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Pomegranate Man-Book 1

Marc woke up and said Modeh Ani, the wake up prayer. He slurped down a glass of Tropicana while wolfing down a bowl of Frosted Flakes. He put on a grey dress shirt, black pants and sneakers. He’d change into his dress clothes when he got to work.

He grabbed his bag containing his teffilin, talit and siddur and exited his apartment. He opened his shul and put on his religious materials and began to pray while awaiting a minyan.

Slowly folks strolled in. Prayers were said. People left.

Marc took off his kippah and went to the train. Marc is a good Jew. He doesn’t classify himself. He certainly isn’t a Chasidic or Ultra-Orthodox. But an observant person. Many people don’t even recognize him as a Jew. He looks like your typical New Yorker. Half the time he’s wearing his Yankee hat and t-shirt. The other times he’s in his usual Lacoste shirt and Gap jeans or dress pants.

He hopped on the train and went to Midtown to his office. He exited the M train and began to walk down Avenue of the Americas. The usual breakfast carts were bustling with customers. New Yorkers moved in their hurried way to them and raced to their offices.

Marc bumped into a friend on the way to his office. They chatted momentarily. “Hey, Marc Russo, what’s up my bud?”

“Nothing, Jimmy, you?”

“Marc I was invited for Pesach dinner at a friend’s house? What kind of wine do I need to bring?”

“Just make sure it is Kosher for Passover. To be safe get a bottle that is also mevushal. I doubt the people that invited you are ultra observant. I’m willing to bet they don’t know what mevushal means. But go that way to be safe. Bear in mind, we have so many dietary rules, we don’t even understand them all. Someone at the Seder might,” chuckled Marc. They fist bumped and went to their offices.

Marc’s friends ranged from Chasidic to secular Jews and people other faiths. He is always happy to explain customs to his friends. He’s a firm believer that understanding each other will promote a healthier lifestyle. Most goyim know of Chanukah, Rosh Hashanah and Pesach. But the reality is they really don’t understand the customs and meaning behind the holidays. Or Yom Tovs as Marc and his fellow Yids would say.

He got to his desk and tried to login. Of course, the network was down. That’s the routine in his office. He checked in with his IT buddy. He was told they expect to get things going in about 20 minutes. He waltzed over to the kitchen for a glass of water and grabbed an orange. from the fruit tray.

He did a little work. He put on his Yankees jacket and decided to jump on the train to get a haircut at lunchtime. The people he works for are clueless. He was sad when he saw the number of homeless on the train’s platform. And really disgusted when he saw a rat on the tracks. They usually come out in the evening. But the city so overrun that they come out anytime. Two late aged male teens started harassing a homeless man.

They started taunting him and laughing at him.

“Why don’t you kids shut up. If you only understood my situation maybe you’d have some sympathy,” blurted out the homeless man, who was about 30, frail with blonde hair.

The kids just teased him and said he’s probably a junkie.

“No, I’ve never touched drugs. A beer or a shot of Vodka once in a while, but I’ve done nothing else. My brother and uncle sexually abused me. When I spoke up about it, I was beaten and thrown out of the house. I’ve lived here and there all of my life.”

The teen huddled and one yelled out, “Great story sounds like a load of BS.” Then they opened a Coke and poured it all over him.

Marc was pissed. He hated the way these obnoxious have it all, never worked for anything kids acted. They were walking around with $1,000 iPhones and the latest in everything else.

“Why don’t you guys leave this poor soul alone and jump on the approaching train,” Marc bellowed out to the kids. “Shut up you dumb Yankee fan. Boston rules.”

Marc decided not for to get too crazy walked down the platform. He was surprised he even opened his mouth that much. He normally was not confrontational. He thought he was done with the chaos when a Coke bottle hit him in the head. He turned around and saw the belligerent kids approaching him.

“I’d get walk back to the other side of the platform if I were you guys. Or better yet, exit the station and forget about your little episode,”

“Why Yankee what are you going to do? There are two of us and we are bigger than you.”

“And stupider,” chuckled Marc.

The teens ran toward him. He moved away and they fell on fell on their butts. But were up quickly and readied themselves to throw punches at Marc. The taller kid tossed a punch. Marc blocked the punch. The other kid tried to kick Marc in the stomach.

