So, there I was in charge of a $350,000 budget. My task was to plan an indoor-outdoor Grand Reopening gala for the Sands Las Vegas, a special event that would command huge publicity for the hotel. This was no easy task in Vegas, a town where nothing succeeds like excess!
My Grand Reopening had to be outrageously big, spectacular in fact, and it had to have a master of ceremonies who would help make the event spectacular.
As this was the Sands, the home of the Rat Pack, I wanted one of them to host my event. I went down the list, starting with Sinatra, but he was simply unavailable and had recently suffered very bad press after performing a 10-day gig at Sun City in racially segregated South Africa.
Next on my list was Sammy Davis, Jr.
I called Sammy's agent. "What will it cost to get Sammy for my one-day event?" I asked the agent.
"No can do," said the ten-percenter. He explained that money couldn't buy Sammy, because he had a non-compete clause in his then-current contract with Harrah's casino hotels - Sammy was forbidden from performing anywhere in Nevada, other than at a Harrah's hotel.
I paused for a moment to take that in. Then, a brainstorm hit me... "Would Sammy emcee my event for free? That way, he wouldn't be violating his Harrah's contract," I said to the agent.
"Nah, he wouldn't do that. Foggedaboutit!"
"How would you know that he wouldn't do it? After all," I said, "this is the Sands, and I should think that Sammy has some loyalty to the hotel in Vegas that hosted him when no one else in town would."
An hour later, I had Sammy on the phone, and I posed the question - would he emcee the Sands Grand Reopening for free?
Sammy, bless him, didn't pause a beat. "The Sands? Yeh, I'll do it. I'll do it for old times, for old times!"
That's what he said to me, really. "For old times, for old times."
So, Sammy was scheduled to emcee our Sands Grand Reopening. Now, I had to help create an event worthy of him and a spectacular event that would command world-wide attention. Fortunately for me, I had a secret weapon - "Mr. Spectacular," the one and only Tommy Walker.
From Wikipedia...
Thomas Luttgen Walker was an American producer of live entertainment events who was director of entertainment at Disneyland during its first twelve years of operation, and later produced spectacular events at celebrations including three Olympic Games and the centennial of the Statue of Liberty.
Tommy Walker was born in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. His father, Vesey Walker, was "a band director who, according to a Disneyland press release from 1967, organized more than 50 college, military, school and youth bands. His local American Legion from Wisconsin won an international competition in 1934, with 11-year-old Tommy as a member."
As "Tommy the Toe", the University of Southern California Trojan marching band's drum major, Walker would tear off his uniform jacket, throw his baton to the ground and rush from the stands onto the field to kick conversions for the cardinal and gold. The fans adored Walker, as did the media. To one sportswriter, Walker was "The Caliph of Conversion."
In 1947, a picture of Walker wearing a tall white shako as he booted a football appeared in LIFE magazine and was widely published elsewhere.
I'll tell you more about Sammy, Tommy, and the Sands Grand Reopening in the next posting to this blog. Stay tuned!
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Pulmonary Fibrosis to be Studied with $11M Federal Grant
Friends and relatives:
I thought you'd be interested in reading the news story I've reprinted below from the Boston Business Journal. The Boston University School of Medicine researchers winning this grant are the same wonderful doctors that treated Laura for her pulmonary fibrosis, the focus of the research the grant will fund. These doctors include Boston Medical Center and BUSM pulmonologists Karin A. Sloan and Harrison W. (Hap) Farber. Let's hope this grant helps find a cause and cure for pulmonary fibrosis and for other COPD situations.
Please note this statistic from the news story - "The incidence of pulmonary fibrosis has doubled over the past decade and now kills about 40,000 Americans each year." To put that into perspective, it may interest you to know that about the same number of women die each year from breast cancer. According to the National Cancer Institute, the number of women who will have died from a diagnosis of breast cancer this year is an estimated 40,170.
The lung disease research grant is being made as part of President Obama's 2009 stimulus program. I, for one, am extremely grateful, and I know that Laura was and would continue to be proud of her wonderful medical team.
Best,
Burt Peretsky peretsky@verizon.net
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Lung-disease researchers land $11M
Boston Business Journal - by Julie M. Donnelly
The National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute has awarded Boston University School of Medicine and four other institutions an $11 million, two-year grant. It’s part of the federal stimulus program for the National Institutes of Health.
This grant will allow scientists to study the biology of two fatal lung diseases, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and pulmonary fibrosis.
The grant recipients are all part of the Multi-Center Lung Genomics Research Consortium, which consists of BUSM, Dana-Farber Cancer Institute National Jewish Health, University of Colorado Denver School of Medicine and University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine.
They will use advanced genetic and molecular tools to characterize and better understand COPD and pulmonary fibrosis. They’ll share what they learn with researchers worldwide through a web-based data warehouse.
The goal is to identify who is at risk for the diseases, so they can be diagnosed sooner and treated with personalized therapies.
Researchers will use tissue samples from the NHLBI Lung Tissue Research Consortium biorepository for their studies. The biorepository now contains almost 1,300 tissue samples and collects about 250 additional samples per year from patients with chronic lung diseases.
COPD is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. The incidence of pulmonary fibrosis has doubled over the past decade and now kills about 40,000 Americans each year. There are few effective treatments for either disease and both diseases are fatal.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I thought you'd be interested in reading the news story I've reprinted below from the Boston Business Journal. The Boston University School of Medicine researchers winning this grant are the same wonderful doctors that treated Laura for her pulmonary fibrosis, the focus of the research the grant will fund. These doctors include Boston Medical Center and BUSM pulmonologists Karin A. Sloan and Harrison W. (Hap) Farber. Let's hope this grant helps find a cause and cure for pulmonary fibrosis and for other COPD situations.
Please note this statistic from the news story - "The incidence of pulmonary fibrosis has doubled over the past decade and now kills about 40,000 Americans each year." To put that into perspective, it may interest you to know that about the same number of women die each year from breast cancer. According to the National Cancer Institute, the number of women who will have died from a diagnosis of breast cancer this year is an estimated 40,170.
The lung disease research grant is being made as part of President Obama's 2009 stimulus program. I, for one, am extremely grateful, and I know that Laura was and would continue to be proud of her wonderful medical team.
Best,
Burt Peretsky peretsky@verizon.net
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Lung-disease researchers land $11M
Boston Business Journal - by Julie M. Donnelly
The National Heart, Lung and Blood Institute has awarded Boston University School of Medicine and four other institutions an $11 million, two-year grant. It’s part of the federal stimulus program for the National Institutes of Health.
This grant will allow scientists to study the biology of two fatal lung diseases, chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD) and pulmonary fibrosis.
The grant recipients are all part of the Multi-Center Lung Genomics Research Consortium, which consists of BUSM, Dana-Farber Cancer Institute National Jewish Health, University of Colorado Denver School of Medicine and University of Pittsburgh School of Medicine.
They will use advanced genetic and molecular tools to characterize and better understand COPD and pulmonary fibrosis. They’ll share what they learn with researchers worldwide through a web-based data warehouse.
The goal is to identify who is at risk for the diseases, so they can be diagnosed sooner and treated with personalized therapies.
Researchers will use tissue samples from the NHLBI Lung Tissue Research Consortium biorepository for their studies. The biorepository now contains almost 1,300 tissue samples and collects about 250 additional samples per year from patients with chronic lung diseases.
COPD is the fourth leading cause of death in the United States. The incidence of pulmonary fibrosis has doubled over the past decade and now kills about 40,000 Americans each year. There are few effective treatments for either disease and both diseases are fatal.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Remembering Sammy...
Fifty years ago in Las Vegas, the first of the Rat Pack films, the original Ocean's 11, was wrapping up production. While it was being shot, primarily in the wee hours of the morning, one of the movie's stars, Frank Sinatra, was also playing his nightly gig as the featured performer in the Sands Hotel Copa Room. And each night, before they reported to the movie set, Ocean's 11's other stars, Dean Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., Peter Lawford and Joey Bishop, joined Sinatra at the Sands on stage. During the film's iconic closing shot, the Sands marquee can be seen in the background featuring all of the performers' names.
