial dramatic roles, including the critically acclaimed The Burning Bed. A documentary about her life and struggle with cancer was produced by her longtime partner, actor Ryan O'Neal and friend Alana Stewart, both of whom were by Fawcett's side when she died at 62.

I may not conquer an empire, develop a devastating military weapon or license my name to a chain of eateries (don't get your heart set on dining at Josh Pincus' House of Veggie Burgers), but, as far as I can see, I still have time to accomplish those goals. 

Or maybe I'll just continue to go to work.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

sixty years on

I recently... celebrated? .... let's go with "acknowledged" my 62nd birthday. It's a pretty inauspicious milestone. Too young for retirement (as though I could actually retire). Too old to check those survey boxes that list "35-59" as an age demographic for marketing purposes. But as a new 62-year old, I am happy to report that I have outlived some pretty significant folks. Sure, these people accomplished way more than I ever dreamed of, but I have surpassed them in time on Earth, thus offering more time for achievements equal to or perhaps even greater than theirs.

Sally Ride was the first American woman in space, as well as the youngest American astronaut. After a career at NASA, Sally was a professor of physics at USC-San Diego. She passed away in 2012 at the age of 61.

Ernest Hemingway was a Nobel-winning author, widely regarded as one of America's greatest writers. In addition, he was a noted war correspondent, covering The Spanish Civil War and World War II. He was pretty handy with a shotgun, using one to take his own life in 1961 at the age of 61.

Anthony Bourdain was a chef and an adventurer. His legions of fans lived vicariously through Bourdain's travels and endevours across the globe. He lived a life of chances and risks, eventually taking his own life in 2018 at the age of 61.

Aisin-Gioro Puyi became Emperor of China in 1908 at the age of two. He mostly served as a puppet ruler, carrying out atrocities on his country at the behest of the Japanese government. He was eventually jailed by the manipulative and powerful authorities in Japan. He died of cancer at 61, expressing deep regret for his actions.

Sergei Prokofiev was a celebrated pianist and composer, best remembered for his ballet Romeo & Juliet and his "symphonic tale for children" Peter and the Wolf. He composed seven complete operas, seven symphonies, eight ballets, five piano concertos, two violin concertos, a cello concerto, a symphony-concerto for cello and orchestra, and nine piano sonatas before his death in 1953 at the age of 61.

Cynthia Myers was a popular Playboy Playmate in the 1960s. A copy of her centerfold was secretly smuggled aboard the 1969 flight of Apollo 12. Cynthia made frequent appearances on the TV series Playboy After Dark and later served as a spokesmodel for Schlitz Beer. She was an early vocal witness of Bill Cosby's illicit behavior at the Playboy Mansion, as later related in a 1994 interview. Cynthia died in 2011 at the age of 61.

Roderick Toombs adopted the name "Roddy Piper," based on his proficiency of the bagpipes. He gained worldwide popularity for his antics in the wrestling ring and, despite his villainous persona, he was a fan favorite. Roddy dabbled in film and television and made regular appearances at conventions where he mingled with his fans. He died in his sleep from a pulmonary embolism at the age of 61.

Billy Martin was a second baseman but gained his notorious reputation as a manager. Billy served as manager for several Major League Baseball teams, including five separate stints with the New York Yankees. Despite 5 World Series Championships, Billy regularly butted heads with Yankees owner George Steinbrenner. Following a dismissal at the end of the 1988 season, Billy was killed in a single-car accident on Christmas Day 1989. He was 61.

Huddle Ledbetter, better known as "Leadbelly," was a multi-instrumentalist who introduced a number of compositions into the American songbook, including "Goodnight, Irene," "In The Pines," "Midnight Special" and "Cotton Fields." He sang and wrote about topical subjects including politics and racial issues. He often advised his black audiences to "stay woke," in one of the earliest known uses of the term. Leadbelly died in 1949 at the age of 61.