Marc laughed harder. The two kids started screaming. A small crowd gathered. Someone dialed 911. But lost the connection on their iPhone. The crowd continued to gather. But no one approached any of the three. They were a captive audience. All had their phones out ready to shoot away. It says little about our society. That people would rather snap photos of criminals than trying to help the victim. But Marc was no victim.

The kids lunged at him. All of a sudden Marc tensed up, his muscle toned arms got bigger. His head started to shake. His huge legs stomped down on the platform. He quickly reached his enlarged left hand into the pockets of his jeans. In his hands was bright red oversized pomegranate. He held it up to the sky. Then he let it loose with the precision of a game closer waiting for the third out in the World Series. While airborne it split in half and nailed each kid in the knees. The kids fell down. One started to cry. He reached back into his pocket. As he reached in he heard the kids beg for mercy. Another pomegrante magically appeared. He wound up and let it loose. It nailed the first kid in the face and ricocheted off and smacked the one in the arm.

“Now boys, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Let this be a warning if you ever harass anyone, I will unleash the other weapons in my arsenal. I don’t want to get into fights. But I won’t stand for troubled people getting hurt.”

The kids nodded in acceptance. The R-train pulled in and those on the platform shoved their way on.

How hard is it to purchase sneakers?

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By Mitchell Slepian

My Asics have been gym worn for far too long. I have a tendency to fall in love with a pair of sneakers or be too lazy or cheap to go to the store and purchase a new pair.

I finally owned up to the fact that I’d get a better workout with new sneakers. I strolled into City Sports and saw the same pair I’ve been wearing for the last two plus years. See how long, I dragged this out?

I wanted more variety. But I knew, I needed Asics. They rock. So I walked to the Asics store across the street from Bryant Park. I found a few pairs that I fell in love with. I asked one of the sales associates a few questions. He answered and went to the next customer. I picked out a pair or two. Now keep in mind, I have a rule when it comes to sneakers. There is no need to spend much more than $70. Yeah, some of those $150 pairs are nice. Maybe they’d help me get a better workout. But I’d likely wreck them quickly. I train a lot.

I asked another sales associate if they had them in 6.5 or 7. Her jaw dropped. She said, “no, we start in 8.5”. I looked at a few other pairs with the price range I set for myself. Same deal. She did mention that a pair, which was way up high, is in the size I want. It was quite nice and cost $150. I said no way. She seemed to agree and recommended the Runners Shop, which is down the block. I was pissed. I tried a week ago in Modell’s. Same problem.

I went back to City Sports and asked for the pair I saw moments ago. I looked towards one of the higher shelves and saw another pair of Asics that were really nice and about $10 more than my price range. I said what the hell. I asked the sales associate to bring out both.

She said the pricier ones they only have in 13-14. Are they selling to Bigfoot? I suppose. They searched and searched. Eventually, they found the last pair in a 7. They were shocked they even carried that size. I didn’t need to try them on. But alas, I did. They fit perfectly. I paid and walked out. I now have a new pair of identical sneakers. Both were purchased at City Sports.

But boy was I pissed. I mean why can’t stores carry sizes for all people. I realize the smaller sizes may not sell as well. But can’t they carry some of them?A year ago, I went to Skechers. Their sneakers’ are great for hanging out. I was looking for that kind of shoe. The ditz in that store said, “These are really nice. But we I don’t think we have 6.5s or 7s. Let me check”. I patiently waited and she came back and said, “Why don’t you try these 8s.” I walked out. Thankfully, Skechers.com had the size I needed.

You know, I train almost daily. I can bench around 40-50 pounds above my weight. I run at 7 mph on the treadmill. I feel so discriminated against that these damn stores and shoemakers do nothing to accommodate me.

Anyway, as I walked down Ave. of the Americas with my new Asics, I passed a man carrying a bag full of cans and bottles that he likely got from rummaging through trash cans. I’m sure he only wishes his major piss offs were the failure of footwear companies and their merchants to make sneakers for those of us with small feet.

Yeah, I felt for the guy. Let’s face it if I wanted to buy the $150 Asics I could have. While this man put things into greater perspective, I must admit, I am still pissed that every time I go shoe shopping I encounter this issue.

