Sunday, September 18, 2011

Killing time in Reno

You always get your money’s worth at the Reno Air Races. You have to pay admission and buy your own hot dogs and beer but the carnage is free. Yesterday a vintage plane went out of control and crashed into the VIP stands killing the pilot, of course, and eight others as well as maiming and injuring dozens of spectators. I tagged along to one of the events years ago, mostly to talk baseball to a pal of mine. In the middle of these daredevil events a plane crashed on the far side of the airfield. The pilot died and they carted him off to the morgue and the races continued. No fuss, no muss. I found it odd that we had witnessed a death before our very eyes and it didn’t seem to mean a thing. The only other time someone died before me was when a sax man collapsed and died on stage during his solo at the old Blue Note in Las Vegas. There was stunned silence for a few seconds then everyone began to shout for 911. We were all asked to leave immediately (without refunds mind you). There was another death at an air show the same day as well as the loss of a whole professional hockey team in a Russian crash this week. Those who are apprehensive about flying are told, “If your number comes up, it comes up”, to which the rejoinder is, “but what if the pilot’s number comes up?” Like in Reno this weekend.

Friday, September 16, 2011

Swiss miss hits UBS

Once upon a time I worked in Zurich, where serious money resides year round. They were dull, diligent people, just the right sort to handle my money when I had real money.
Today’s paper said that they took a hit of $2 billion in losses when a trader in London obviously hit the wrong buttons on his computer. My days with UBS are long over but in the heady days of the 80’s and 90’s I was riding high with them. Luxury boxes in LA and NY. Fine dinners in the executive dining room with a view of Rockefeller Center. Who wouldn’t want to sit in a room with Gregory Peck in the Bel Air Hotel while some guy in a grey suit with a suitable accent told us how brilliant we were with our money. My account executive whispered to me that the people in the room represented $8 billion of private wealth. By the way, if you have seven figure money where are you going to deposit it: the corner bank? I was probably influenced by “The Thomas Crowne Affair”, the one with Steve McQueen playing sexy chess with Faye Dunaway. So that’s how the rich have fun, at least in my fantasy. That was long ago, in a galaxy far, far away. The Swiss, like their cheese, are full of holes now. Harry Lime was right, 700 years of democracy and brotherly love and what did they give the world: the cuckoo clock--the kind you find in the executive offices of UBS.

Monday, September 5, 2011

Days you'll always remember

“Speak Memory”, Vladimir Nabokov’s autobiography calls up the past in a memorable form. Of course all of us know where we were on 9/11. I had just gotten up and turned on the Today Show for their brainless blend of banter that I took with my morning coffee.
Those jolts of history-making days don’t come often in a lifetime but they do come along and affect each and every one of us.
I don’t remember Pearl Harbor because I was too young and too remote. The first “event” I remember was D-Day, June 6, 1944 since it was Arbor Day for us Fifth Graders and we could talk about it between raking leaves and doing as little as possible outside. Then came three big days in a row: April 12, 1945,the day FDR died and I came out of a showing of “For Whom The Bell Tolls”. Then VE Day, May 8, 1945, my 10th birthday, and quickly August 14th VJ Day. The two parts of the War were over and we celebrated joyously by riding up and down Jasper Ave. in our old Packard convertible. After that, the days became more personal. Graduation from UC Berkeley in 1957. Marriage to the love of my life, Peggy Jean, September 14. 1957. Birth of our son Tony, December 14, 1959. Birth of our daughter Alison, June 7, 1962. Etc. etc. etc as Yul Brynner dictated to Anna in “The King and I”. Unfortunately there are two important dates you can never remember: the day you’re born and the day you die. It’s the ones in between that count.