Peter Lawford was an actor and cohort of Frank Sinatra in the illustrious Rat Pack. He was a constant companion of the singer. Peter married JFK's sister Patricia, giving politically-connected Sinatra an "in" with America's so-called "first family." But a politically-charged falling out with Lawford led to an end of their friendship. Peter popped up on television throughout the 60s and 70s without Sinatra's help. After years of various substance abuse, he died from a heart attack at 61.

Goru Suzuki was born on a ship in en route to Japan. Although they were residents of Oakland, his parents wanted their son to be born in Japan. Goru lived in Oakland until his family was sent to an interment camp in Utah during World War II. With a leaning toward entertainment and hoping to avoid Japanese prejudice, Goru changed his name to the more Chinese "Jack Soo" and worked as a stand-up comic and singer in a Cleveland nightclub. He appeared on Broadway and many guest roles in television before landing the familiar role of "Detective Yemana" in the sitcom Barney Miller. Jack died during the fourth season of the series at the age of 61.

I don't expect to manage a baseball team or fly into space or write a symphony or rub elbows with political figures or appear in a sitcom or write the "great American novel," but at least I have time ahead of me to accomplish at any and all of those.

I guess...

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

dumb boy

Do you think I'm dumb? I don't think I'm dumb. Sure there are plenty of things about which I am not knowledgeable. I will be the first to admit that. I'm terrible at math. I don't know the technical names for medical procedures. (My wife — with no medical training or background whatsoever — will happily inform me when such terms are mentioned in a movie or TV show.) I am not mechanically inclined. I don't know much about building things, as evidenced by the three screwdrivers and four hammers that make up our household set of tools. Same goes for the ins-and-outs of automotive repair. Aside from pumping my own gas, I am lost regarding anything that goes on under the hood of my car (It is called a "hood," right?) I can't cook and I can't sew.

I can, however, identify an episode Brady Bunch within the first 20 seconds. I can recognize an actor on a fifty year old episode of The Andy Griffith Show as the same guy who appeared (much older, of course) briefly in a Season 4 episode of Seinfeld. (I am referring, specifically, to prolific character actor Bill Erwin.) I can remember nearly every drawing I have done and posted to my illustration website. I can remember, with near pinpoint accuracy, the locations of almost every celebrity grave I have visited over the past several decades. Are these qualities I have included on my resume? No. Are these qualities of which I am proud? Yes. Embarrassed by... but proud. Some of this knowledge has resulted in a small collection of coveted trophies awarded at the end of a number of cruise ship trivia contests. It has also brought on jeers and dirty looks from those who can fix cars, do math and cook.

If you are my Facebook friend or perhaps follow my antics on Facebook, you know that each morning, I post a group of "death anniversaries" for that particular day. I go through several sources and select an assortment of famous names (and not-so-famous names). Then, I choose a photo from a quick Google search to accompany my post. Sometimes the post is illustrated by a drawing I did of that particular person. In other instances, I include a photo of the celebrity's grave, if it is one I have visited. I post between three and ten celebrity death anniversaries per day, depending on if it was a particularly moribund date in history.

Each of my posts gets its fair share of "likes,"👍 "loves," ❤️ "cares" 🥰 and sometimes even "ha-has," 😂 depending on the level of "belovedness" of the celebrity in question. Some of my connections will leave a comment, usually along the lines of "awww" or "I miss him/her" or, again depending on who it is, "good riddance!" (This is usually reserved for someone like Adolf Hitler or Charles Manson.) Every so often, someone will comment with a single, out-of-context line, stating the name of the person or the most famous character they played. As an example, on November 30, I acknowledged the passing of actor-singer Jim Nabors. I received comments from a few people that merely read "Gomer Pyle." Not "I loved him in Gomer Pyle" or "I hated him in Gomer Pyle"... just "Gomer Pyle." When I see comments like that, I stare at them for some time. Does the commenter think I don't know who he is? Does the commenter think he is doing me a favor by identifying a photo that I posted and found through a Google search? Does the commenter think.....? I have to stop myself from replying: "Yes! Yes! I know! I fucking know who Jim Nabors is! I posted this! I am not, nor have I ever, posted a picture and said "This guy died on this date in this year. I have no idea who this is. Please tell me." I pass on a lot of names that I don't recognize. I don't post their death anniversaries. I leave that to their families. If I really wanted to know who they were or what they did to make them famous, I'd Google it.

