Category: Fourre-tout

By Noel Marcovecchio
Copyright 1995, 2017

“Hey Mangiapane, give me ninety bucks.” I turned and saw looming behind me the Honorable Frank Capogrosso, Judge of the Superior Court. I wondered why he was asking. Where I grew up if a judge asked you for money you handed it over.

“We’re going fishing, Ralph. Abalone Ron introduced me to the skipper of the Courageous Caruso, a charter boat out of Sausalito. I signed us all up for three weeks from this Saturday, so give me ninety bucks.”

I knew Abalone Ron on sight. For some reason, he had unlimited access to the hallway that separated the courtrooms from the judges’ chambers. Every week Ron would go from judge to judge selling the fresh catch of the day. They must have been great customers because Ron had been showing up for years.

I had never been fishing in my life. The only boat I ever been aboard was the Staten Island ferry. Somehow I couldn’t picture myself on some tub chugging into the swells of the blue Pacific. I told Capogrosso that I wasn’t a fisherman and didn’t want to go.

“Cut it out Ralph, and give me the money. I got a bunch of guys from the DA’s off and the PD too. A few cops too but I want some guys from the private bar, so you’re coming. Look, you’ll bring home some salmon; it’ll make your sister happy; how bad can it be?”

I tried to explain that I knew nothing about salmon fishing but he assured me that there was nothing to know. The skipper used an electronic fish finder; the crew baited the hooks and when you caught something they netted it into the boat. I left Capogrosso ninety dollars lighter.

The day arrived and I woke up at 4:30 am. I stumbled out of my house, into my car and drove over the bridge to Sausalito. I parked and saw Capogrosso’s other victims. What a dismal looking group, but Capogrosso was like a bumblebee buzzing from one sleepy victim to the next with a thermos of coffee. The group included my best friend Norman Coombs, assistant DA Billy Figiarino, an assortment of lawyers, homicide inspectors, Dr. Rusty Podcoddler from the coroner’s office plus defense lawyer and self-proclaimed fishing expert, Hugh O’Toole.

O’Toole seemed to share Capogrosso’s enthusiasm. He was wide awake and talked constantly about all of the websites he had checked for the latest hot spots and of previous fishing adventures. Not bad I thought, somebody with a little experience… but then O’Toole managed to get snarled in his own tackle before we boarded the boat.

Now awake and resigned, we climbed on board and headed out. The Courageous Caruso surged through the Golden Gate, rising and falling through the incoming tide. I didn’t feel too well and I could see that I wasn’t alone. Norm yelled, “I think I’m going to die!” Capogrosso thought that was funny and shouted, “Hey Doctor Rusty, I think we’re going to have some customers for you in a minute. At the end of his laughing fit, Capogrosso turned to O’Toole. “I hope this trip is better than the last time.”

We chugged out to sea. The skipper kept checking the fish finder and radioed other boats in an attempt to find salmon. After about two hours of seemingly aimless search, he declared that we had arrived where the fish were hiding. Everyone got ready. The hooks were baited with anchovies and each attached it to a rig that was weighted with something like a small lead cannonball. After that, we stood elbow to elbow for hours dragging lead spheres through the waters off Marin County without a hint of salmon.

Grumpy would be a kind way of describing our disposition. People were muttering comments about Capogrosso’s fish wisdom. Of course, the lawyers couldn’t say too much. We had to appear in front of him and were afraid that he’d hold a grudge. On the other hand, the cops, who had more than a few Irish coffees, began to let him have it. I could see Capogrosso stew and start to boil over. It wasn’t his fault that the fish weren’t biting but he planned the outing and made us all chip in so it was his brunt to bear, but suddenly there was a cry. “O’Toole’s got one; O’Toole’s got one!”

To be continued… be sure to look for the end of this story in the coming days.