I worked at the Sands some 30 years later, in 1981 and 1982, as the hotel's Director of Marketing, and one of my fondest memories was the day I brought Sammy Davis, Jr. back to the Sands.
They're all gone now. Joey Bishop, the last member of the Rat Pack (if you don't count Rat Pack late-comer Liza Minnelli), died at age 89, two years ago this month. Sammy died at age 64 on May 16, 1990.
But, on that January day in 1982 when Sammy came back to the Sands to emcee the gala Sands Grand Reopening, he was as alive and as lively as ever.
Here's the story behind the story on Sammy's return to the Sands:
In 1980, the Pratt family of Dallas - owners of a slew of Holiday Inns in Texas and Mexico - had bought the Sands for $85 million. Almost immediately, they threw an additional $15 million into the Sands pot to refurbish the already aging Las Vegas landmark. And by late 1981, they were ready to unveil the new-look Sands.
So, they budgeted $350,000 and scheduled a day-night, indoor-outdoor gala celebration, a Sands Grand Reopening party that was destined to become the biggest party Las Vegas had ever seen. As Director of Marketing, I was in charge of the budget and, technically at least, in charge of the party plans.
I'll tell you the rest of the story in my next posting...
I worked at the Sands some 30 years later, in 1981 and 1982, as the hotel's Director of Marketing, and one of my fondest memories was the day I brought Sammy Davis, Jr. back to the Sands.
They're all gone now. Joey Bishop, the last member of the Rat Pack (if you don't count Rat Pack late-comer Liza Minnelli), died at age 89, two years ago this month. Sammy died at age 64 on May 16, 1990.
But, on that January day in 1982 when Sammy came back to the Sands to emcee the gala Sands Grand Reopening, he was as alive and as lively as ever.
Here's the story behind the story on Sammy's return to the Sands:
In 1980, the Pratt family of Dallas - owners of a slew of Holiday Inns in Texas and Mexico - had bought the Sands for $85 million. Almost immediately, they threw an additional $15 million into the Sands pot to refurbish the already aging Las Vegas landmark. And by late 1981, they were ready to unveil the new-look Sands.
So, they budgeted $350,000 and scheduled a day-night, indoor-outdoor gala celebration, a Sands Grand Reopening party that was destined to become the biggest party Las Vegas had ever seen. As Director of Marketing, I was in charge of the budget and, technically at least, in charge of the party plans.
I'll tell you the rest of the story in my next posting...
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
This dating thing...
No offense to my dear Laura whom I'll always love, I want to get on with my life.
It's been more than two months since she died, and I'm not getting any younger. I've decided to stick my toe in the ocean to see what other fish are out there (how's that for a metaphor!).
So, I'm sitting at a table of ten the other day at my great-niece's Bat Mitzvah, and three Jewish women who have also been widowed and who are also north of 60 (closer to the North Pole than I am), are giving me some encouragement...
Said one, "You'll be snapped up right away, Burt! After all, you have a car, and you can drive at night!"
Maybe I should put that on my Internet dating site profile - that surely would be bait for an entire school of fish!!! Er... maybe not!
Do you know anyone who's found love on an Internet site? I'm going to try, so stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there wants to offer to fix me up, please call or write. As the women at the table told me, I'm "such a catch!"
It's been more than two months since she died, and I'm not getting any younger. I've decided to stick my toe in the ocean to see what other fish are out there (how's that for a metaphor!).
So, I'm sitting at a table of ten the other day at my great-niece's Bat Mitzvah, and three Jewish women who have also been widowed and who are also north of 60 (closer to the North Pole than I am), are giving me some encouragement...
Said one, "You'll be snapped up right away, Burt! After all, you have a car, and you can drive at night!"
Maybe I should put that on my Internet dating site profile - that surely would be bait for an entire school of fish!!! Er... maybe not!
Do you know anyone who's found love on an Internet site? I'm going to try, so stay tuned.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there wants to offer to fix me up, please call or write. As the women at the table told me, I'm "such a catch!"
Friday, September 18, 2009
New Year's Wishes
A friend of mine recently wrote on his FaceBook page: "According to the Jewish calendar, the year is 5769. According to the Chinese calendar, the year is 4706. This means that the Jews went without Chinese food for 1,063 years. This period was known as the Dark Ages."
Funny, eh?
Yes, funny, and it reminded me that the Jewish New Year begins tonight. While those who know me know that I'm hardly the religious type, I was brought up Jewish, and the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashonah, always meant to me a new beginning. In fact, I always regarded the Jewish New Year as MY new year what with summer ending; school beginning; and the cycle of life seeming to renew itself at about the same time of year. So indeed, happy New Year to all my friends, whatever your religion, or even if you don't have a religion!
I don't mind seeing the end of the year that just passed; it was a difficult year for me, what with my dear Laura passing away at the end of July. I'd like to forget much of 5769, and who could blame me?
So, I'll look ahead to 5770. It's human nature - or should be - to look ahead, and since I'm human (I know it's disappointing to those who think I'm much more than human!), here are some of the things I'm hoping for in the New Year:
Funny, eh?
Yes, funny, and it reminded me that the Jewish New Year begins tonight. While those who know me know that I'm hardly the religious type, I was brought up Jewish, and the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashonah, always meant to me a new beginning. In fact, I always regarded the Jewish New Year as MY new year what with summer ending; school beginning; and the cycle of life seeming to renew itself at about the same time of year. So indeed, happy New Year to all my friends, whatever your religion, or even if you don't have a religion!
I don't mind seeing the end of the year that just passed; it was a difficult year for me, what with my dear Laura passing away at the end of July. I'd like to forget much of 5769, and who could blame me?
So, I'll look ahead to 5770. It's human nature - or should be - to look ahead, and since I'm human (I know it's disappointing to those who think I'm much more than human!), here are some of the things I'm hoping for in the New Year:
- A break! Can I get a break in the New Year? If it weren't for BAD luck recently, I wouldn't have had any luck!
- A MegaMillions jackpot. Twice a week, I buy two "MegaMillions - Big Game" tickets, knowing that some day I'll be standing at a podium and microphone next to a 15-foot-by-30-foot check made out in my name. And, I'll be lamenting the fact that I shouldn't have "wasted" that second dollar on this particular drawing!
- A phone call from Hollywood super-agent Ari Emanuel -- the kid brother of President Obama's Chief of Staff Rahm Emanuel. Ari would be calling me to ask if he could represent me in the sale to HBO of my television mini-series script "Nevada Easy." And, as a bonus, Ari's client Martin Scorsese wants to direct the movie. Oh, before I forget, happy New Year, Ari. You too, Martin!
- A female companion... not to replace Laura, because that's impossible, but just an intelligent, beautiful woman who wants to spoil me - okay, someone like Laura. Hopefully, she'll be wealthy - I married (twice) for love, and while that was great, I'm thinking of choosing the next time for both money AND love. Maybe that'll be the "break" I was talking about, up above!
- A World Series title for the Red Sox, an NBA Championship for the Celts, a Stanley Cup for the Bruins, and a Super Bowl win for the Pats. And, finally...
- Peace on earth. (Hey, why not? I can dream, can't I?)
A hippo gnu deer to all my animal friends, too!
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Health Care Reform - For Me, It's Personal!
President Obama addressed a joint session of Congress tonight on the issue of health care reform, and during his speech, he recounted several stories of Americans who suffered, even to the point of death, from inadequate health insurance or from insurance company abuse of or indifference toward Americans needing health care.
Allow me to tell you Laura's story. Laura was my wife. She died on July 27, 2009. Her death certificate says she died from complications of pulmonary fibrosis, a scarring of the lungs. It might also have said that she died because she didn't have health insurance.