Farewell: Larry Leshay and other scouting greats

By Mitchell Slepian

Yesterday, I had the sad occasion to attend the memorial service for a dear friend and mentor “Scouuuut” Larry Leshay. I first met Larry during the summer of 1983 when I went up to Chappy Hill, Ten Mile River Scout Camps (TMR). My parents drove me up to camp for the first time. We pulled into Kunatah and were given permission to drive on the dirt road over to Chappy.

We climbed muddy steps and went into the “Palace,” our camp’s office. There was Larry sitting at his desk with the camp bank and his Smith-Corona typewriter. I made the rounds of the first day of camp and went to sleep. Actually, I didn’t sleep. I never slept in camp.

The next morning, I woke up much earlier than wakeup call and sat at the picnic table adjacent to the Palace and Larry’s leanto (a three walled structure with screening on the front that served as our sleeping quarters). Larry was coming back from his morning shower. He saw me and said what are you doing here? I said, I got up early and came here. He decided I was a vampire. And let the other scouuuts know. From that morning on, I was Chappy’s vampire. That name stuck with me during my entire TMR experience. Last summer, at the reunion weekend, people were talking about the day I became a vampire.

Under Larry’s leadership, I spent the best years of my life on the Hill. I became a patrol leader, senior patrol leader and was on staff for two years. Larry and I had many adventures. During my early years in camp, I earned several merit badges from him. One winter, I mailed him merit badge work. I hand wrote it. Those were the days before everyone had a printer or could email it. I didn’t have a typewriter as 12 or 13 year-old. My penmanship is poor. Up until the day we lost Larry, he still reminded me of the struggle he went through to read my work. He said I understood the badge requirements but it took him days to figure out my writing.

Every Saturday, we would swim in the Delaware and Ten Mile Rivers. Most of us would hike to and from the rivers. Larry always got a ride in the “Whomobile” or whatever beat up auto served as the camp car. Once Larry got back to the site, we would often stroll down to Rock Lake and I would paddle him around in a canoe.

Eventually, I was one of the people driving him around for the camp food pick-ups at the Kunatah or headquarters dining halls or the rides out to Peck’s and other stores. One day in the “Truckster,” a beat up blue station wagon, I got so lost. We wound up in Hawley, along the Lackawaxen River in Wayne County, Pennsylvania. We laughed about that trip forever.

One of the finer things about Larry was his graciousness and love of his scouts or “little funkys” (he used to broadcast a weekly or daily show “Uncle Funky”). I used to play Meteu in the Order of the Arrow ceremonies. So did he. I did many ceremonies in TMR. Sometimes older scouters would stand the during the ceremonies with the scripts and penlights to see how the kids playing the roles were doing. Then after the ceremony, they’d tell you what mistakes you made. This infuriated Larry. None of these people ever did a ceremony and in most cases that was the first time they ever looked the script. Larry always let us know that. And let the kids know how well they did.

Our last summer was 1988, the OA’s highest honor, the Vigil was bestowed upon me three weeks before camp started. Every Wednesday night was OA night. We wore our sashes to the dining hall. Troops would line up and they would ask all of the Vigil members to march in first. There weren’t many. One night it was only Larry and me. Everyone knew being Vigil meant the world to me. Much more than being Eagle. Of course, Larry helped me reach Eagle. They asked all the Vigil members to walk in. I started walking and realized I was alone. Larry hid in the back with his sash. He knew what it meant to me to be the only Vigil to enter when they called us.

That summer ended a few weeks later. But our friendship went on to the end. I will always have him in my thoughts.

Larry’s passing leaves a huge hole in my soul. I feel like we have an empty bucket. A little more than three years ago, Dr. Karl Bernstein, Larry’s closest friend passed away. Karl was TMR. In 2016, Staten Island Scouter Marty Poller left us. Marty, a Meteu taught me the role and how to build the fire. He was Aqeuhongian Lodge. His guidance when I was chief is immeasurable.

My dad passed away shortly before these great scouts. Of course, he played a monumental role in my scouting career. He had a similar scouting history.

I feel empty. I cling so much to my childhood. I cherish the learning, love and fun times I had with all of them. Until we meet again. Keep the fire burning.

