Vintage Baseball - Welcome to Jefferson Ferry Control Ernie Bodamer ... ride the train, ... called “Vintage Baseball,” it was actually taken only a few

July/August 2013 Volume 13 Issue 4

Vintage Baseball Photo by Alan Verwold

Best in Show 2012 Jefferson’s Ferry Photo Contest

Margaret Pols, Editor Phone 3177

Roy Miller, Editor Emeritus

Louise Bender, Secretary Phone 3025

Gordon Hall, Proof Reader

Phone2983

Dolores Cammarata Phone 3018

Marty Petersen Phone 2936

Ruth Regan Phone 3107

Alice Rhodes Phone 3103

Linda Sharpley, Photographer Phone 2960

Bob Spann

Phone 3203

2013 Residents Council Claire Donohue, Chair Bob Spann, Vice Chair Joe Zecca, Rec. Secy Joyce Edward, Corr. Secy Caroline Levine, Treasurer Marty Petersen Margaret Pols Irene Naughton

Dolores Zarzycki

Committee Chair

Budget/Finance Bob Spann

Building Marty Petersen

Communications Mike Rabaska

Comm.Garden Edith Hull

Country Store Claire Baer

Conservation Bernie Tunik

Dining Services Christina Carroll

Election Chris Procopio

Exhibit Barbara Strongin

Grounds Chuck Darling

Committee Chair

Health Issues Ed Norris

Library Claire Donohue

Newsletter Margaret Pols

Parking Control Ernie Bodamer

Public Affairs Barbara Strongin

Social Activities Ellen Braunstein

Sunshine Jane Goor/Chris Procopio

Welcoming Noel Burks

Workshop Marty Petersen

The Editorial Staff

Committees of the Council

Jefferson’s Ferry Tales

L to r. Ruth Regan, Bob Spann, Louise Bender, Alice Rhodes, Margaret Pols,

Dolores Cammarata, Linda Sharpley, Marty Petersen, not shown, Gordon Hall

Page 2 Ferry Tales July/August 2013

A publication for, by and about residents of

Jefferson’s Ferry Life Care Community.

Margaret Pols interviews

Steve Conner

Take me out with the crowd.

Buy me some peanuts and

cracker jacks…..

W hen those words were written, the subway to Yankee Stadium or Ebbets Field cost a nickel, and a bleacher seat might go for half a buck. If somehow you managed to get your hands on a dollar bill, you were left with enough to buy some peanuts and crackerjacks.

Not so much anymore, as Steve Conner found out last Fall on a trip to Citifield (formerly Shea Stadium.) With his kids, Gavin, 9, Nolan, 8 and Serah 4, Steve drove to the Port Washington LIRR station and took the train to the Willetts Point station, right at the entrance to the ball-park. He’d been given some tickets on the field level worth, he thinks, about $100. apiece. Bleacher seats would have been about $25. each.

Steve, as many of us have expe-rienced, is Jefferson’s Ferry’s Director of Rehabilitation. Along with Vickie, Occupation-al Therapist and Kathy, Physi-cal Therapist, Steve works with every kind of motor problem from broken bones to stiff joints. Anyone who has had the opportunity or misfortune to need physical or occupational therapy has, no doubt spent some time in Steve’s depart-ment, and been impressed with the lively and caring profession-

alism that pervades it.

Steve’s sons are really into baseball. They both play Little League ball at St. Margaret’s Church in Selden. Serah, still a little young to be a fan, likes to ride the train, and she brings her little Mario doll with her, set-ting him up to watch what’s happening on the field.

Once the game got going, the vendors came by with the usual goodies. The prices, however, were far from what you or I might remember. A large box of popcorn was $10., a burger $10., and a hot dog $9. Of course, the kids wanted pop-corn. Dad, short on cash, said “Sorry, I didn’t bring enough money.” Behind them sat a family of 3 – Mom, Dad and

child. The Mom asked for 4 boxes of popcorn, paid the ven-dor $40, and then said to the Conners, “Oh, sorry, I bought one box too many. Would you children like to have it?” The kids were ecstatic; Steve was grateful.

And then, of course, there was the mandatory bathroom visit. With Dad, two boys and a girl, they headed for the Men’s Room. Serah took it in her stride. She was used to a house full of males. When one gent criticized Steve for bringing a girl into the men’s room, anoth-er fellow made it a point to tell Steve to ignore him; any Dad would know that you kept your kids close to you at all times.

It was a good game, but of course the Mets lost. (They

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME….TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME….TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME….