When Laura couldn't work any more, she lost health insurance coverage. Yes, she was offered continuing coverage through COBRA, but we couldn't afford the $1000/month premiums, most of which had been paid by her employer while she was working.
Laura had a pre-existing condition - her lung disease - so it would have been impossible to obtain coverage as an individual. I also have a pre-existing condition, type 2 diabetes.
The good news is that, as Massachusetts citizens, we could apply to the state for either the fully funded "MassHealth" insurance, i.e., Medicaid, or for the state-subsidized "Commonwealth Care" private health insurance.
The bad news is that the application process takes a long time, several months in fact, before a determination can be made on whether we'd be eligible. While our applications were pending, Laura and I were covered only for emergency medical care, under the Massachusetts Health Safety Net. Were we to visit a doctor's office or seek any care other than emergency care, we had to pay 60 percent of health care costs.
So, Laura and I were forced to "ration" ourselves when it came to health care. We both canceled doctor's appointments we had previously scheduled. Laura canceled a March appointment that she had with a pulmonologist. Only when her breathing problems became much more acute in mid-July did she finally visit such a specialist.
The pulmonologist, recognizing Laura's serious condition, prescribed a home oxygen regimen for her. And the very next day, a representative of the company that supplies oxygen to patients' homes called us to make arrangements for delivery.
In the course of our phone conversation with the oxygen supplier's rep, he asked us what type of health insurance we had. We told him that Laura's application for MassHealth was pending, as it was at the time. After a short pause, the oxygen company rep said, "You know, I forgot to get some information from the doctor. Let me call him (the doctor was actually a 'her'), and I'll call you right back."
He never called us back, and it was apparent that his company wasn't going to supply oxygen to an uninsured person!
Two days later, on an early Saturday morning, I had to take Laura to the Emergency Room, because she could barely breathe. Eight days later, she died, a victim of delayed medical treatment, no health insurance coverage, and a system that puts profits before medicine.
Bad things like this don't always happen to other people. And bad things like this will continue to happen to people - to you, to me, to others - until our health insurance system is reformed, once and for all.
Last week, I visited Laura's family to mourn with them and to honor Laura's memory. They live in Northern Nevada, and like many folks in that part of the country, they are opposed to Mr. Obama and his proposals for health care reform. One of their arguments: "We don't want the government taking over health care."
They're adamant that if Mr. Obama has his way, some government bureaucrat will be deciding what kind of health care people will get.
As we were having this inter-family debate, my brother-in-law was awaiting a decision from his health insurance company as to whether he could have a CT scan to help diagnose the problem causing his neck pain. His doctor wanted the test, but again, the final go or no-go decision was the insurance company's.
Consider that for a moment, if you will. Here are good people arguing against some government bureaucrat making health decisions for people, but they are content with a system that has a corporate bureaucrat making those same health decisions, a decision that probably depended upon the profit motive.
Somehow or other, I'd feel a lot better knowing that profits don't enter into the health care equation! Wouldn't you?
Look, here's the bottom line...
There's room for discussion in the health care debate, but this is no time to surrender to the status quo.
How many more Lauras need to die?
Allow me to tell you Laura's story. Laura was my wife. She died on July 27, 2009. Her death certificate says she died from complications of pulmonary fibrosis, a scarring of the lungs. It might also have said that she died because she didn't have health insurance.
When Laura couldn't work any more, she lost health insurance coverage. Yes, she was offered continuing coverage through COBRA, but we couldn't afford the $1000/month premiums, most of which had been paid by her employer while she was working.
Laura had a pre-existing condition - her lung disease - so it would have been impossible to obtain coverage as an individual. I also have a pre-existing condition, type 2 diabetes.
The good news is that, as Massachusetts citizens, we could apply to the state for either the fully funded "MassHealth" insurance, i.e., Medicaid, or for the state-subsidized "Commonwealth Care" private health insurance.
The bad news is that the application process takes a long time, several months in fact, before a determination can be made on whether we'd be eligible. While our applications were pending, Laura and I were covered only for emergency medical care, under the Massachusetts Health Safety Net. Were we to visit a doctor's office or seek any care other than emergency care, we had to pay 60 percent of health care costs.
So, Laura and I were forced to "ration" ourselves when it came to health care. We both canceled doctor's appointments we had previously scheduled. Laura canceled a March appointment that she had with a pulmonologist. Only when her breathing problems became much more acute in mid-July did she finally visit such a specialist.
The pulmonologist, recognizing Laura's serious condition, prescribed a home oxygen regimen for her. And the very next day, a representative of the company that supplies oxygen to patients' homes called us to make arrangements for delivery.
In the course of our phone conversation with the oxygen supplier's rep, he asked us what type of health insurance we had. We told him that Laura's application for MassHealth was pending, as it was at the time. After a short pause, the oxygen company rep said, "You know, I forgot to get some information from the doctor. Let me call him (the doctor was actually a 'her'), and I'll call you right back."
He never called us back, and it was apparent that his company wasn't going to supply oxygen to an uninsured person!
Two days later, on an early Saturday morning, I had to take Laura to the Emergency Room, because she could barely breathe. Eight days later, she died, a victim of delayed medical treatment, no health insurance coverage, and a system that puts profits before medicine.
Bad things like this don't always happen to other people. And bad things like this will continue to happen to people - to you, to me, to others - until our health insurance system is reformed, once and for all.
Last week, I visited Laura's family to mourn with them and to honor Laura's memory. They live in Northern Nevada, and like many folks in that part of the country, they are opposed to Mr. Obama and his proposals for health care reform. One of their arguments: "We don't want the government taking over health care."
They're adamant that if Mr. Obama has his way, some government bureaucrat will be deciding what kind of health care people will get.
As we were having this inter-family debate, my brother-in-law was awaiting a decision from his health insurance company as to whether he could have a CT scan to help diagnose the problem causing his neck pain. His doctor wanted the test, but again, the final go or no-go decision was the insurance company's.
Consider that for a moment, if you will. Here are good people arguing against some government bureaucrat making health decisions for people, but they are content with a system that has a corporate bureaucrat making those same health decisions, a decision that probably depended upon the profit motive.
Somehow or other, I'd feel a lot better knowing that profits don't enter into the health care equation! Wouldn't you?
Look, here's the bottom line...
There's room for discussion in the health care debate, but this is no time to surrender to the status quo.
How many more Lauras need to die?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Lies, Damn Lies!
The right-wing attack machine, pretending to represent the GOP, is in high gear, and if I were a Republican, or even a conservative, I would be very embarrassed.
In recent weeks, they've accused President Obama of being a socialist and a fascist, as if that were simultaneously possible; they've spread the rumor that he was born in Kenya and shouldn't be allowed to sit in the White House; they've said that Mr. Obama wants to create "death panels" to decide whether elderly Americans should receive health care; and they've accused him of trying to indoctrinate our nation's schoolchildren by merely addressing and encouraging them on their first day of the school year. One phony-baloney minister this week even wished publicly that Mr. Obama be stricken with brain cancer and die.
Who are these liars and fearmongers? We all know the answer to that question. We know who they are, because they no longer wear sheets to protect their identities. They are the haters. And they hate everyone who doesn't look or pray like they do.
Come on, you members of the Republican party... come on, you legitimate conservatives! Speak up about these jerks! Don't let them represent you with their lies. As the loyal opposition, you - and our country - have too much to lose!
In recent weeks, they've accused President Obama of being a socialist and a fascist, as if that were simultaneously possible; they've spread the rumor that he was born in Kenya and shouldn't be allowed to sit in the White House; they've said that Mr. Obama wants to create "death panels" to decide whether elderly Americans should receive health care; and they've accused him of trying to indoctrinate our nation's schoolchildren by merely addressing and encouraging them on their first day of the school year. One phony-baloney minister this week even wished publicly that Mr. Obama be stricken with brain cancer and die.