Camp Memories

By Mitchell Slepian

BlowhornNew Type Layer copy — Blowhorn Rock, Chappy

I recently spent five days in the place I called home as a teenager – Ten Mile River Scout Camps. It was a phenomenal experience. I saw people I haven’t since the 80s.

We went to the remains of our favorite sites: Chappegat Hill, Kunatah, Picture Window, and Indian Cliffs. I can safely say for myself and the rest of the gang I was with, those sites will always be holy to us. Most of them are no longer operational. Being there flashed us back to our youth. That’s when the trails were teeming with scouts climbing the trail to Eagle.

While in camp, I spoke to current staff and campers. I relayed what we did. Bear in mind, this is when the whole world was not striving to be 100 percent politically correct. We were boys being boys. We wore our scout uniforms, Champion tee and sweatshirts, OP shorts, Gotchas, and other 80s fashion. We blasted Squeeze’s “Pulling Mussel’s from the Shell” out of our leantos. If we won our competitions, earned our merit badges we got to go to Carousel Park, Beach Lake, Pa. and ride go karts and dune buggies. We got to eat the “red sauce” in the now closed El Monaco’s, White Lake, N.Y.

We gave each other nicknames. They were based on how we looked, acted, and smelled. Some kids never showered. I’m sure that’s still the case. We roughed it. We threw each other out of canoes. No one ever got hurt. We all knew how to swim. In the middle of the night, we raided each other. We had food fights.

We had a five-seater tip pan latrine (the willy). Everyone sat down together to go. We played baseball in the willy. Scoring was based on what we produced… We took ice cold showers. That’s until we “housed” a hot water heater from an abandoned site. We ate gross camp food. Thankfully they still do.

Kids that misbehaved in the dining hall were “nuked”. They had to scrub the place after the meal or wash pots when we concluded our weekend BBQs. Some scouts spent all Saturday night at the willy’s sink scrubbing. As a camper and staff member, I dished out and suffered the punishment.

On our canoe trips, as we paddled down the Delaware River, we loaded up our canoes with dead fish. At different points, we bashed each other over the head with the fish. I still long for a dead fish fight.

While I was sitting in the new Keowa Dining Hall, I spoke about these memories with those around me. Their jaws dropped wide open. No one could believe me. Some were grossed out. I guess dead fish fights and old school willys don’t appeal to all. These days, the camp has flush toilets and traditional showers. I’ve heard their canoe trips are more traditional.

These days, the scouts have fun. Lots of fun. It is a little different. But it is their fun. They are creating memories. They are soaring to the rank of Eagle Scout. Whose memories are the best? That is in the eye of the beholder. One day, these scouts will come to alumni events and tell their stories to the young staff and scouts. I’m sure things will have changed during that course of time. How much? Time will tell.

Mourning a New York Yankee hat

By Mitchell Slepian

About 12 years ago, maybe longer, I was with my dad in Tampa, Fla. We drove up to Legends Field, now Steinbrenner Field. It is the spring training field for the 27-time World Champion N.Y. Yankees and home to their single-A team, the Tampa Yankees.

It was my first time there. In the main lobby were several championship trophies. They are now in the museum in the Stadium. I was having a religious experience. We purchased tickets for the next day’s minor league game and I bought an official NY Yankee baseball hat.

I wore that hat nearly daily. It was like a body part. It has been to many Yankee games, including playoff games, Old Timer’s Day, Mariano Rivera’s last home game, BBQs, picnics, amusement park rides, etc. It was worn and torn for how much I wore it. And loved it.

Last week, it was on my head as I boarded Coney Island’s Cyclone. As the great coaster climbed the tracks it blew off my head. I got sick. Not from the ride. I’ve been on the Cyclone countless times. It is fun. But it is harmless. I was ready to puke over my missing hat. I figured landed in the empty seat behind me.

As soon as we pulled in after the ride, I looked and told the ride attendants. They looked in each car. It was missing. They told me to fill out a missing item report at guest services and they’d try to find it when they swept the tracks when the park closed at midnight.

I did exactly that. I was so sick. In tears, I filled out my form. I walked away. Five minutes later, I went back to make sure my awful penmanship was completely legible. The staff made some edits to make it easier to make out my phone number and email.

