My New York son, Doug, living with his ex-wife and their daughter, Starr, has been keeping me informed on his weird adventures.

My New York son, Doug, living with his ex-wife and their daughter, Starr, has been keeping me informed on his weird adventures. An artist, Doug has a great tolerance for different people, attitudes and situations. Here’s one of his e-mails:
Date: 8/26/01 4:12:01 PM Central Daylight Time
Hello pops...how are you? How are the jobs goin? I spoke to the Hebs today...that was fun.... I worked last night...the last two nights I worked at 7A have been fun...this is a good sign.... I did some drawing on Fri and I’ll be doin some tomorrow morning...I found a new place to draw from the model on Fri day.... this place has more than one class available for drawing from the model during the week...it costs $10 per class.... I’m going to the studio museum in Harlem this week.... that will be fun.... as well as maybe three more drawing classes! Starr finishes her summer school program this week and begins real school next week...Joy is still doing her sales manager job.... though she seems less stressed.... that’s all for now...bye Doug

I have been pleased at Doug’s happiness and adjustment to New York, but we all miss him and his humor. Our family gatherings are not the same without his upbeat personality.
It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, so my wife, Ruth, and I drove into the city to follow-up and photograph my blurbs for Pitch, and to get an ice cream cone.
First stop was the tennis courts at Loose Park near the Plaza where two guys were playing singles and four couples were playing mixed doubles.
The four courts were as I remembered them, and they seemed in good shape, no grass between the courts, no busted bottles, no ripped nets.
Taking three photos of the action, I noticed there were no racquets stuck in the fence, a hometown system allowing fair access to the courts, mainly because nobody was waiting to play. One singles player said the courts still used the racquet system. The racquet first in line would get the first available court.
On my way back to the car, an older couple dressed in matching dark blue shorts walked by on the sidewalk with a little Scottie dog. I asked them if the dog was thirsty, and if so, would they mind if I took the dog’s photo as it drank from the little concrete fountain?
They were very obliging, lifting the dog up to the spout, showing the water until it drank. I took two photos, thanked the couple and left for the next site: the old streetcar station at 54th and Brookside. The streetcar right-of-way had been converted into a path for joggers, bicyclists and walkers, with many using the path today, but remnants from the efficient system were still visible.
Parking near the little streetcar station, probably about twenty feet by twenty, the size of a living room, I took four or five photos. The ivy really was growing inside and out. Also, some clothing, crumpled and wet, was inside. Had a poor, homeless person discarded it? I couldn’t tell, but I noticed the old streetcar rails outside, a faint hint of the vast system that used to carry the trolley to Waldo and back to Westport.
Driving to the Brookside shops, we noticed the Topsy’s popcorn and ice cream store was closed. Not only that, the window held a sign stating, “Topsy’s soon to move to Baskin-Robbins.” So, our favorite ice cream place had lost its lease? Or had the cost of the lease gone up? Topsy’s used to sell Blue Bunny Ice Cream, which we preferred to Baskin’s because it was both better and cheaper. Another choice wiped out.
We took our time getting to our next photo op, winding through the streets near St. Theresa’s High School, driving by a big, three-story home we could have purchased in the early 1980s for $58,000, but didn’t because it needed its wooden gutters repaired. That was a bad decision. The house must be worth $200,000 now. And it would have been great for our family at that time: four kids, a dog, and a parakeet.
Eventually, we arrived at Rainbow and Southwest Boulevard and I clicked off a few photos of the old grain elevator located there, right across from the Dairy Queen. I don’t know its history, but I’d try to find out. Its massive bulk can be seen for miles and it offers the photographer a stunning picture, especially when the sun glances off it, perhaps the blackness of a storm behind.
After we returned home, I transferred the photos onto my computer, and then picked some out for the blurbs for Pitch. They looked good and the blurbs sounded good too. Here are the five blurbs sent to CJ.