Who are these liars and fearmongers? We all know the answer to that question. We know who they are, because they no longer wear sheets to protect their identities. They are the haters. And they hate everyone who doesn't look or pray like they do.
Come on, you members of the Republican party... come on, you legitimate conservatives! Speak up about these jerks! Don't let them represent you with their lies. As the loyal opposition, you - and our country - have too much to lose!
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Political civility - Ah! What a concept!
Was there ever a time in America when political debate was civil? When ad hominem attacks on political opponents were off limits and respect for those fairly elected ruled the day? If there was such a time, I don't remember it.
Today's health care reform debate, for instance, which should be helping us understand a complex issue, often sounds like a vitriolic screaming match between two bitterly opposed enemies. Our President, and I emphasize "our" President, has been villified as both a socialist and a fascist by those opposed to his policies. And name-calling isn't the worst of what's happening...
Fueled by agitators on the radical right, encouraged by fearmongers like Sarah Palin who promote fantasy tales such as "death panels," and funded by deep-pocket corporate interests, mere political opposition to the President has risen - or should I say has "sunk" - to levels well beneath the expected dignity of a sophisticated democracy. The crazies are out there in force - they bring guns with them to tea parties and town meetings; they sport signs that morph Mr. Obama's face into that of Hitler; and they make implicit, if not explicit, threats against anyone with whom they disagree!
It's disgusting!
Whatever our differences, why can't we have civility as we discuss politics? With very few exceptions, our Presidents, our Congressmen, and our Senators are, and have always been, good people who are fiercely loyal to our republic and to American democracy and ideals. Democrat or Republican, they generally believe they are doing the right thing for their constituents and for our country. Sure, you or I might differ with them on policy or tactics, but let's conduct ourselves and our political discourse with dignity. In short, let's act like responsible adults!
Today's health care reform debate, for instance, which should be helping us understand a complex issue, often sounds like a vitriolic screaming match between two bitterly opposed enemies. Our President, and I emphasize "our" President, has been villified as both a socialist and a fascist by those opposed to his policies. And name-calling isn't the worst of what's happening...
Fueled by agitators on the radical right, encouraged by fearmongers like Sarah Palin who promote fantasy tales such as "death panels," and funded by deep-pocket corporate interests, mere political opposition to the President has risen - or should I say has "sunk" - to levels well beneath the expected dignity of a sophisticated democracy. The crazies are out there in force - they bring guns with them to tea parties and town meetings; they sport signs that morph Mr. Obama's face into that of Hitler; and they make implicit, if not explicit, threats against anyone with whom they disagree!
It's disgusting!
Whatever our differences, why can't we have civility as we discuss politics? With very few exceptions, our Presidents, our Congressmen, and our Senators are, and have always been, good people who are fiercely loyal to our republic and to American democracy and ideals. Democrat or Republican, they generally believe they are doing the right thing for their constituents and for our country. Sure, you or I might differ with them on policy or tactics, but let's conduct ourselves and our political discourse with dignity. In short, let's act like responsible adults!
Friday, September 4, 2009
A Time for Political and Personal Tolerance
A nasty trend has infected American political discourse. It's a mean-spiritedness is pervading American politics, and it has
"Can't We All Just Get Along?" The year was 1992. Rioting had ripped the City of Los Angeles in the wake It was the aftermath the speaker was Rodney King.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Odds 'n Ends - Eunice, Ted, Health Care
It was July in the summer of 1980 when I met Eunice Kennedy Shriver. I and my public relations agency, Immedia, Inc., had been drafted by a friend of the Kennedy family to handle PR, pro bono, for a series of "Rose Parades" scheduled to be held on July 22 across Massachusetts to honor Rose Kennedy's 90th birthday and to raise money for the Special Olympics, which Eunice had founded in the 1960s.
The year 1980 was a watershed year for the Kennedy family. In the footsteps of his brothers Jack and Bobby, Ted was running for the Democratic nomination for President. And in the Kennedy tradition, just about the entire family was involved in the campaign.
A couple of weeks before the scheduled Rose Parades, I was asked to pick up Eunice and her husband Sargent Shriver at Boston's Logan Airport. After we had retrieved their luggage and settled into the limo, Eunice asked me, "So, how are we doing with everything?"
I assumed she was asking about preparations for the Rose Parade, so I started to give her an answer about event publicity.
"No, no," she interrupted, "I was asking about Teddy's campaign!"
Of course she was; I should have known better.
As I write this three decades later, "Teddy" is waging his most serious campaign, a campaign he is destined to lose. He is battling brain cancer.
It would be terribly sad and ironic if Ted Kennedy were to pass from the scene before the national debate on reforming health care is concluded. If Ted had his way, all Americans would have the same access to the kind of health insurance coverage that has paid his medical bills since he went to Washington as a U.S. Senator in November, 1962.
Maybe it would do us all some good to recall what Kennedy said in his Democratic National Convention "Party of Hope" concession speech in 1980; it's as true today as it was then:
"We must not surrender to the relentless medical inflation that can bankrupt almost anyone and that may soon break the budgets of government at every level. Let us insist on real controls over what doctors and hospitals can charge, and let us resolve that the state of a family's health shall never depend on the size of a family's wealth.The President, the Vice President, the members of Congress have a medical plan that meets their needs in full, and whenever senators and representatives catch a little cold, the Capitol physician will see them immediately, treat them promptly, fill a prescription on the spot. We do not get a bill even if we ask for it, and when do you think was the last time a member of Congress asked for a bill from the Federal Government? And I say again, as I have before, if health insurance is good enough for the President, the Vice President, the Congress of the United States, then it's good enough for you and every family in America."
I add my voice to Kennedy's and to the voices of millions of Americans when it comes to health care - let's make health care reform a reality in 2009! Let's do it to honor Ted, for sure, but let's do it, more importantly, to honor the American dream.
"For all those whose cares have been our concern," Sen. Kennedy said in 1980, "the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."
The year 1980 was a watershed year for the Kennedy family. In the footsteps of his brothers Jack and Bobby, Ted was running for the Democratic nomination for President. And in the Kennedy tradition, just about the entire family was involved in the campaign.
A couple of weeks before the scheduled Rose Parades, I was asked to pick up Eunice and her husband Sargent Shriver at Boston's Logan Airport. After we had retrieved their luggage and settled into the limo, Eunice asked me, "So, how are we doing with everything?"
I assumed she was asking about preparations for the Rose Parade, so I started to give her an answer about event publicity.
"No, no," she interrupted, "I was asking about Teddy's campaign!"
Of course she was; I should have known better.
As I write this three decades later, "Teddy" is waging his most serious campaign, a campaign he is destined to lose. He is battling brain cancer.
It would be terribly sad and ironic if Ted Kennedy were to pass from the scene before the national debate on reforming health care is concluded. If Ted had his way, all Americans would have the same access to the kind of health insurance coverage that has paid his medical bills since he went to Washington as a U.S. Senator in November, 1962.
Maybe it would do us all some good to recall what Kennedy said in his Democratic National Convention "Party of Hope" concession speech in 1980; it's as true today as it was then:
"We must not surrender to the relentless medical inflation that can bankrupt almost anyone and that may soon break the budgets of government at every level. Let us insist on real controls over what doctors and hospitals can charge, and let us resolve that the state of a family's health shall never depend on the size of a family's wealth.The President, the Vice President, the members of Congress have a medical plan that meets their needs in full, and whenever senators and representatives catch a little cold, the Capitol physician will see them immediately, treat them promptly, fill a prescription on the spot. We do not get a bill even if we ask for it, and when do you think was the last time a member of Congress asked for a bill from the Federal Government? And I say again, as I have before, if health insurance is good enough for the President, the Vice President, the Congress of the United States, then it's good enough for you and every family in America."
I add my voice to Kennedy's and to the voices of millions of Americans when it comes to health care - let's make health care reform a reality in 2009! Let's do it to honor Ted, for sure, but let's do it, more importantly, to honor the American dream.