I went right back for another Cyclone ride. I don’t blame it. I blame me. I should have removed it from my head. The hat had survived many Cyclone and other rides. Perhaps its number was up. I don’t know.

For the next few hours, I droned around Luna Park like a dead person. I wound up winning a poop emoji and two Deadpools in the arcade. The emoji cheered me up. But not much.

A few hours later, I was seeing Echo and the Bunnymen and the Violent Femmes in the dump of a theater they built last year. The concert rocked. When it concluded, I went back to guest services. They said they called it in and they’d find it.

Days have passed. No word from Luna Park. My hat is somewhere along the tracks or in heaven for Yankee hats.

To help ease my depression, I went to the Yankee store on 49^th Street, NYC and bought a new one. I tried on dozens of official hats to find the one with the best fit. I asked everyone in the store, which looked best. I explained my situation. They all consoled me. I walked up to register, swiped my credit card and put the new one on my head. I hope this one lives up to the old one.

I am not done mourning my old hat. But the new one is striving to take its place. Newhat copy

Does my father want to go on a Norwegian Cruise? Does he want burial in Riverside Cemetery?

By Mitchell Slepian

The answer to does he want to take a Norwegian Cruise is one hundred percent, yes. Maybe even one million percent. As for the next questions, does he want to be buried in Riverside Cemetery in New Jersey, does he want FIOS, a new health care program or a hearing aid?

As for FIOS, not sure if it is offered in his area. But if it is, he might want it. Does he want burial in Riverside Cemetery? He does not. Sadly, he’s been buried in Mt. Hebron Cemetery since April 2014.

But everyday mail comes to my residence asking these questions. When he passed away, I had his mail forwarded to my address. I received his bills, magazines and junk mail from his Plant City, Fla. mailing address.

I was happy with the welcome to the community coupons from Bed, Bath and Beyond and other local businesses.

I get very little mail. Days can go by when there is nothing in my mailbox with my name on it. But my dad gets lots of mail.

The bigger culprits are the cruise lines. It hurts every time he gets their brochures. I know he would have been sailing. He loved cruises. He participated in every activity. He often won t-shirts, drinks, etc. from the cheesy games you can play with your shipmates.

As for the healthcare program being better than his current one, at this stage, I don’t think so. However, I called them and said, “I am calling on behalf of my dad. He’s older and asked me to field a few questions and then we’d decide.” The ever sweet woman on the phone told me to ask. I said, “Does it cover pre-existing conditions?” She said, “What?” I said, “He’s deceased.” She was aghast. After a few seconds of deafening silence, she apologized for the mailing and said she’d remove his name.

As for the cemetery, I did the same. I called them. I got a very pleasant woman well trained in talking with people who are preparing for their burials. We made some small talk at the beginning. I said what can you offer my dad better than where he has his plot? She read me the standard corporate line. I said “That’s nice. But he’s been buried in Mt. Hebron for over two years. What can you do better? And why are you sending this?” Again, the silence was deafening. Then she stuttered her way through saying she’d remove his name from the mailing list and hung up.

I didn’t bother calling the hearing aid company. I trust he’s listening to me when I speak to him and he hears me loud and clear.

Let’s face it we all get mail we don’t want or need. I get mail addressed to the people who lived in my apartment 15 years before I lived here. I toss it. But companies should really do their due diligence before they send their junk. So many of them talk of cost cutting. Just think of the postage and production costs they’d save if they did some quick research. Then they wouldn’t annoy people and may gain a customer or two.

Bleach Monster, Part XII

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Their dead on deep stare was very scary. Neither Murray nor Mark moved. It was like a dual to see who would break first. Murray would never break. Too much was riding on this.

It was business as usual for everyone else in the area, while the two men stood there. Mark was telling himself to remain strong. His stomach turned and he was drenched in sweat.

Murray was cool as a cucumber. Mark then suddenly realized he had a key position in D.C. He could have Murray removed from the area. But he had to act with prudence. Failure to do so would wreck everything he worked for.

Mark’s eyes moved slightly. Murray’s did not.

Mark waved his arms toward his buddy, Jerry, a capital police officer. Leisurely Jerry strolled over. Mark wanted to do this on a friendly basis. He figured he’d make introductions. Say Murray is an old friend and a sports freak. The two would get engaged in a conversation about baseball and Mark would sneak on into the House.

