Sunday morning I was reading through the news on the web and I tripped over the story of Grandpa Munster dying. One website fondly recalled Al Lewis walking amongst the tables of his Village restaurant making the rounds and talking to guests.
That isn't how I recalled him.
Since I'm a huge movie buff, people always assume I'm the type of person who would seek out actors and stars. Thanks, but I really have no desire to meet anyone famous. It's always a let down. Let me have my image in my head. Otherwise, you meet them and discover they are vain and arrogant or just down right stupid. I like their work and their creations, thank you. Please don't give me the reality.
Take for instance dear, lovable Grandpa Munster. Sometime in the early 90's I went to visit my friend in New York City. We were walking through the Village, heading to meet some friends when we spotted Al Lewis standing outside, on the stoop of his restaurant, underneath the sign proclaiming "Grandpa's." My friend, who truly does love to meet the stars, ran towards him like an eager puppy and asked, "Grandpa, can I take a picture with you?"
And dear, sweet and humorous Mr. Lewis barked, "I ain't no f*#@ing tourist attraction!" and turns around and marches into his restaurant.
Prior to this I actually had a moment when I almost asked my friend if we could eat there. Now we both stood in the street with our mouths wide open and the doe in the headlights look. My friend quickly reverted to fighting mode. "If you ain't no f*#@ing tourist attraction, why are you standing outside under a sign cashing in on your celebrity?!" I pulled him away as a couple of people stared on.
For the rest of the weekend, my friend made sure if we went anywhere, we passed in front of Grandpa's restaurant so my friend could yell obscenities at the old fart. Normally, I would have begged him to stop, but this really got me. Here was someone I loved as a child, who truly was cashing in on the character he created, and for no reason he shattered my illusions. I never watched the Munsters again. If I passed the show on tv I took the opportunity to tell anyone around me about how Grandpa was an ass.
So Sunday morning when I read he died, I'm sorry to say I felt no grief. But I did recall our escapade and smiled. Sometime in the afternoon my friend called me from L.A.
"Hey Honey," he purred, "I just called to give you the news. Grandpa is dead."
"Oh my God, I read the news and I've been thinking about you all day!"
"I know honey, just wanted to be sure you knew. Enjoy the world without Grandpa!"
And that's why one should never meet a star.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
Monday, February 06, 2006
Gnome, Sweet Gnome
My sister went back to New Orleans last weekend. Since Katrina, she had only been back a couple of times, just to run in and out on the same day. She hadn't seen her friends since Katrina, hadn't spent more then a moment in the city. So she scheduled dinners and luncheons to see as many people as she could and spent a long weekend in the broken city she so dearly loves.
She found things barely improved since the first time she went back to the city. She briefly walked through her destroyed home in Lakeview and found someone was more patient and persistent then she was and had searched and stole her jewelry. It wasn't like she could be angry, my God, she didn't really want to search through the mud, muck and filth. It was her third trip to her devastated home and her total recovery remained one chair, 7 plates, one vase, a glass ornament and 4 stepping stones from her front yard.
She returned to Houston early Superbowl Sunday to the house she and I moved to only last weekend. I was busy unpacking and putting things away when she drove up. After we unloaded her car, we sat in our living room as she told me the tales of her return. I wondered when she left if she would return happy with her decision to stay another year in Houston, or if the visit would strengthen her loneliness and longing for the Crescent City. She never said, but as she told of the difficulties of living through the destruction, she seemed more at peace and at ease with her decision to stay longer in Houston.
As she gave updates on all of her friends, she jumped up and returned with a large box and began her story. When she arrived at a friend's home it was presented to her wrapped with a bow. She showed me the printed note which on the cover read:
"Through breach and flood
Water and mud
Of all the things that
didn't last
This one is a blast from
your past"
Inside the note read:
"I hope this gives you great thoughts of your time in New Orleans…"
As she started to open the present, her friend told her, "I hope this doesn't make your cry." My sister held her breath and opened the box. A ceramic garden gnome, leaning on a shovel stared back at her.
Puzzled, my sister said, "Well thanks, it's lovely, but can I ask why you thought it would make me cry."
"It's from your front yard," her friend replied.
"Wait a minute!" I stopped my sister's story, "You had a gnome in your front yard?!"
"No," my sister replied. "That's the whole point."
The friend went to my sister's wrecked home and searched through the rubble in the front yard. Finding the gnome, she took it home, soaked it in Clorox for two weeks, brushed it down with a toothbrush to clean all the muck off so my sister could have something more of her home. Problem was it was a piece of someone else's home. The gnome belongs to a neighbor next door, or from blocks away. Who can say as the area was covered in some 8 feet of water for nearly a month?
The care and thoughtfulness of the gift were priceless. The reality was hysterical. Later they laughed in a local bar over the mysterious gnome. They shared the story with another patron who confessed to being a police officer. He pointed out that basically, my sister's gift was stolen property.
Since the gnome is now home here in Houston, I guess that makes my sister a felon for crossing the state line with stolen property. Does that mean I'm now harboring a fugitive?
She found things barely improved since the first time she went back to the city. She briefly walked through her destroyed home in Lakeview and found someone was more patient and persistent then she was and had searched and stole her jewelry. It wasn't like she could be angry, my God, she didn't really want to search through the mud, muck and filth. It was her third trip to her devastated home and her total recovery remained one chair, 7 plates, one vase, a glass ornament and 4 stepping stones from her front yard.
She returned to Houston early Superbowl Sunday to the house she and I moved to only last weekend. I was busy unpacking and putting things away when she drove up. After we unloaded her car, we sat in our living room as she told me the tales of her return. I wondered when she left if she would return happy with her decision to stay another year in Houston, or if the visit would strengthen her loneliness and longing for the Crescent City. She never said, but as she told of the difficulties of living through the destruction, she seemed more at peace and at ease with her decision to stay longer in Houston.
As she gave updates on all of her friends, she jumped up and returned with a large box and began her story. When she arrived at a friend's home it was presented to her wrapped with a bow. She showed me the printed note which on the cover read:
"Through breach and flood
Water and mud
Of all the things that
didn't last
This one is a blast from
your past"
Inside the note read:
"I hope this gives you great thoughts of your time in New Orleans…"
As she started to open the present, her friend told her, "I hope this doesn't make your cry." My sister held her breath and opened the box. A ceramic garden gnome, leaning on a shovel stared back at her.
Puzzled, my sister said, "Well thanks, it's lovely, but can I ask why you thought it would make me cry."
"It's from your front yard," her friend replied.
"Wait a minute!" I stopped my sister's story, "You had a gnome in your front yard?!"
"No," my sister replied. "That's the whole point."
The friend went to my sister's wrecked home and searched through the rubble in the front yard. Finding the gnome, she took it home, soaked it in Clorox for two weeks, brushed it down with a toothbrush to clean all the muck off so my sister could have something more of her home. Problem was it was a piece of someone else's home. The gnome belongs to a neighbor next door, or from blocks away. Who can say as the area was covered in some 8 feet of water for nearly a month?
The care and thoughtfulness of the gift were priceless. The reality was hysterical. Later they laughed in a local bar over the mysterious gnome. They shared the story with another patron who confessed to being a police officer. He pointed out that basically, my sister's gift was stolen property.
Since the gnome is now home here in Houston, I guess that makes my sister a felon for crossing the state line with stolen property. Does that mean I'm now harboring a fugitive?
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