"For all those whose cares have been our concern," Sen. Kennedy said in 1980, "the work goes on, the cause endures, the hope still lives, and the dream shall never die."
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Nevada Easy©, the TV mini-series, and soon, the novel
A couple of years ago, I came up with an idea for a novel and a television mini-series based on the novel. As it turned out, I first wrote Episode I of the four-part, eight-hour screenplay and copyrighted that along with an outline/synopsis for episodes II-IV. I'm converting the story into a novel at the present time.
Nevada Easy© is a James Michener-style story following five generations of a family. The mini-series is written in the spirit of historical dramas, "North and South," "Roots" and "John Adams."
Nevada Easy relates the saga of the powerful (and fictional) Jericho family of Nevada, set against the turbulent history of that state as well as northern California in the Gold Rush days and even Russian Alaska. Nevada Easy is also the name of the largest chain of casino hotels in the world, run today by the last surviving member of the wealthy side of the Jericho family, the glamorous but tough-as-nails Queen of Las Vegas, Victoria Jericho.
The secret of the Nevada Easy fortune unfolds in Episode I -- two brothers are prospecting in 1859 in Washoe Territory (Northern Nevada), near what is now Reno. Together, they discover the richest lode of silver in history. That night, alone on the mountainside, they revel in their find, drinking themselves drunk. Old rivalries and jealousies flare, and they begin to fight. The older brother Zebulon takes a rock and strikes his brother Ezekiel dead.
Two weeks after his brother's funeral, Zebulon returns to the site of the discovery and files the claim as if he had found the silver by himself. He names his claim the "Nevada E-Z" -- "E" for his late brother Ezekiel and "Z" for his own name, Zebulon. Zebulon's (not Ezekiel's) heirs share in the huge wealth that the silver generates, and his sons and grandsons use the fortune to become railroad barons, wealthy ranchers, and finally in the 20th and 21st Centuries, owners of the Nevada Easy Casinos.
Present-day Reno newspaper reporter Lee Jericho, the last of the poor side of the Jericho family, discovers Zebulon's previously unknown confession, in which the guilt-ridden murderer decrees that after his death, BOTH sides of the family ought to share equally in the Nevada Easy wealth.
Also in the present day, Dian DeLeo, the young and sensual daughter of Arizona's nationally respected governor finds out that she was actually given up for adoption at birth by a woman identified only as "L. Jericho of Nevada." The young woman sets out to find her birth parents and becomes involved in the Jericho family fight, and -- with her new lover, Lee Jericho -- she and he encounter a series of deadly confrontations with a mobster determined to maintain his behind-the-scenes hold on Victoria and her Nevada Easy casino empire.
Why am I telling you all of this? Simple - I'm hoping that somewhere out there, someone is, or knows, a Hollywood producer willing to take a look at my screenplay. Can YOU help me out?
If you can help, please contact me, or have someone write to me, at peretsky@verizon.net.
While I'm waiting for that producer's call or email, I'm converting Nevada Easy into the novel I dreamed about.
Here are the beginning paragraphs in Chapter 1 of the book... (I'd re-print the opening act of the screenplay, but it's easier for you to read it in straight prose.) Enjoy!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NEVADA EASY© By Burt Peretsky
Chapter 1 – The Confession
“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Sullivan.” Lee Jericho was already talking as he reached to shake the lawyer’s hand. “I have a hell of a story to tell, and I promise it won’t be a waste of your time.”
“Nonsense, Lee. There’s no clock on us. And, please... don’t call me Mister. It’s Jack.”
Attorney John Joseph Sullivan’s baritone spoke authority. He motioned to a sofa and the two upholstered chairs that were set in front of a highly varnished redwood stump coffee table. “Have a seat,” he ordered.
Two end tables with ornate Chinese lamps on either side of the sofa and a magnificent Oriental rug complemented the half of the office that simulated a living room. A massive mahogany desk set in front of a black leather, high-back swivel chair, a matching mahogany credenza, and two five-foot rubber plants anchored in Chinese porcelain filled the other half. Through the floor-to-ceiling double window in Sullivan’s office and its horizontal Venetian blinds that were open to the morning sun, the city of Reno bustled in a fresh-fallen snow some 20 floors below. Beyond in one direction, Slide Mountain rose over the valley; in another, the Virginia Foothills rolled outward from the high desert. “Can Theresa get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Lee chose to sit on the sofa and immediately regretted his choice. His thin frame sunk uncomfortably in the too-soft cushions. His knees went up, as his ass went down. He felt foolishly inconspicuous as Sullivan settled into one of the chairs, his eyes at least a foot higher than Lee’s.
“You told me at the newspaper office that you had a good story, and frankly, I was intrigued. That’s why I made some time to see you today.” Sullivan was lying, of course. He was more than intrigued; he was hoping this particular reporter’s “good story” would yield some work outside of the norm. And business was slow, extremely slow.
Sullivan occasionally picked up a piece of personal legal business in the course of his representation of the Reno World Journal. While it was interesting work, representation of the newspaper wasn’t making him rich. And Sullivan, proud of his Stanford Law School pedigree, was jealous of his classmates in San Francisco, in Sacramento, and even two of them living in Reno who were racking up the big cases, and importantly, the big fees. To make matters worse, his wife Susan seemed fond of reminding him that he was not a partner in the firm; “not even a junior partner,” went her refrain.
Most of Sullivan’s days were spent keeping reporters out of libel trouble. Wary editors would flag stories to be faxed to Sullivan for his comments prior to their being printed. Sullivan would occasionally suggest a change of wording, or he would insist on a second or third corroborative quote or fact for the story prior to it being used.
Once in a rare while, he would actually see the inside of a courtroom, more often than not to wrest documents from the power structure into the “right to know” domain of the press, but most often to play second fiddle to TV station lawyers arguing for cameras in the courtrooms. The World Journal would always back the stations with briefs of its own when the question of news media access was being debated.
Serving the public, or at least serving the prurient interests of the public, had its charms, but it wasn’t making Jack Sullivan rich.
“You also said it had nothing to do with your job at the paper. I assume you need some legal advice.” The lawyer’s voice rose. “Am I correct?”
“You are, sir.”
“Then go right ahead, Lee. Tell me your story.”
“OK! Here goes.” Lee spoke quietly, as was his nature. “To make a long story short,” he paused for effect.... “I think I have proof that I am one of the rightful heirs to the Nevada Easy fortune.” This time the pause was longer; Lee wanted a response from the lawyer.
Lee didn’t look like an heir to a fortune. He didn’t look the part of a newspaper reporter either. What he did look like in those years was, like, young. Even in Reno, where many look the other way to minors drinking and gambling, at 36, Lee was constantly being carded. His typical choice of attire never helped his case, either. Incongruously, even now, sitting in – or sinking into – the sofa of Sullivan’s lavishly appointed law office, he was wearing, as he always wore, faded blue jeans, tall brown leather boots, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Except it wasn’t a baseball cap -- it bore the logo of the Utah Jazz basketball team.
Lee’s sandy blond hair peeked out from under the front of his cap, forming something of a curl nearly hiding his right eye. Behind his head, a shock of unruly hair – it probably looked almost matted -- hung nearly down to his neck.
Sullivan eyed the reporter, and Lee stared back. In the pause that had been prompted, the slight smile on Lee’s face turned into a grin.
Finally, Sullivan spoke. “You’re a cousin to the Jerichos who own Nevada Easy, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, but I’m in the poor half of the family. Or at least, I was ’til now.”
Sullivan pondered that for a moment. “Okay, Mr. Jericho” -- “Jack” was calling him “Mister” now -- “explain what you mean. Pretend I don’t know anything about Nevada Easy. Put it to me as if you were writing a news story, you know, who, what, when, where, and why.”
Lee laughed. “You forgot ‘how,’ Mr. Sullivan. The ‘how’ is the most important thing in this story,” he said, pausing again for effect.