Mark was trying to prove how grown up was. But why should he have to prove anything? Yeah, he had a very rough teenage life. But he turned everything around. He got a good job, made new friends that really care about him and did a lot of interesting things. But for some reason, these blasts from the past unnerved him. He was much stronger. But he was not strong enough. Or maybe he still had hidden fears of his past lodged deeply within him.

Anyway, Jerry came by. Quick introductions were made. But Murray was onto Mark. Murray quickly brought up his pain over all the injuries his beloved Bronx Bombers had. But then he brought up how it was such a beautiful summer day and the memories he had of spending his teen years in summer camp.

Mark panicked. He started to shake. About 10 feet away, Dani was watching this all. She was ready to strike if need be. But somehow she knew Murray was in control.

Mark’s body was twisted. His conscience was telling him to stand tall. Tears were coming out of his eyes in buckets.

Jerry was perplexed. Murray smiled. Jerry asked Mark what was wrong. Mark tried to speak. But all that came out of his mouth was gibberish. He put his head down into his hands.

Jerry was thinking about radioing for an ambulance. Murray chatted with Jerry for a brief moment. They spoke about A-Rod’s constant mishaps. Of course one could discuss that for much more than a brief moment. A guy was having convulsions in front of them. But bring up baseball and that takes the stage.

Dani was in awe of Murray and the control he exhibited. It was almost as if the Force was truly channeling through him. She knew know that their little group was unstoppable.

Murray shook Jerry’s hand, told Mark to calm down and said he’d text him later and wandered off to a hot dog stand.

Bleach Monster, Part XI

Mark woke up from a miserable night’s sleep. He had an important committee meeting today. It could make or break the legislative work he’d be involved with for the last few months.

His poor night’s sleep had nothing to do with that. He had dreams of his teenage years. He dreamt about his years in summer camp. They were awful. He had very few friends. He was very awkward around people. He got caught doing things that really made him look like a sicko. He wasn’t really a bad kid. His parents loved and supported him. They still do.

Years of therapy paid off. He had a good job that paid well. He had a few friends that he trusted. He had moved so far away from those dark times. But suddenly they were back. He thought he was stronger. But when he saw Murray inside he cringed.

Murray strolled over to the Supreme Court Building. He had his reservations about his next steps? Should he really have made Dani bring the troops to DC? Or should he have handled things the way he usually did, on his own? But what’s done is done. He now had to live with the consequences. He walked toward the Capitol Building.

Mark arrived at the Capitol Building. He lingered around the tourists before he went in. Murray, Dani, Danny and Tony were mixed in with the tourists. They had their cameras, maps, bottled water and were wearing baseball caps.

Murray used his keen hearing to listen into a conversation Mark had with a security guard. Nothing important was said. They were talking about last night’s Nationals game. Mark mentioned how much he missed being in NYC, where his beloved Bronx Bombers played. At least Mark likes the Yankees. Probably the only thing he and his adversary shared a love for.

Mark stood outside for a few minutes and sipped his coffee. He calmed himself down. He knew he had work to do. He truly believed he was serving his country and that Americans benefited from his toils.

He was about to go in when he heard someone scream out his name.

He turned around. But he saw no one. He waited about a minute and went back to the door. He brushed this off to nerves. He figured with all the tourists one of the parents was yelling at one their kids, who just happened to share his name.

Of course, Dani was calling Tony, Mark. It worked. They didn’t get him to look around more carefully. They slowed him down. That was all they needed.

Murray snuck around to the staff entrance and hid in an alcove near the door. As Mark was about to walk in, Dani once again screamed out his name. Mark stopped dead in his tracks.

He started to shiver. He saw Dani and Tony. But thought it was a boy named, Mark with his mom. He smiled and walked toward the door. They smiled back.

He got closer. Just as he got to the doorway, Murray jumped into his path.

The two froze.

Bleach Monster, Part X

Murray left the Seaport. The others stayed. He raced up to Penn Station. He received an urgent message from an old friend. He needed to be in DC immediately.