I have "friends" on Facebook that I do not know. I am connected to them via the common bond of death, cemeteries and old Hollywood. I am very, very well versed in those subjects. Very well versed. Sure there are people who know more than I do about those subjects. I have gotten information from them and I am thankful for the exposure to such information. I like information. I like to learn new things about the subjects in which I am interested. I don't like to be told things that are painfully obvious. If you have seen my Facebook posts for a period of time, you should be able to gauge what I know, what I don't know and when I am joking about what I know. If you can't tell, then just sit back and wait until you can tell. But, please — please! — don't talk to me like I am stupid.

Wanna be helpful? Instead of telling me that Bob Denver played "Gilligan" on Gilligan's Island, as though you are disclosing a long-protected government secret, tell me how to change the oil in my car.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

unbroken chain

Andy Warhol once said: "In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes." Well, this past Thursday morning, I overstayed my allotted time by a half hour.

Some time ago, my favorite Philadelphia radio station began a new feature on their morning drive-time show. Joining such popular features as Wednesday afternoon's "Worst Song in the World" and "The Fab Four," a four-song block of songs from the Beatles catalog, a long-time staple of the afternoon broadcast, the morning show introduced a fun little concept called "The Name Chain Game." The Thursday morning feature entails a little clever thinking on the part of listeners who plan to submit a contender for on-air play. The rules are actually pretty simple. It's a string of songs whose artists are connected by name. The last word (or part of a word) begins the first word (or part of a word) of the next song's performer. This continues for as long as you can. For example, an early submission in the games initial stages ran as follows: "Etta James" followed by "James Gang" followed by "Gang of Four" followed by "The Four Freshmen" followed by "Men at Work" followed by "Work Drugs." Five songs were played in a row and at the end the enthused host of the show reading the conglomeration as "Etta James Gang of Four FreshMen at Work Drugs." She chuckled. The morning news guy chuckled and the morning moved on. This little experiment gathered steam and strings of songs or "chains," if you will, averaged about four to five songs. On the rare occasion, some extended to six or seven. Additional rules allowed for dropping "the" from a band's name. Syllable pronunciation and homophones are permitted, in the case of a recent submission that included Donald Fagen followed by Against Me. 

Now that you've been properly intrigued and have subconsciously begun forming your own chains, let me tell you where Josh Pincus and my ever-so-brief fulfillment of Andy Warhol's prophecy fits into this. 

These go to 11.

Way back in January of this year, I sent an email to the morning show with my entry for the Name Chain Game. Keeping in Josh Pincus fashion to buck convention, my entry included eleven performers. Yep. Eleven. These were not obscure artists. These were performers who I had heard previously in the eclectic mix that is the loose playlist of my favorite radio station. I clicked "SEND" on my email and waited. And waited. And waited. And waited. And forgot about it. I should mention that my son is employed by my favorite radio station and is pretty friendly with the morning show host. I should also mention that that connection was in no way influential in the decision of whether or not my submission was played... or even considered. As a matter of fact, my son dismissed my submission, citing its cumbersome length not being conducive to the tight scheduling of a radio show. Hey.... what do I know about programming a radio show? I know about listening to a radio show. I've been doing that for most of my life. But, programming? I shrugged my shoulders at my son's viewpoint and secretly hoped to one day hear my Name Chain Game opus.