This time, Sullivan bit. “Okay, don’t forget the ‘how.’”
“Mr. Sullivan,” Lee made it formal, also for effect, “I assume, that you, like most people around this state, know that the Nevada Easy fortune began with a silver strike back in 1859 right here in this part of the state. My great, great, grand-uncle was supposed to have discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. In fact, he named it in honor of himself, Zebulon, and his recently departed brother, Ezekiel, my great, great grandfather. The ‘E’ in Ezekiel and the ‘Z’ in Zebulon led to it being called ‘Nevada E-Z.’”
“I kinda remember hearing all that once or twice,” the lawyer noted, “and, if I’m not mistaken, the ‘Nevada E-Z’ later became ‘Nevada Easy,’ when the claim became one of the biggest in the state’s history.”
“Correction, Mr. Sullivan, it was the biggest in the state’s history. It even made the Comstock Lode look small by comparison.”
“So, if you’re one of the heirs to this fortune already, why are you saying you’re in the poor half of the family?” The lawyer leaned over to focus on the answer.
“That’s the rest of my story, Mr. Sullivan. My great, great, grandfather, my direct ancestor, had already died when his brother made his claim on the silver mine, and so it was my cousins, the children of my great, great, grand-uncle Zebulon, and their children who became rich; it was they whose mines helped the Union pay for the Civil War; it was they who became the railroad barons in the latter half of the 19th Century and the casino owners of the 20th and 21st Centuries. My side of the family never did share in the money.”
“I see. I’m sorry.” The lawyer was hooked. He had heard about the Nevada Easy fortune and how it began. Just about everyone who had been brought up in Nevada knew the story. But, he hadn’t heard about Lee’s unlucky side of the family. No sir, that wasn’t the stuff of history. Not at all!
Lee caught his breath and began again. “But now, I have proof that my great, great grandfather Ezekiel Jericho was actually killed by his brother Zebulon, after, together, they discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. Since 1859, everybody has thought that my great, great grand-uncle discovered the silver by himself, some time after his brother’s death, and that the death of my grandfather -- you know, my great, great grandfather -- was by accident.
“I can prove today that they discovered the silver together, before my great, great grandfather was actually murdered by his brother. It was no accident, as everybody’s believed until now. It was murder, and I can prove it.”
The words tumbled out now. “I can prove that my great, great grandfather’s heirs, as well as my great, great grand-uncle’s heirs, ought to be sharing in that fortune the brothers discovered together, and I can prove today that it was murder that left half my family rich and my half poor, that it was cold-blooded murder.” Once again, Lee paused. He had rehearsed this speech for a week, and he figured a pause would be most effective after the word “murder.”
The word seemed to echo in the silence the two of them then shared.
Finally, the lawyer reacted. “You can prove,” he stated and asked at once, “that somebody killed his brother a century-and-a-half ago?”
“Yes, I have his confession,” again a pause, “I have his confession in writing.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope to have the novel ready to submit to agents and publishers some time very soon. In the meantime, I have -- for Hollywood's consideration -- Nevada Easy©, the TV mini-series.
Burt Peretsky
Nevada Easy© is a James Michener-style story following five generations of a family. The mini-series is written in the spirit of historical dramas, "North and South," "Roots" and "John Adams."
Nevada Easy relates the saga of the powerful (and fictional) Jericho family of Nevada, set against the turbulent history of that state as well as northern California in the Gold Rush days and even Russian Alaska. Nevada Easy is also the name of the largest chain of casino hotels in the world, run today by the last surviving member of the wealthy side of the Jericho family, the glamorous but tough-as-nails Queen of Las Vegas, Victoria Jericho.
The secret of the Nevada Easy fortune unfolds in Episode I -- two brothers are prospecting in 1859 in Washoe Territory (Northern Nevada), near what is now Reno. Together, they discover the richest lode of silver in history. That night, alone on the mountainside, they revel in their find, drinking themselves drunk. Old rivalries and jealousies flare, and they begin to fight. The older brother Zebulon takes a rock and strikes his brother Ezekiel dead.
Two weeks after his brother's funeral, Zebulon returns to the site of the discovery and files the claim as if he had found the silver by himself. He names his claim the "Nevada E-Z" -- "E" for his late brother Ezekiel and "Z" for his own name, Zebulon. Zebulon's (not Ezekiel's) heirs share in the huge wealth that the silver generates, and his sons and grandsons use the fortune to become railroad barons, wealthy ranchers, and finally in the 20th and 21st Centuries, owners of the Nevada Easy Casinos.
Present-day Reno newspaper reporter Lee Jericho, the last of the poor side of the Jericho family, discovers Zebulon's previously unknown confession, in which the guilt-ridden murderer decrees that after his death, BOTH sides of the family ought to share equally in the Nevada Easy wealth.
Also in the present day, Dian DeLeo, the young and sensual daughter of Arizona's nationally respected governor finds out that she was actually given up for adoption at birth by a woman identified only as "L. Jericho of Nevada." The young woman sets out to find her birth parents and becomes involved in the Jericho family fight, and -- with her new lover, Lee Jericho -- she and he encounter a series of deadly confrontations with a mobster determined to maintain his behind-the-scenes hold on Victoria and her Nevada Easy casino empire.
Why am I telling you all of this? Simple - I'm hoping that somewhere out there, someone is, or knows, a Hollywood producer willing to take a look at my screenplay. Can YOU help me out?
If you can help, please contact me, or have someone write to me, at peretsky@verizon.net.
While I'm waiting for that producer's call or email, I'm converting Nevada Easy into the novel I dreamed about.
Here are the beginning paragraphs in Chapter 1 of the book... (I'd re-print the opening act of the screenplay, but it's easier for you to read it in straight prose.) Enjoy!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
NEVADA EASY© By Burt Peretsky
Chapter 1 – The Confession
“Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Sullivan.” Lee Jericho was already talking as he reached to shake the lawyer’s hand. “I have a hell of a story to tell, and I promise it won’t be a waste of your time.”
“Nonsense, Lee. There’s no clock on us. And, please... don’t call me Mister. It’s Jack.”
Attorney John Joseph Sullivan’s baritone spoke authority. He motioned to a sofa and the two upholstered chairs that were set in front of a highly varnished redwood stump coffee table. “Have a seat,” he ordered.
Two end tables with ornate Chinese lamps on either side of the sofa and a magnificent Oriental rug complemented the half of the office that simulated a living room. A massive mahogany desk set in front of a black leather, high-back swivel chair, a matching mahogany credenza, and two five-foot rubber plants anchored in Chinese porcelain filled the other half. Through the floor-to-ceiling double window in Sullivan’s office and its horizontal Venetian blinds that were open to the morning sun, the city of Reno bustled in a fresh-fallen snow some 20 floors below. Beyond in one direction, Slide Mountain rose over the valley; in another, the Virginia Foothills rolled outward from the high desert. “Can Theresa get you some coffee?”
“No, thanks.” Lee chose to sit on the sofa and immediately regretted his choice. His thin frame sunk uncomfortably in the too-soft cushions. His knees went up, as his ass went down. He felt foolishly inconspicuous as Sullivan settled into one of the chairs, his eyes at least a foot higher than Lee’s.
“You told me at the newspaper office that you had a good story, and frankly, I was intrigued. That’s why I made some time to see you today.” Sullivan was lying, of course. He was more than intrigued; he was hoping this particular reporter’s “good story” would yield some work outside of the norm. And business was slow, extremely slow.
Sullivan occasionally picked up a piece of personal legal business in the course of his representation of the Reno World Journal. While it was interesting work, representation of the newspaper wasn’t making him rich. And Sullivan, proud of his Stanford Law School pedigree, was jealous of his classmates in San Francisco, in Sacramento, and even two of them living in Reno who were racking up the big cases, and importantly, the big fees. To make matters worse, his wife Susan seemed fond of reminding him that he was not a partner in the firm; “not even a junior partner,” went her refrain.
