Stories I'd Tell My Children (But Maybe Not Until They're Adults). Michael N. Marcus
also like elaborate pranks, spoofs and put-ons. I’m very good at manipulating the media and circulating believable phony news—a talent I inherited from my very funny father.
I try to make enforcers realize the absurdity of the rules they are enforcing. Logic is good. Illogic is funny.
I sometimes obey the letter of the law but not the spirit. In high school we had to wear ties, but there was no rule against wearing extremely ugly ties.
I like deflating pompous people and institutions.
When I was an editor at Rolling Stone, I attended press conferences and speeches at the fancy-shmancy 21 Club in Manhattan with friends from other magazines. The 21’s dress code required that men wear jackets and ties, but three of us were noticeably informal.
Our corporate hosts had paid big bucks for 21 to feed us, so, despite our scruffy appearance, we were too important to be rejected by the stuffy maître d’ in the tuxedo.
Other customers wore $200 “power ties,” but we had real power and dined sans cravate. The restaurant was lucky we didn’t decide to dine sans pantalons.
Thanks
I thank my parents, Rita and Bud Marcus, for putting up with a lot of crap, providing material for me to write about, exposing me to many things and inspiring me in many ways.
I thank my wife, Marilyn Marcus, for loving me, encouraging me and tolerating me. She used to be jealous, but now she knows that if I’m not in bed at 3 a.m., I’m with a computer, not with another woman. Marilyn is a worrier and thinks I should have changed every name in this book. I’m betting she’s wrong. We’ll see what happens.
In ancient Greek mythology, the “muses” were beautiful goddesses who inspired the creation of literature and art. I’ve had several muses, and they are all beautiful and smart women.
For most of my 41-year writing career, I’ve written about things, and about how people related to them. In 2004, I started writing about people without the things. In 2009, I finally became comfortable writing about emotions.
This most recent and most important evolutionary development coincided with my reconnecting with Rosemary Garcia. We dated in high school and college. In 2009, after no contact for 43 years, Rosemary emailed me from 1,300 miles away. She helped me to become a more complete writer, and a happier, more tolerant and less cynical person.
Deborah Lurie Edery was my first muse. She put me in the mood to write more stories after she said she liked the first one in 2005. Deb is a very important former girlfriend from college, who reconnected with me via email from 15 miles away, after about 40 years. Deb activated my memory and pushed me to turn thoughts into pages. This book would not exist without her.
Phyllis Caplow Helfand put me in the mood to finish writing the stories after I stalled and got out of the mood. Phyllis was one of the first females I was attracted to, when we were in the second grade in 1953. In 2007 Phyllis became my second email muse, reconnecting after 43 years from 3,000 miles away. Her unintentional but powerful push was a nice payback for the cookies I gave her 55 years earlier. Phyllis remembered things about me that I forgot. This book would not exist without her.
Dedication
Bertram “Bud” Marcus
1922 – 2009
My father died while I was writing this book. I’m sorry he did not get to read it. Pop introduced me to most of the things I care about, including technology, humor, collecting, traveling, building things, languages and history. My father was one of the world’s greatest storytellers and is a major influence on my writing. I miss him a lot.
Acknowledgments
Sally Cafarelli (1915-1986) is my wife’s late mother. Sally said she worried double to make up for my refusal to worry at all. Who knows? Maybe it helped.
Gerald Light (1919-2004) was my first boss in advertising. Gerry taught me a lot about the ad business. After the SOB fired me, I used what he taught me, to take business away from him. Fuck him—and the horse he rode in on.
Dave Evans is a friend and former housemate and business partner. He shared some of the great college-era adventures. I still use the hair brush Dave left behind when he graduated from Lehigh and moved out of our house over 40 years ago. I don’t need to use the brush as much as I did back then, and it will probably outlast me.
Skip Foti is my wife’s cousin, a kindred spirit, and my occasional dance partner whom I didn’t meet until after the great adventures. If I knew him back then, Skip would definitely have been part of the fun. We might even have shared a jail cell.
Ralph “The Navigator” Romaniello spent some long nights strapped into in the right seat of my 1974 Fiat during sports car rallies. Ralph kept us heading in the right direction—most of the time.
Christy Pinheiro is an online buddy and fellow writer. We critique each other’s books. She made some excellent suggestions for this one. Christy said that something I wrote was so funny that she burned her breakfast while laughing. That’s a lot better than puking because of something I wrote.
The beginning of the Baby Boom and the fabulous Hillhouse High School Class of 1964, “the last great class.” The guys: best buddies Howie Shrobe and Marty Kravitt, fellow Foofum Kevin McKeown, fellow Finster Barry Tenin, unindicted co-conspirator Alan Disler, honorary Jew Billy Priestly, world-class wit Harry Whitney, Grand Fenwicker Alan Melnick, dead fish depositor Howie Krosnick, neighbor from across the swamp Ed Cohen, ultra-creative writer Mike Baldinger, favorite phantoms Steve Schmuck and John Quimby. Girl friends (but not girlfriends): Janet Braverman, Phyllis Caplow, Carol Cherkis, Linda Howard, Annie Iwanciwsky, Cynthia Lynes, Marilyn Grant, Patty Miller, Rocky Myers, Illeine Saslafsky, Carrie Setlow, Marilyn Winokur. They made the bad times feel better, even decades later.
Chapter 1
Runaway
They all started out fine, of course, with young women who were beautiful, smart, sexy, funny and good cooks; and—much to my amazement—they somehow perceived me as handsome, smart, sexy, funny and a good cook.
Invariably, the women turned out to be less than perfect.
Two were heavily into drugs. One of them was a drug dealer who was contemplating suicide.
One was a thief. She even stole a concert poster from the wall of my apartment.
One decided she wanted to try being a lesbian for a year. I was scheduled to be her last man. That was a big burden. Would it be my fault if she didn’t come back?
Another thought she could finance college through prostitution and wanted me to be her pimp.
And another wanted me to help her make bombs.
Although the sex, food and conversations were good, there was clearly something missing in the stability department, and I wondered if it was my fault.
Did I make them this way?
Do I attract nutty women, or do I drive women nuts?
These days, I don’t remember which alternative I thought was better.
And I’m not even sure that one is better.
Back then, though, I wanted to find out.
It was time for an experiment.
I abruptly ended the relationship I was in, and decided that for 30 days I would become socially passive. If Sophia Loren was standing naked next to