To my surprise, a few days ago, I got an email from the morning show host. She told me that she'd be tackling my monster submission this week. I made sure I was listening. The game usually kicks off at 8:20 AM on Thursday morning, but, as she explained, due to its unusual length, she'd be starting things just ahead of the scheduled news break. With a proper introduction and/or warning, the opening strains of "Playing in the Band" by the good old Grateful Dead got the whole affair started at 8:13.  At the song's conclusion, a short time out was taken for a quick news brief. The marathon restarted at 8:23 with "I Feel Love (Every Million Miles" by Jack White's recent supergroup Dead Weather. A little before 9 o'clock, the whole shebang came to a conclusion with the fade out of "Standing in the Shadows of Love" by The Four Tops. (How did I arrive here? I'll tell you in a minute.) And that was it. My name was announced and I was thanked. And the show moved on with an unrelated song by funkster Warren G.

Twitter alighted with a few congratulatory tweets and "likes" on the morning show's acknowledgment of the list of artists featured on this week's Name Chain Game. I got a few "likes" myself from a few followers who are local and listen to the station as well.

So, what was my chain? Well, like I said, it started off with The Grateful Dead and went like this...

Grateful Dead 

Dead Weather 

Weather Report 

Portugal the Man 

Man or Astroman? 

Man Man 

Manfred Mann 

Manhattan Transfer 

First Class 

Classics IV

Four Tops

I even made a few suggestions for songs, including First Class's one and only hit "Beach Baby," the sunny Beach Boys homage by an unlikely group of British studio musicians and one of three choices by Classics IV, the smooth, sophisticated jazz/rock ensemble that became the basis for the Atlanta Rhythm Section. (Their 1968 hit "Traces" was selected for play.)

And that was it. By 9 o'clock, my moment in the spotlight was over. As they say, "Fame is fleeting." That certainly is true. If this actually qualifies as "fame."

I don't think it does. But it was fun.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

the search is over

When I'm not drawing or watching 40-year old shows on television or sassing someone on the internet, you can find me traipsing trough a cemetery, snapping pictures of grave markers. For over a decade, I have been visiting cemeteries all over the country — sometimes dragging my less-than-enthused family along with me. I sought out graves of famous people — mostly actors and those in the entertainment field. But I have also looked for other, lesser known folks who have made an unsung impact on humankind — if only celebrated for the proverbial "fifteen minutes of fame," only to be relegated to a small, sometimes forgotten, footnote in history as time passed. After my visits, I chronicle the experience with a (usually lengthy) blogpost, complete with photos, annotation and often snarky commentary à la the Josh Pincus you've come to know and love.... or at least know.

I rarely visit a particular cemetery more than once... for several reasons. First off, I'm lazy. Second, I feel once I've been there, wandered around, seen who I wanted to see, I'm done. I can check that one off my list (if I had an actual list). Plus, cemetery visits — especially the way I visit a cemetery — take a lot of planning. Famous people are not buried in their own special section. They are scattered all over the place because death is the great equalizer. No special treatment is given to those who commanded attention in life. Nope, they are just stuck in the ground, cemented into a crypt or incinerated to crispy remains just like everyone else. Sure, their final resting place may be decorated with elaborate sculptures, headstones and other accessories to make them stand out. But they are placed alongside simple folk with simple markers and they are just as simply dead.

Also, cemeteries are usually poorly marked for navigation. Few have posted section designations, Finding Grandma or Uncle Louie could prove difficult if you don't remember exactly where their plot is because you haven't been there since the funeral and the surrounding area is now overflowing with deceased neighbors. So prior to a planned visit, I track down an online map and meticulously plot a route with the invaluable help of findagrave.com or the tracking technology employed by various cemetery websites. More recently, my phone's GPS has been very helpful in pinpointing a particular grave lying silently in an obscured sightline.