Most of Sullivan’s days were spent keeping reporters out of libel trouble. Wary editors would flag stories to be faxed to Sullivan for his comments prior to their being printed. Sullivan would occasionally suggest a change of wording, or he would insist on a second or third corroborative quote or fact for the story prior to it being used.
Once in a rare while, he would actually see the inside of a courtroom, more often than not to wrest documents from the power structure into the “right to know” domain of the press, but most often to play second fiddle to TV station lawyers arguing for cameras in the courtrooms. The World Journal would always back the stations with briefs of its own when the question of news media access was being debated.
Serving the public, or at least serving the prurient interests of the public, had its charms, but it wasn’t making Jack Sullivan rich.
“You also said it had nothing to do with your job at the paper. I assume you need some legal advice.” The lawyer’s voice rose. “Am I correct?”
“You are, sir.”
“Then go right ahead, Lee. Tell me your story.”
“OK! Here goes.” Lee spoke quietly, as was his nature. “To make a long story short,” he paused for effect.... “I think I have proof that I am one of the rightful heirs to the Nevada Easy fortune.” This time the pause was longer; Lee wanted a response from the lawyer.
Lee didn’t look like an heir to a fortune. He didn’t look the part of a newspaper reporter either. What he did look like in those years was, like, young. Even in Reno, where many look the other way to minors drinking and gambling, at 36, Lee was constantly being carded. His typical choice of attire never helped his case, either. Incongruously, even now, sitting in – or sinking into – the sofa of Sullivan’s lavishly appointed law office, he was wearing, as he always wore, faded blue jeans, tall brown leather boots, a T-shirt, and a baseball cap. Except it wasn’t a baseball cap -- it bore the logo of the Utah Jazz basketball team.
Lee’s sandy blond hair peeked out from under the front of his cap, forming something of a curl nearly hiding his right eye. Behind his head, a shock of unruly hair – it probably looked almost matted -- hung nearly down to his neck.
Sullivan eyed the reporter, and Lee stared back. In the pause that had been prompted, the slight smile on Lee’s face turned into a grin.
Finally, Sullivan spoke. “You’re a cousin to the Jerichos who own Nevada Easy, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, but I’m in the poor half of the family. Or at least, I was ’til now.”
Sullivan pondered that for a moment. “Okay, Mr. Jericho” -- “Jack” was calling him “Mister” now -- “explain what you mean. Pretend I don’t know anything about Nevada Easy. Put it to me as if you were writing a news story, you know, who, what, when, where, and why.”
Lee laughed. “You forgot ‘how,’ Mr. Sullivan. The ‘how’ is the most important thing in this story,” he said, pausing again for effect.
This time, Sullivan bit. “Okay, don’t forget the ‘how.’”
“Mr. Sullivan,” Lee made it formal, also for effect, “I assume, that you, like most people around this state, know that the Nevada Easy fortune began with a silver strike back in 1859 right here in this part of the state. My great, great, grand-uncle was supposed to have discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. In fact, he named it in honor of himself, Zebulon, and his recently departed brother, Ezekiel, my great, great grandfather. The ‘E’ in Ezekiel and the ‘Z’ in Zebulon led to it being called ‘Nevada E-Z.’”
“I kinda remember hearing all that once or twice,” the lawyer noted, “and, if I’m not mistaken, the ‘Nevada E-Z’ later became ‘Nevada Easy,’ when the claim became one of the biggest in the state’s history.”
“Correction, Mr. Sullivan, it was the biggest in the state’s history. It even made the Comstock Lode look small by comparison.”
“So, if you’re one of the heirs to this fortune already, why are you saying you’re in the poor half of the family?” The lawyer leaned over to focus on the answer.
“That’s the rest of my story, Mr. Sullivan. My great, great, grandfather, my direct ancestor, had already died when his brother made his claim on the silver mine, and so it was my cousins, the children of my great, great, grand-uncle Zebulon, and their children who became rich; it was they whose mines helped the Union pay for the Civil War; it was they who became the railroad barons in the latter half of the 19th Century and the casino owners of the 20th and 21st Centuries. My side of the family never did share in the money.”
“I see. I’m sorry.” The lawyer was hooked. He had heard about the Nevada Easy fortune and how it began. Just about everyone who had been brought up in Nevada knew the story. But, he hadn’t heard about Lee’s unlucky side of the family. No sir, that wasn’t the stuff of history. Not at all!
Lee caught his breath and began again. “But now, I have proof that my great, great grandfather Ezekiel Jericho was actually killed by his brother Zebulon, after, together, they discovered the vein of silver that led to the Nevada Easy claim. Since 1859, everybody has thought that my great, great grand-uncle discovered the silver by himself, some time after his brother’s death, and that the death of my grandfather -- you know, my great, great grandfather -- was by accident.
“I can prove today that they discovered the silver together, before my great, great grandfather was actually murdered by his brother. It was no accident, as everybody’s believed until now. It was murder, and I can prove it.”
The words tumbled out now. “I can prove that my great, great grandfather’s heirs, as well as my great, great grand-uncle’s heirs, ought to be sharing in that fortune the brothers discovered together, and I can prove today that it was murder that left half my family rich and my half poor, that it was cold-blooded murder.” Once again, Lee paused. He had rehearsed this speech for a week, and he figured a pause would be most effective after the word “murder.”
The word seemed to echo in the silence the two of them then shared.
Finally, the lawyer reacted. “You can prove,” he stated and asked at once, “that somebody killed his brother a century-and-a-half ago?”
“Yes, I have his confession,” again a pause, “I have his confession in writing.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I hope to have the novel ready to submit to agents and publishers some time very soon. In the meantime, I have -- for Hollywood's consideration -- Nevada Easy©, the TV mini-series.
Burt Peretsky
Monday, August 10, 2009
If it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing!
So there I was, in the Flamingo Hilton employees' parking lot, waiting for Laura, the blackjack dealer. I couldn't believe my luck. I was in Las Vegas for only half a day, and I had invited this beautiful woman to dinner. And, amazingly, she had said yes! My heart raced with excitement!
A door marked "Employee Entrance" opened and closed, opened and closed, as casino dealers, some still wearing their "black and whites," exited the hotel and headed toward their cars, the "day shift" now completed. As I watched them, I noticed, mmm, there were a heck of a lot of Cadillacs in the lot.
Can they all be casino employees' cars? Look at them! Every other car in the lot is a Cadillac!
I wondered what this Laura person drove, but I didn't have to wonder for long. Out she came, all smiles, and of course, she led me to her... Cadillac. I tried to be cool. After all, this was Vegas! And, off to dinner and to 28 years of wedded bliss we went!
Laura always had Cadillac taste, even if I only had a Chevrolet wallet. Laura never checked the price of anything. And she'd never buy just one of anything. We (read, "I") always found the money to pay for Laura's extravagance. I just couldn't say no to her.
Once upon a time when we were living in the Boston area, we went to one of those candle stores at the mall - Laura wanted to buy some piñon incense. The aroma reminded her of her childhood in the Southwest. But alas, the store didn't have piñon incense.
So, Laura went on line. About a week later, UPS came to our door with a huge carton addressed to her. Laura had ordered a case of piñon incense, 160 boxes with each box holding 64 cones of piñon incense. I'm still the owner of about 158 boxes of piñon incense, in case anyone out there wants to buy some!
With Laura, if it was worth doing, it was worth overdoing!
But who could get mad at her? She was the most loving person anywhere.
Animals were Laura's great passion. At one time, we owned five dogs and three horses - simultaneously. The horses were boarded at a nearby stable, and I nearly went broke paying their expenses - stable fees, feed, tack and gear, horseshoes, you name it -- it was like having a second mortgage.
