In the moment

In 1963, my father took a picture of his dad and mom on top of the Chrysler Building. They had come from Elyria, Ohio, to New York City to the second tallest building in the world to look at the tallest building in the world. 

They also came to New York City to visit the expecting Funk “kids.” None of the pictures taken that day show my mother, which makes me suspect my dad was doing the good-husband-thing by giving his parents a tour of the big city so that his wife could take a break from the doting relatives. 

I was born in February 1954 in Flushing Hospital in Queens. 

At the time, my parents lived in an upstairs apartment in a house across the water from LaGuardia Airport. The family who owned the home was The Slocums. They became lifelong friends of my parents. Babies have a way of bonding families. 

I didn’t know my dad’s parents well. My grandmother died of a heart attack when I was still a toddler. In 1959 we moved to California from Nyack, New York. My grandfather stayed in Elyria.

My grandfather, Louis W. Funk, left, is given a gold watch at his retirement.

My brother Kevin was hellbent on shoveling something, even if it was bits of ice and gravel from the driveway.

He worked for a local trucking firm as a driver, and when he retired from the trucking business, he was feted in the local newspaper — the good old days for working stiffs.

The only time I remember being in his house was in 1968. The California Funks went there for Christmas. My brother and I were hoping, praying even, that it would snow. Growing up in Altadena meant it never snowed. We wanted one Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby white Christmas. But not this year. First time in years, according to my grandpa. Undeterred, my brother went out one morning with a giant snow shovel to try to shovel the ice off the drive. He made a lot of noise and probably woke the neighbors.

We did see Santa deliver the milk one morning. He drove a white truck and stopped at several houses on the block, including my grandpa’s and brought “the white stuff” to the front porch.

You could say we had a white Christmas after all – Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby all rolled into one.

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Santa makes deliveries in a Bauer Dairy delivery truck in Elyria, Ohio.

Nurse "Worceshington" was a friend to lonely teen

When I was 12, I spent four or five days on the children’s ward at Huntington Hospital in Pasadena. I was recovering from surgery to repair a hernia. I don’t remember how many other kids there were on the ward — maybe 8 to 12. All the kids were in different states of discomfort making for long nights punctuated with moans and cries and the fluttering of nurse uniforms as we were attended to when we needed attending.

The days were boring. I’m not sure the ward had a TV. And if it did, all a kid could watch during the day back then were soap operas and cooking shows.

To pass the time, my dad bought me a model to build. I called it a “Go Daddy,” but apparently its real name is “Daddy, The Way Out Suburbanite.” I liked building models. Cars and airplanes were my favorites, though I couldn’t name a single product I produced. I knew I built red cars and silver jets. I almost finished an aircraft carrier. Too many pieces, I guess.

Our ‘55 Ford and ‘59 Hillman Minx and my brother’s three wheeler, before Big Wheels.

My dad could have gotten me a ‘55 Ford, my mother’s red car. He drove a Hillman Minx, but I’m pretty sure there were no models of it at Henry’s, the local toy store. I thought the Minx was going to be my car someday. I loved the smell of the straw in its seats and the radio that seemed to only play Angels baseball games.

Today, I wonder if “Go Daddy” reminded my dad of himself and his daily commute to downtown Los Angeles along the winding Pasadena Freeway. Before cars had power steering, you’d get a real upper-body workout on that route. And at 55, you felt like you were flying.

There was an older kid across the aisle from me who was there because of a sledding accident. As I recall, he was sliding down a slope with some buddies when he let his leg dangle out of the sled. It got caught on a tree. The weight of his buddies behind him and the speed of the sled almost ripped him in half (his words). He looked okay to me. He was a tough guy and well-liked by the nurses.

The one nurse I remember was young and pretty. She always pronounced “wash” “wursh” like in Worcestershire Sauce. I think she was even from Worceshington State. And, she liked that guy.

One night, she rolled a TV into the ward while most everyone was asleep and put it next to Rip’s bed. Because I was still awake and once again ambulatory, she brought me over to a chair next to his bed and together we watched Johnny Carson. I was 12, remember. The event was more important to me than Carson’s monologue or guests. It felt like a clandestine operation, one in which I got to stay up late with Rip and Miss Worceshington and listen to a man who was not my dad tell grown-up jokes.

During the day I’d work on my “Go Daddy” model. My mom would visit with my brother and my dad would stop by on his way home from work. I finished the model before being sent home.

I waved good-bye to Rip and left with my mother and my model. Rip and I didn’t actually talk much, ‘cause I was just a kid. But, I was glad he had Miss Worceshington as a friend. I don’t recall that anyone came to visit him. I think she knew that, too.

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This memory came to mind for a number of reasons. First, it’s never been too far out of mind, but most obviously because of the Covid-19 epidemic and the photos of patients crammed into hospital corridors in New York City, New Orleans, Italy, and China. And, because of the nature of the virus, no one is allowed to visit and comfort those who need comforting. Hospitals are staffed with lots of nurse Worceshingtons. They are the only friends some patients will get to see.

Earth Day: Unintended consequence of Clovid-19 virus? Ready for Earth Month 2024?

The 50th anniversary of Earth Day is today: April 22, 2020.

One amazing photo of the Earth taken from above the moon in 1969 struck a nerve and got many of us thinking about what became suddenly obvious. We, as a species, realized that WE are all WE have.

Earth Day is the by-product of that epiphany, the year after Nell Armstrong took “one small step for man,” April 22, 1970. It’s there to remind us that not only are we defined by human-made political boundaries, but by the boundaries of space and time. Sometimes we forget where we live.

A good friend’s Facebook post showing the beautiful blue skies over Paris and a recent story about dolphins returning to Venice (though later debunked as fake by The National Geographic) reminded me of several environmental research reports that appeared shortly after 9/11. Their conclusion: the Earth seemed to be trying to repair itself while we curtailed our air travel.

More recently, NASA reported seeing cleaner air over China, though not all is as it seems. Check out NASA’s report here. Don’t believe the hoax about more sulfur in the air.

It appears air pollution over Paris and Los Angeles has dropped dramatically, too.

I am not advocating hunkering down till we die of old age, just pointing out that whatever we’re doing now to protect ourselves from Clovid-19 is inadvertently giving the Earth’s air, water, and other creatures a chance to take a vacation from human activity.

Quite possible, it may prove to some climate-change deniers that in a large part, our actions on this planet affect everything.

And, to those working to convince the world that the changing climate is due in large part to human activity, it’s going to be further confirmation that they’re on the right track.

And, to those who think there’s nothing we can do to halt global warming and other human-caused calamities, I think this proves there is.

Imagine if Earth Day became Earth Month every leap year. One month of hunkering down, where all human industrial activity stops for a month while we reacquaint ourselves with our families, friends, and neighbors. When it’s over, we can celebrate (without fireworks).

I think we can get used to that.

We can even plan for it. Make it a celebration, not a prison sentence. Many religions on Earth do something like it every year, but for their reasons.

I don’t think it’s too much of a leap.

We’ve got four years to plan that party.