Lucky for me, Philadelphia boasts a number of cemeteries that serve as the eternal home of some pretty famous people. One of the biggest and most beautiful is Laurel Hill Cemetery. Founded in 1836, Laurel Hill occupies 74 acres along a slender slice of land overlooking the Schuylkill River. It was conceived as a "rural cemetery," and welcomed the community as a gathering place for picnics and other social gatherings on its pastoral landscape, as well as a dignified place for burials. This was not an unusual concept. Laurel Hill, along with its predecessor Mount Auburn in Massachusetts, started a trend to take the "creepiness" out of cemeteries and make them accessible and friendly. This was very well-received, especially in municipalities that lacked the space for a public park. Those places combined the necessity of a cemetery with the necessity of a park to much success. I visited Laurel Hill for the first time in 2010 on a very cold December morning. Because the social aspect of Laurel Hill still exists (and is locally promoted), I have been back several times — once for a concert (that's right, a concert!) and two more times for "The Market of the Macabre," a craft fair geared towards the gruesome with its tongue planted firmly in its skeletal cheek. 

Mary, Sarah and Martha

Laurel Hill is home to a large number of those who served in the military during various conflicts, including the American Revolution, the War of 1812 and the two World Wars. There are the graves of many of Philadelphia's past mayors and other government officials. There are prominent (and not-so-prominent) figures from Philadelphia's history who were instrumental in shaping the nation in its infancy. Small markers have been installed to assist visitors (using a GPS-powered phone app) on a self-guided tour. One can be enlightened to the contributions of Martha Hunt Coston (who invented the signal flare), Sarah Hale (who campaigned diligently to make Thanksgiving an official holiday. Sarah also wrote "Mary Had a Little Lamb") and Mary Pennington (who invented the egg carton). To show that they don't take themselves too seriously, there are two headstones on display that were used as props when scenes from movies in the Rocky saga were filmed at Laurel Hill. 

On my first trip, I took pictures of a small sampling of the famous people interred at Laurel Hill. I went equipped with a map and a list and my camera... and a heavy winter coat. It was freezing that day and I did my best to be efficient, minimizing the actual time I spent outside of my car exposed to the elements. After a few hours of taking pictures of the graves on my list, I noticed that there was one name that eluded me — Owen Wister. (He's the fellow pictured at the very top of this post.)

Owen Wister was born into an affluent Philadelphia family in 1860. He attended schools in Europe and eventually graduated from Harvard. At 22, he published a satire of the popular novel The Swiss Family Robinson. His humorous take was so well-received, it prompted noted author and humorist Mark Twain to write a letter of praise and congratulations to young Owen. The young writer spent many summers in Wyoming, mingling with real-life cowboys and ranch hands. He became intrigued and enamored with the lifestyle and was inspired to write several short stories based on extensive journals he had kept, chronicling his trips. Owen met famed Western artist Frederic Remington, who romanticized cowboys in his paintings, and the two remained life-long friends. Owen also was chums with rugged future president Theodore Roosevelt. With the success of his stories, Owen penned his opus "The Virginian," a sprawling, multi-leveled account of the American cowboy. This 1902 novel is recognized as the first in the Western genre we know today, spawning hundreds upon hundreds of novels, movies and television shows. Owen's novel itself was the basis for the popular 60s TV series of the same name.

Owen and his family are interred at Laurel Hill Cemetery under matching headstones, each one simply engraved with names, dates and a single cross.... and I'll be goddamned if I couldn't find any of 'em.

I returned to Laurel Hill four years later to see Philly punk rockers The Dead Milkmen in their highly-publicized concert among the crypts. By the time we arrived for the show, it was getting too dark to search for the Wister family plot. My quest would have to be put on hold for another time. I enjoyed the concert and tried not to think about Owen Wister and how the location of his grave mocked me in the darkness.