When she worked at Petco, she fell in love with a rat! No, not me... a real rat! His name was Buddy (", the Rat"), and he was as fat as rats can be. Buddy's original owner left him with Petco, so that somebody would adopt him. Laura adopted him and came home one night with Buddy and a huge rat cage (the cage had three bedrooms, a den, two bathrooms and a finished basement). As nice as his rat cage was (it could have been a House Beautiful feature story), Buddy often spent hours sitting outside the cage, on Laura's shoulder. You see, Laura felt bad for Buddy, considering that he was unjustly confined to a cage.
Laura loved Buddy so much that she adopted three more rats - all females. We had to get another great big rat cage for the girls. (You can't put male and female rats together, or they would fRATernize to no end!)
A door marked "Employee Entrance" opened and closed, opened and closed, as casino dealers, some still wearing their "black and whites," exited the hotel and headed toward their cars, the "day shift" now completed. As I watched them, I noticed, mmm, there were a heck of a lot of Cadillacs in the lot.
Can they all be casino employees' cars? Look at them! Every other car in the lot is a Cadillac!
I wondered what this Laura person drove, but I didn't have to wonder for long. Out she came, all smiles, and of course, she led me to her... Cadillac. I tried to be cool. After all, this was Vegas! And, off to dinner and to 28 years of wedded bliss we went!
Laura always had Cadillac taste, even if I only had a Chevrolet wallet. Laura never checked the price of anything. And she'd never buy just one of anything. We (read, "I") always found the money to pay for Laura's extravagance. I just couldn't say no to her.
Once upon a time when we were living in the Boston area, we went to one of those candle stores at the mall - Laura wanted to buy some piñon incense. The aroma reminded her of her childhood in the Southwest. But alas, the store didn't have piñon incense.
So, Laura went on line. About a week later, UPS came to our door with a huge carton addressed to her. Laura had ordered a case of piñon incense, 160 boxes with each box holding 64 cones of piñon incense. I'm still the owner of about 158 boxes of piñon incense, in case anyone out there wants to buy some!
With Laura, if it was worth doing, it was worth overdoing!
But who could get mad at her? She was the most loving person anywhere.
Animals were Laura's great passion. At one time, we owned five dogs and three horses - simultaneously. The horses were boarded at a nearby stable, and I nearly went broke paying their expenses - stable fees, feed, tack and gear, horseshoes, you name it -- it was like having a second mortgage.
When she worked at Petco, she fell in love with a rat! No, not me... a real rat! His name was Buddy (", the Rat"), and he was as fat as rats can be. Buddy's original owner left him with Petco, so that somebody would adopt him. Laura adopted him and came home one night with Buddy and a huge rat cage (the cage had three bedrooms, a den, two bathrooms and a finished basement). As nice as his rat cage was (it could have been a House Beautiful feature story), Buddy often spent hours sitting outside the cage, on Laura's shoulder. You see, Laura felt bad for Buddy, considering that he was unjustly confined to a cage.
Laura loved Buddy so much that she adopted three more rats - all females. We had to get another great big rat cage for the girls. (You can't put male and female rats together, or they would fRATernize to no end!)
With rats, dogs, horses, piñon incense, and assorted other follies and frills, life with Laura was never boring! We lived and laughed well and often.
Sure, I loved her, but more to the point, I liked her very much!
Sunday, August 9, 2009
What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" I actually spoke those words to Laura the first time I saw her. She was stunning, and I was intimidated. So, I opted for corny and carny over smart and slick.
Let me back up a little...
I needed to get away for a few days - by myself - and I had just arrived in Las Vegas after a long flight from Boston. In those days, the cheapest ticket to Vegas was aboard one of the "junket" flights, and my air and hotel package had me staying at the Flamingo. I checked in, showered off the travel cobwebs, and dressed in clean clothes. Then, I headed for the lobby and looked for a restaurant.
In Vegas, of course, hotel restaurants are located so that patrons must walk through the casino to reach them. And as I walked through the Flamingo casino, a $2 blackjack table beckoned to me. The stakes were just right for my limited budget, and, as a bonus, the table sported a beautiful young woman dealer. So, I sat down.
I was Laura's only customer at that session, and after a while of wistful but silent gazing at her, I decided to try and talk with her. So I summoned some courage and asked, "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"
To my surprise, she took me seriously and explained that she was working to pay her living expenses and her tuition at UNLV. She gave me a little humble pie lecture about how most people living in Las Vegas live normal lives, and I confess, I really had never considered all of that. Like most vistors to the town, I only saw the superficial Vegas; the neon had blinded me to the possibility of normal. Was there life beyond the Strip? Who cared?
Thanks to Laura, I was beginning to care. "What are you studying?"
"Paleopathology," came the answer.
Beauty AND brains - I was truly impressed!
After a while of pleasant conversation between us, the blackjack pit boss came to our table. "You're okay for an early out, Laura," he told her.
I asked her what that meant, and she explained that her normal 20-minute break was coming up at the end of her eight-hour shift, and that she was being approved to clock out early.
Again summoning courage I didn't know I had, I asked her if she would join me after work for dinner. But, she demurred. "We're not allowed to date customers," she explained.
Persisting, I promised her that I would never again sit at her blackjack table if she would agree to come to dinner with me. Pressing the issue, I told her that I would never even play at the Flamingo again, if she said yes to dinner with me that day.
I blinked my puppy-dog eyes at her and tried to look as pathetic as I could, and I guess that was the clincher for her... as finally, she relented: "OK, but you'll have to go around back to the employees' parking lot and meet me there." (Years later, she explained that she only agreed to have dinner with me that evening, because she had always been fascinated with Boston and its many colleges and wanted to hear more about both. Okay, considering how my life with Laura turned out, I'll reluctantly buy that!)
So, around to the employees' lot I went...
(To be continued...)
Let me back up a little...
I needed to get away for a few days - by myself - and I had just arrived in Las Vegas after a long flight from Boston. In those days, the cheapest ticket to Vegas was aboard one of the "junket" flights, and my air and hotel package had me staying at the Flamingo. I checked in, showered off the travel cobwebs, and dressed in clean clothes. Then, I headed for the lobby and looked for a restaurant.
In Vegas, of course, hotel restaurants are located so that patrons must walk through the casino to reach them. And as I walked through the Flamingo casino, a $2 blackjack table beckoned to me. The stakes were just right for my limited budget, and, as a bonus, the table sported a beautiful young woman dealer. So, I sat down.
I was Laura's only customer at that session, and after a while of wistful but silent gazing at her, I decided to try and talk with her. So I summoned some courage and asked, "What's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?"
To my surprise, she took me seriously and explained that she was working to pay her living expenses and her tuition at UNLV. She gave me a little humble pie lecture about how most people living in Las Vegas live normal lives, and I confess, I really had never considered all of that. Like most vistors to the town, I only saw the superficial Vegas; the neon had blinded me to the possibility of normal. Was there life beyond the Strip? Who cared?
Thanks to Laura, I was beginning to care. "What are you studying?"
"Paleopathology," came the answer.
Beauty AND brains - I was truly impressed!
After a while of pleasant conversation between us, the blackjack pit boss came to our table. "You're okay for an early out, Laura," he told her.
I asked her what that meant, and she explained that her normal 20-minute break was coming up at the end of her eight-hour shift, and that she was being approved to clock out early.
Again summoning courage I didn't know I had, I asked her if she would join me after work for dinner. But, she demurred. "We're not allowed to date customers," she explained.
Persisting, I promised her that I would never again sit at her blackjack table if she would agree to come to dinner with me. Pressing the issue, I told her that I would never even play at the Flamingo again, if she said yes to dinner with me that day.
I blinked my puppy-dog eyes at her and tried to look as pathetic as I could, and I guess that was the clincher for her... as finally, she relented: "OK, but you'll have to go around back to the employees' parking lot and meet me there." (Years later, she explained that she only agreed to have dinner with me that evening, because she had always been fascinated with Boston and its many colleges and wanted to hear more about both. Okay, considering how my life with Laura turned out, I'll reluctantly buy that!)
So, around to the employees' lot I went...
(To be continued...)
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