“There is no kind of harassment that a man may not inflict on a woman with impunity in civilized societies.” Denis Diderot

Sexual harassment stories are sweeping across the land and wreaking havoc everywhere. Many well-known powerbrokers are quietly stepping down or running for the hills. As during the McCarthy’s Red Scare era, nobody feels safe… especially those shady characters who abused their influence to coerce vulnerable young people.

Sexual harassment is a form of crass ignorance reflecting a basic lack of education and good manners. It is vastly different from flirting.
Flirting is playful, understated, often amusing. Harassment, on the other hand, is heavy-handed, crude and threatening. If you cannot tell the difference between these two approaches, you are a neanderthal.

Women generally speaking like compliments; it makes them feel good about themselves. In the Spanish-speaking world, men often use original, creative, flirtatious compliments known as “piropos”. It tells a woman how cute, or beautiful she is.

“For you, I would climb to heaven by bicycle and descend without brakes.”

As long as it is lighthearted it is an acceptable form of flirtation; in Argentina, it is even considered an art form.

France used to be known as the land of “galanterie”.
“Gallantry is a set of flattering compliments addressed to women. Many people see it as a form of politeness and savoir-vivre, and it is also considered a means of seduction.”

In the 17^th century, some aristocratic French ladies created an imaginary map called “la Carte du Tendre” (the Map of Tendre). It showed would-be lovers how to behave and how to win a lady’s heart. Such a map is sorely missing today. Many men (and women) don’t have the slightest idea how to conduct themselves in a polite society.

While individuals guilty of sexual harassment should be rightly prosecuted, the root of the problem lies with education. Galanterie, the proper way to treat women, should be a mandatory subject taught in high school and beyond.

It is not enough to be proficient in athletics or cybernetics. Being a gentleman (chivalrous and courteous) is more gratifying in the long run than being a bigwig bully in any organization.

Alain

Father Time is a sneaky old thief. Under a gentle grandfatherly demeanor, he robs you blind on a daily basis. He robs you surreptitiously of your physical and mental capabilities and like a heartless gold-digger, he leaves you emotionally and physically drained a few decades later.

You don’t notice his larceny right away because his daily thefts are small and subtle. Like a crafty swindler, he does not steal big, but he steals steadily. From day to day you won’t detect the loss of a few hairs, but one morning you wake up and blimey, you are bald.
The same goes for your skin. Wrinkles appear in the cover of the night and won’t leave in the morning. They found a nice smooth spot on your face and they are squatting on it… and as you know, it is difficult to evict a squatter. As somebody said:

“Time may be a great healer, but it’s a lousy beautician.”

When men work, they don’t pay too much attention to their physical appearance. They get up, shower, shave and out they go. They are too preoccupied with their line of work to notice the small indignities that Father Time is inflicting upon them.

When you are in the rat race, you cannot bother with details. You need to keep running and prevent the younger rats (those with a full head of hair) to gain on you. But after a few years (and a few extra pounds) you are not running as fast and as long as when you had hair. Like Samson, the loss of your mane seems to have affected your strength and you can not repulse the Philistines (the young rats) as well as when you have a full head of hair. A wig won’t do.

The only consolation for us mere mortals is that celebrities are not immune to Father Time’s larcenies. He robs them as well as us. It is always shocking (for me anyway) to discover during a TV appearance that the dashing young star that you knew is suddenly a puckered old man.
Do you remember the handsome young lad named Mickey Rooney? Do you remember hunky Marlon Brando? Father Time did a job on them.

But maturity has some advantages. When you are getting long in the teeth, you feel free to say whatever goes through your head. Nobody can hurt your career anymore. It is like kissing goodbye to the Senate; if you are Republican, you feel finally free to vote for a Democrat.

“Old age is an excellent time for outrage. My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.” ~Maggie Kuhn

The best antidote to advancing age is laughter. Laugh at everything and everybody. Especially businessmen turned politicians. They are clowns and beg to be laughed at.

Alain

And if you’re not getting enough respect at home, maybe it’s time to travel overseas? In many parts of the world, age is revered. Bart Astor