Just after Labor Day in 2021, Mrs. Pincus and I went to the annual "The Market of the Macabre," where we perused the wares of various vendors, all looking like they were in a dress rehearsal for Halloween. After a once-through of the small market area, I ventured out into the cemetery proper, once again in hot pursuit of my "white whale." I had even talked with one vendor who identified himself as a part-time tour guide at the facility. I asked the guy if he knew the location of Owen Wister's grave off the top of his head. The man rolled his eyes in thought for a second before sputtering out some nonsensical directions while pointing and gesturing to a distant, non-existent, location. In an effort to clarify, I asked where it was in refence to the grave of William Warner. (Though not famous himself, Warner's grave is. His remains are housed in a striking sarcophagus, designed and created by sculptor Alexander Milne Calder, famous for his statues that adorn Philadelphia's City Hall.) The alleged tour guide pointed some more and made even less sense despite being supplied with additional information. I wandered aimlessly around Section J (as denoted on a map of the grounds) to no avail. I passed the same headstones and plots over and over. None of them read "WISTER" and none looked like the photo I had seen of Owen Wister's grave marker online. Dejected (again), we left.

Yesterday was another gathering of the goth-leaning community at Laurel Hill. Yes sir! Another "The Market of the Macabre" was upon us. In addition to seeing what curiosities were available for purchase, I was determined — determined! — to make this my final attempt at finding Owen Wister's burial plot. We arrived 90 minutes before the official opening of the craft fair, but since Laruen Hill is a public cemetery, we were welcomed to stroll the grounds. I made a beeline to Section J. At the near corner of the section, I found two young volunteers (so identified by their neon yellow vests emblazoned with VOLUNTEER on the back) fiddling with their cell phones. "Hi," I said as I approached them, "Is this Section J?" and I pointed just past where they were posted. One of them — the young lady — confirmed my inquiry and returned her attention to her phone. To her chagrin, I continued my questioning. "Do you know where Owen Wister's grave is?," I asked. On her phone, she guided me to a small section of the cemetery's website, unknown to me prior to our conversation. Here, she explained, is a GPS-driven database. Just enter the name of the person you are seeking and a directional map pops up to show you the way. (I used a similar feature at Mountain Grove Cemetery in Bridgeport, Connecticut, while trying to find the grave of Marion Slaughter, the real name of country singer Vernon Dahlert.) I typed "Owen Wister" in the correct fields and, sure enough, a map with a route traced in blue and a dotted path leading to a pinpoint showed up on my phone's screen. I followed the computer-voiced directions happily... until I was informed that I had "reached my destination." The trouble was, I was still in the middle of the path that skirted the south edge of Section J... just a few feet from where I received the coordinates. I was right back where I started. But I was determined. I retraced the random path I walked through Section J back in September. I saw the Warner grave. I saw the other graves I had seen before. I did not, however, see any graves of the Wister variety. I exited Section J and stood on the paved path, turning around and around, trying to spot a place that I had not searched before.

Victory!

I spotted a small path, obscured by bushes, about 50 feet ahead and not looking at all like it was part of Section J.  I slipped past the bushes and was treated to a spectacular view of the Schuylkill River far below where I was standing. I was also treated to a spectacular view of Owen Wister's grave! I thought I heard a chorus of angelic voices offer a heraldic cry of victory. I swore the clouds above me parted and a single beam of golden light engulfed both me and the ancient marble headstone that stands to designate where Owen Wister's remains lie in eternal repose. I stood silently for a few minutes and took in the moment. I was Captain Ahab with a cellphone camera in my hand in place of a sharpened harpoon. Owen Wister's grave lay before me like the great Moby Dick, about to be photographed instead of pierced. I snapped a few pictures from a few different angles. I was soon joined by my son, who directed me to a spot behind the headstone, so he could compose and capture the moment as though I was a big-game hunter posing triumphantly with his long-sought prey.

I raised my arms and let out a loud "WOO-HOO!"

We bought tickets for the day's "Market of the Macabre," but I could have just as easily left right then and there..... satisfied.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

that's me in the spotlight

I know some famous people. Some are local celebrities whose fame — whether or not they acknowledge it — only reaches to the very real boundaries of the Delaware Valley*. Others have achieved widespread nationwide success — even worldwide in a few well-deserved cases. These people fall into many categories. Some are singers. Some are actors. Some are media personalities. However, I will not divulge the names of any of them. I don't want to brag. I don't wish to use my acquaintance with a famous person in an attempt to impress you. (Some of them, I will admit, are far from impressive.) I won't do this, because it was done to me many years ago. And I was not impressed.