A ticket for an Amtrak Acela was waiting for him. He got to Penn. Swiped his card in the Amtrak machine and out popped his ticket. He sat in the passengers waiting area for about 15 minutes and boarded Amtrak Train 2167 to our nation’s capital.

Murray sat in the train’s quiet car and prayed no loud mouths that didn’t care about the rules would be sitting there with him. For once, he lucked out.

It was a smooth ride. Three hours later he was in Union Station, Washington, D.C. He hopped on the Red-Line toward Shady Grove and found his friend, Arnold on Pennsylvania Avenue and 11 Street. He was in all black and was drenched in sweat.

“What’s wrong?”

Arnold stood silently for minutes.

Then he spoke.

“We have issues. Remember the old days when we were in camp?”

“’Of course. Those were the best years of our lives.”

“The crazy counselor who used to give out pots when we were bad now has a high ranking staff position on the Senate Finance Committee. Apparently, he cleaned up his nutty act and did quite well in school. He wound up rising up through the legislative staff ranks rather quickly. But I’ve heard he cannot be trusted.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I’ve read stories about what’s going on in NYC. Specifically in Staten Island, Forest Hills, 161 Street and in Central Park. “

“What stories?”

“Stories were written about people with special powers. There were only three. But something tells me you were involved.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You.”

The two made idle chatter for the next 20 minutes. Murray denied knowing anything about the Bleach Monster. Wine-Girl, Blubber Boy, and Tear-Water Boy never made it to the press.

Murray suggested they grab a beer. Arnold agreed. They walked over to a bar not far from the Ronald Reagan Office Building.

One beer turned into another, coupled with an order of wings and fries. Two hours later a few shots of Arrack were poured. They paid their bill with a generous tip and departed.

A plan was hatched to take out the obnoxious camp counselor. You see they didn’t wish him harm. The camp days were way gone. But they knew this wacko, despite his cleaned up act was still a nut. Heaven help our country with the counsel he’ll give our senators.

Murray didn’t explain anything about his empire to Arnold. He just said he would figure out a way to take care of Mark. This guy liked to rock-n-roll. He needed to closely study the situation

Murray was calm. But he was a little nervous. He never finalized the creation of his empire at the South Street Seaport. He knew Dani would be waiting for his next move. He trusted her to an extent. But knew she’d try to take him out if he wasn’t careful. So much for sibling love.

Arnold went home. Murray checked in at the J.W. Marriott. He took a shower and began texting Dani. She was still up. He gave her a heads up on what was going down in D.C. He told her to stay on guard for instructions. She got excited.

She knew an empire was in the works. Although she wasn’t the official leader, she knew she would run it anyway. She was happy to let Murray think he was in control.

Murray went to J. Crew and purchased a suit. He went as a visitor to the next Senate Finance Committee meeting. He saw the loony, Mark that he hadn’t seen in over 25 years. Murray remained unnoticed.

Mark looked good. Brooks Brothers suit. He appeared to be in good shape and was speaking very clearly. But there was still a twinge of crazy in his eyes. If you didn’t know him back in the day you wouldn’t notice. You might think he eyes were red due to allergies or other issues. The meeting concluded. Everyone scurried out.

Murray got a drink of water and called Arnold Everything seems quite normal. But Murray sensed Mark would turn into Mark and start giving out pots. Not the kind he gave out him camp. Heck, those were dirty old pots that good ‘ole camp grub was cooked in. The new pots could be amendments to financial bills that will wreak havoc on our great American lifestyle.

Mark could be a convincing person.

He needed to be stopped.

He and Murray walked right by each other. Mark was oblivious.

A few days passed. Murray was ready to strike. He went to Senate committee’s website and found Mark’s email. He sent him a cordial email telling him how he’s in town and it has been over two decades since they’ve seen each other. He suggested they meet in front of the Air and Space Museum.

Mark agreed. He was a little nervous. But figured his interactions with Murray were so dated it wouldn’t matter. You see when Mark tried to give Murray and Arnold a million pots after they raided him in his sleep. They moved him while he was sound asleep on his cot and placed him in the latrine above the willy holes. Mark woke up screaming. He was never mean to any camper again.

Mark knew those days were gone. He straightened his life out. He did well at Wharton and had a great job. But he knew his crazy streak was just waiting to strike.

