An assembly of MLK, Springsteen, ... and Rocket Raccoon
Few things are as ephemeral as the words in a newspaper column.
Whether in print or pixels, nothing is carved in stone or memory. By year’s end, I forget most of what I’ve written over 12 months. So each January, I like to revisit past columns through the eyes and words of readers.
News flash — readers who take the time to write back tend to have a way with words and keep the message civil. There are exceptions. On the occasion that the editorial board invited readers to opine on vaccine passports, it was impossible to overlook that the most critical and coarse submissions were also the most — ahem — grammatically challenged. Here are some of the things you had to say: Scored by the numbers: Among web readers, the most popular column I wrote was about White House press pool lifeguard Jen Psaki’s days in the Greenwich High School swimming pool. In advance of the Stamford mayoral election, a column on eventual winner Caroline Simmons drew eight fewer clicks than one about her rival, Bobby Valentine. I have no idea how many people read the print version, which is the absentee ballot of the newspaper industry.
Scored by feedback: By far, the most emails I received were in response to a column on crying in the dark with Bruce Springsteen on Broadway in July.
My favorite letter of the year was a poignant essay from a Newtown resident who reached back to when her father played Jersey clubs with Frank Sinatra when ’Ol Blue Eyes was young. So, of course, I lost the email before getting a chance to respond.
Another, from Ellen Oxman, revealed the likely reason Springsteen never waxes nostalgic about the food in his sentimental “4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy).”
“I have known Bruce since 1968, when I was a teenager and before he was ‘famous,’ ” she wrote. “Bruce was one of the bands that played on the beach at a beach club called the Beachcomber that was a run-down old place in Long Branch on Ocean Avenue that most kids my age (13 or so) were forbidden to enter — but there was surfing, boys, bad burgers, bad fries, and bands playing on the beach, near the jetty.”
Others shared less detailed memories. As always, a few spelled his name “Springstein.”
Mistakes were made: Some reporters get called out on their math. Some on their perceived politics. I was shamed for referring to “Rocket” from “Guardians of the Galaxy” as a squirrel.
“Rocket ... as a talking squirrel. Really? You cannot see that he is a raccoon?” wrote Maureen Scalia of East Haven. “Not that a talking raccoon makes any sense, either, but it baffles me how you do not see that. Are you thinking of Bullwinkle and Rocket J?”
Um ... no, it was a different talking squirrel I was thinking about.
I tried to bluff that I was confused by Thor, the God of Thunder, calling Rocket a rabbit, and was even more embarrassed given that he’s named for the Beatles’ “Rocky Raccoon.” But it did lead us to have a deeper exchange about autism (the theme of the column). So Maureen proved the value of leading with humor in the search of mining deeper truths.
Or maybe this confuses readers: One website routinely swipes content and seems to translate it into another language and back into English. Thus, a line I wrote last week about offering “inside knowledge about whether it is safe to buy the green bananas,” became “inside information about whether or not it’s secure to purchase the inexperienced bananas.”
“People forget” became “Folks at all times neglect,” “Old Long Ridge Road” was transmogrified into “Outdated Lengthy Ridge Highway,” and “Sex and the City” turned into “Intercourse and the Metropolis.”
Hopefully, they’ll turn my squirrel back into a raccoon.
Broadcasts not carved in stone either: Five years ago, I wrote a column about Martin Luther King, Jr., speaking at Stamford High School in 1964. I tracked down filmmaker John Maher, who shot it while he was in high school, only to misplace the footage over ensuing decades.
Maher reconnected on MLK Day 2021, still hopeful the film would surface. He mentioned once giving a copy to WNET, the PBS station.
I reached out to longtime former WNET President Bill Baker, who lives in Greenwich.
“I’m guessing there’s little chance that it is sitting in a box in a basement, but had to ask,” I inquired.
“WNET does not have any old footage from that era with all its moves and cutbacks,” Baker replied. “It’s so sad. I covered King when I was a young radio journalist in Cleveland and don’t have any of my old audio. He was an incredible speaker. What a loss.”
So the search continues ...
Never give up hope: But time can eventually deliver resolutions. For Veterans Day in 2020, I told the story of Stamford nurse Mary Nurney, who died after treating soldiers suffering from influenza on the homefront in 1918.
Tony Pavia has been resolute that Nurney’s name should be added to the Memorial Wall honoring Stamford’s war dead. As historian of the Veterans Park Partnership, Pavia had to persuade other members. Nurney’s story had an asterisk, as she was on the brink of serving her country in Europe when duty called at home.
I asked Pavia the other day for an update. He expressed confidence that Nurney’s name will be engraved soon. Then he shared a detail I overlooked. Exactly the kind of detail that would never get past Tony Pavia, whose research helped ensure the names of almost 500 Stamford men who died during wartime service going back to 1754 are now on the wall.
So let me flip training and tradition and end this column with the most important news:
Mary Nurney will be the first and only woman’s name on the wall.
It took 104 years, yet maybe it’s fitting it will occur at a time that Stamford finally has a female mayor. That’s news worth carving in stone.