When I was in elementary school, I was pretty close friends with a boy named Mitchell Rosencrantz‡. Mitchell was a nice kid. He was somewhat awkward and quirky and not one of the "cool" kids. Well, neither was I, but I was able to ingratiate myself among that clique-y, elitist group without much backlash. Mitchell, however, was not so savvy. He experienced his share of bullying. He was the unfortunate target of schoolyard epithets on a fairly regular basis. It was sad, but I was his friend because I thought he was a nice guy, not because I felt sorry for him.

Mitchell and I hung out at recess with a few other kids who didn't fit in with the top tier of the popular hierarchy either. But that was okay. We had just as much fun. We discussed our favorite television shows, often debating the logistics of actually kissing Marcia Brady. We traded baseball cards that we collected, although none of us was really that interested in the actual sport of baseball. Mostly, we ran around and did "kid on the playground" stuff until the bell rang and we filed back into our classrooms. Every once in a while, on a weekend, I would go to Mitchell's house or he would come to mine. (To be honest, he would rarely come to my house, because that would've required my mother to straighten things up and possibly vacuum... and she wanted no parts of that.) At Mitchell's house, we'd do almost the same things that we did in the schoolyard except it was just the two of us.  (I remember that Mitchell had a little brother who was the spitting image of Mitchell. He also had a little sister who looked like Mitchell with pigtails.) After a few hours, my mom would pull up to Mitchell's house in her giant station wagon. I'd say "goodbye" and "thank you" to Mitchell and my mom would nudge me until I remembered to thank Mrs. Rosencrantz as well.

There was one thing that Mitchell did in an concerted effort to be accepted. He bragged about knowing a celebrity. He would find an opening in the conversation to remind everyone that his father was the manager of a celebrity. Now, we all knew that short, balding Mr. Rosencrantz was a lawyer. With his pen-filled plastic pocket protector, he looked nothing like any of the managers we saw on TV, like the guys in sequined-covered suits who escorted hulking professional wrestlers into the ring or the often-harried but coolly-coiffed Reuben Kincaid who called the financial shots for The Partridge Family. Granted, the celebrity that Mitchell talked about wasn't Adam West or Bobby Sherman or Karen Valentine. Hell, it wasn't anyone we even heard of. But he swore up and down of his celebrity status, so who were we to argue. We weren't worldly and we knew it. Mitchell insisted that his father represented the one and only Eddie Holman in all things show business.

That's right. Eddie Holman.

Gold.

New York-born Eddie Holman moved to Philadelphia with his family as a teen ager. At 16, he recorded his first song. It was heavily influenced by the so-called "Philly Soul" sound. He continued to record eventually hitting big in 1970 with "Hey There Lonely Girl," which was a reworked cover of a song originally released by Ruby and the Romantics in 1963. The tune hit Number Two on the prestigious Billboard Hot 100 chart. It sold over a million copies, however, Eddie Holman never had another hit.

Mitchell talked about Eddie Holman as though his popularity and recognition rivaled The Beatles. Mitchell's friends would nod politely as he expounded on the vast reaches of Eddie Holman's fame. He got misty-eyed as he spoke of Eddie Holman's talent and renown. Honestly, in 1970, I was 9 years old. I don't remember hearing "Hey There Lonely Girl" on the radio. Granted, the AM pop stations that I listened to were unjustly segregated and featured predominantly white artists. I don't recall seeing Eddie Holman perform on the ubiquitous Ed Sullivan Show, the barometer by which true fame was measured — at least in my young mind. If Ed Sullivan welcomed you to the stage, you were somebody... even if you were somebody I never heard of. I don't believe Eddie Holman ever graced the stage at 1697 Broadway in the Big Apple. But, as far as Mitchell Rosencrantz was concerned, Eddie Holman was celebrity enough to impress his friends.