The two arrived at the Air and Space meeting. As usual, the Hare Krishnas were nearby. They grabbed Dove ice cream bars from the refreshment stand and began to chat. Mark told Murray how he still has nightmares about waking up above the Willy holes in camp. Murray smiled. He said he feels bad. But hey that was over two decades ago and he would never apologize for his teen craziness.

Mark went on to explain how crazy camp situations helped him evolve into the man he is today. Murray knew right there that Mark was likely to go crazy. Some of it was his fault. Some were due to the environment they were placed in.

The conversation ended. They shook hands and went their separate ways.

Murray texted Arnold. They had to get their plan into high gear. Murray realized the way some things were phrased that trouble was brewing.

The next few days may change the shape of the universe.

Murray needed Dani and his other powerful little friends at his side. He purchased tickets for them to arrive in DC that evening. He outlined the structure of “Murray’s Empire” in a cryptic email. They swore their allegiance. Basically, they were to use their “powers” for good.

He told them to go straight to the Supreme Court upon arrival.

Murray got together with Arnold. They began mapping out their attack plan.

Murray’s major concern was how to fight without the use of their powers. Could he do it with tricky speech? Or would his empire descend upon Washington in full light?

Bleach Monster, Part XIX

Dani woke up and hopped on the Staten Island Railway with Tony. Audrey stayed home with her dad. They were en-route to Murray’s meeting place.

She was not pleased that he requested their presence in front of the Yankees’ store at the South Street Seaport. He did that on purpose. Nothing in his mind topped the Bronx Bombers.

She had been a Yankee fan. Then she converted and began to root for the Mets.

Sad.

Very sad.

The train pulled into the SI Ferry Terminal and they boarded. She hoped the boat was not laden with roaches. She meant in terms of the real ones and the riders that often resembled them.

The ferry sailed along. All was quiet. The usual preachers were preaching. The deckhands were drinking coffee. People were reading their papers and chatting away with their friends. It docked. They walked off and headed down Water Street.

People seemed distressed. The market was not doing so well. As they approached Wall Street they noticed several people acting crazy. But not in a sense that the usual NYC crazies acted. Dani wondered if it was the market downturn or something else?

Despite Tony’s new found tear-water power he was nervous. He is still young and hasn’t spent much time in the city. He clutched Dani’s hand. She smiled and told him this is the norm for the City. It is packed with a lot of crazies.

A religious crazy approached them and started preaching and begging. Dani pulled Tony away. She told him not to go into defense mode. She further explained that most of these people are harmless. They just need to help. Such a shame the appropriate care isn’t available to them.

Murray and Danny were in the store buying Yogi Berra t-shirts, World Series collector baseballs and some other stuff. “Uncle Sam” and the “Statue of Liberty” were standing outside the store posing for pictures and begging for money.

Murray and Danny sat on a bench. They sipped bottled water. A few minutes later Dani and Tony arrived. They exchanged greetings. They began walking toward Pier 17. They planned to sit out by the boats and discuss life. Murray was pleased it looked like his plans were finally going to come to fruition.

As they were walking past the Gap and getting ready to cross the street a crazed cyclist was riding through the shopping crowd. She was slamming into people. A few elderly people got knocked down. A group of people started to chase her. But she cycled away.

Murray kept his eyes fixed on the route she took. He pointed in that direction. Despite Murray’s dark leanings, he still has a lot of good in him. One day this mix of good and evil will kill him.

They picked up their pace and walked near J. Crew. They saw the crazy biker picking up so much speed. However, she was no longer attacking anyone. She was just cruising at a speed too fast for her surroundings.

She started pedaling even faster. She tried to turn left. But her wheel got caught in the sidewalk and she flipped off the bike and landed on her knees. Murray and his group surrounded her. She started screaming out unintelligible words. But none of them could decipher the language she was speaking. They didn’t think she was an alien. They figured she was just a nut.

Dani asked her if she was ok. She nodded, yes. They didn’t want to leave her. They walked over to her and tried to help her out. As Danny moved forward, she pulled an ax out of her bag. Danny ducked and shot pieces of blubber. She went down.

Murray’s gang retreated. They found a nearby bench to sit on.

Murray began addressing why he called them together