As the years passed, I still remained friends with Mitchell Rosencrantz. We moved on to a new school after elementary school and the name "Eddie Holman" rarely breached conversations anymore. 

Soon, many of my classmates were anxious and excited about upcoming Bar and Bat Mitzvahs. Invitations were sent and the buzz was constant about how elaborate plans would be†. Sometime in the autumn of 1974, I attended Mitchell Rosencrantz's Bar Mitzvah.

The day began early in the morning, as I fidgeted in my seat at a synagogue in Northeast Philadelphia. I tugged at the necktie that my dad so expertly knotted around my skinny neck and thumbed through the Hebrew-printed pages of the prayer book some bent-over old man with three teeth in his head shoved into my hand as I entered the sanctuary. I adjusted the complementary satin yarmulke on my head (I think the old man plopped that on the back of my skull as well) and whispered to my seatmates that I recognized from school. I'm sure I also ogled the young female guests, marveling how they all looked well beyond their thirteen years, some wearing make-up for the first time and appearing waaaaay prettier than they did in any math class. Mitchell was barely visible at the lectern, peering over the top of those big wooden disks that kept the sacred Torah scrolls properly corralled. We could hear Mitchell's voice stammering out some tuneless chant. We giggled covertly each time his maturing vocal chords hit an unintentional sour note. When the grueling marathon service was over, we adjourned to a banquet room in the synagogue building that was decorated for an adults' version of a children's party. There were people who, though strangers, resembled members of my own extended family. There were two multi-tiered fountains, situated on a table — side-by-side — surrounded by large platters of unidentifiable hors d'oeuvres. One fountain dispensed wine, the other a tamer grape juice. Of course, my friends and I tried to sneak the wine, only to be scolded by a stern-looking older woman in a beaded dress, her mass of hair all done up for the occasion. Some of us danced with unwieldy moves to the typical hired band — a four-piece combo comprised of two accountants, a department store salesman and a guy who sometime, somewhere was passed over for his shot at stardom. Some of Mitchell's friends even mustered up enough nerve to ask one of the girls to dance.

Famous.

Once Mitchell's friends were finally seated at the long table reserved for the younger set (and far removed from the rest of the tables at which more important guests were seated), Mr. Rosencrantz hijacked the microphone from the tuxedoed band leader. He delivered a solemn double-shot of HaMotzi and Kiddush over a hefty loaf of challah and a full goblet of wine. Then, he cleared his throat, waved his hand and, through a wide smile, announced a "very special guest" of the afternoon. The double doors at the rear of the room opened and a tall, handsome African-American man appeared — impeccably dressed in a maroon velvet tuxedo, his barrel chest festooned with contrasting powder-blue ruffles. He smiled and waved to the guests as he made his way to the microphone offered by Mr. Rosencrantz. The man accepted the mic and, after warmly embracing Mitchell's dad, began to sing in a smooth tenor. His selection? Why, that 1970 near-chart topper "Hey There Lonely Girl." As he serenaded, whispers carried through the room. "That's Eddie Holman!," was the general consensus. 

Mitchell sat at the center of the long table with his arms crossed and a satisfied smirk on his lips. He was surrounded on both sides by his school friends and he beamed! I mean visibly beamed! Finally, he must have thought, everyone will see that I really know Eddie Holman. It really didn't matter that his friends still didn't know who he was. By the thunderous applause at the song's conclusion, Mitchell was fully convinced that he knew a celebrity. 

And that was all that mattered.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

*A colloquial term for the area surrounding Philadelphia, Southern New Jersey and the tip of Northern Delaware.

‡ This is a fictitious name. Don't bother trying to figure out who it is.

† I did not have a formal, traditional Bar Mitzvah. The explanation for that can be found here.