Ferry Tales July/August 2013 Page 3

Gavin, Serah and Dylan Conner on the way to the Ballpark

TAKE ME OUT TO THE BALLGAME


they headed for Yankee Stadi-um in the Bronx. Again they opted for the LIRR ($29. for Steve, $2, for each of the boys and Serah rode free.) From Penn Station they took a sub-way ($2.50 each, each way) and Steve’s wallet was lighter by about $50. (To drive would have cost $40. for park-ing plus tolls and gas.) When the time came to get some-thing to eat, Steve headed for the refreshment stand. Hot-dogs? Hamburgers? Cheese-burgers? No, the specials were nachos, sushi, Kale soup and rotisserie chicken. No pea-nuts. No popcorn. You could get those by going to another part of the Stadium.

Again, the home team lost. This was the family’s 3rd trip to a major league stadium, and the home team lost each time.

Luckily, there are lots of other distractions for the kids. Be-tween innings there are fan participation activities. Specta-tors are selected from the stands and given a challenge: a quiz, a particular fete - and winners receive a prize from one of the corporate sponsors. Also, there is a large screen, called the Diamond Screen, which focuses mainly on home plate. It doesn’t follow the ac-tion or show fans in the stands, but it provides a lot of detail which you can’t see from the stands, and kids can really re-late to it.

The Conner family went to a third ball game, and again the home team lost. On the way home, Gavin reminded his fa-ther, “Hey Dad, I’m 0 and 3 (no wins, three losses.) We’ll need to go to some more games!”

were second from last in league standings at that point.) But the experience didn’t stop the family from trying again. Another op-portunity arose this past Spring, this time a Yankees game. When some tickets became available,

Sareh’s Mario Doll can’t bear to watch the game

FROM THE EDITOR’S DESK

The cover this month is the winner of Best in Show in the 2013 Jefferson’s Ferry Photo Contest, taken by Alan Ver-wold. Although the picture is called “Vintage Baseball,” it was actually taken only a few years ago at Bethpage Park here on Long Island. And, no, that is not Alan at the plate!

We‘ve received some wonder-ful stories about New York City, and are looking forward to our special “East Side, West Side,” edition in November. We could still use a few more stories.

Please also feel free to suggest topics for “Tales” that you think will interest other resi-dents. Our Editorial Staff is always looking for subjects to research and write about.

We like stories that are about a page in length, (500 words,) with a picture. We prepare the Tales about 6 weeks in ad-vance. Sometimes we need to hold a story because of space limitations.

So talk to any of our staff, or call me for more information. We love to tell your Tales!

A Word from about

Advice to the Age Worn

Our specialist on matters of the heart, Ms. Anne Onymous, has received and is diligently studying several letters she received requesting her advice. Her responses are not some-thing to be given lightly, so she begs your patience as she seeks to provide the best pos-sible solutions to the questions and situations you’ve written about. She will respond to these, and any other letters she receives, in the next issue.

By Alice Rhodes

A little girl in third grade chanced to see a flyer picturing a young girl twirling a baton. Enchanted, she said, “I want to be just like that!” And so the die was cast. From that day to this her dedication has been ab-solute.

Today, that little girl, Victoria Massey, is not only a member of the wait staff and sometimes-bar tender at Jefferson’s Ferry, but also a world-class baton twirler!

We all have fun watching baton twirlers marching with bands at parades and sporting events. Although everything looks ef-fortless, Victoria explained that any baton twirling is anything but effortless! Routines involve many elements which must be perfectly coordinated. Baton skills include tossing, catching, flips, neck and elbow rolls – all accompanied by complicated gymnastic movements called “illusions.” In competition, routines are carefully choreo-graphed to music and often re-quire very accomplished danc-ing skills.

Victoria’s first step at age 8 was to join an after-school program, where she had fun with her classmates while learning some rudimentary skills. She contin-ued learning and practicing, and at age 12, she joined a trav-el team at school. Their first adventure was to attend the Na-tional Competition in Arizona

where they won first place. There, Victoria had an oppor-tunity to observe top twirlers and said, “When you see those who are better than you, it in-spires you to get to that level.”

That was a truly prophetic state-ment because Victoria contin-ued competing, not only with her team but also at solo events where she performed alone in front of many judges. She con-tinued to attend state regional and national competitions, and at age 14 won her first New York State Grand Champion-ship. She still competes at these events and for the past seven years has been the Grand Champion.

The “twirling world” is a small and select one, and while in high school, Victoria was being noticed as she was becoming more and more skillful.

In March, 2010 Victoria tried out for the US World Team as a soloist and as one in a pair. These trials are held every two years, this time in Tennessee. Unfortunately, this time, Victo-ria didn’t make it. In Septem-

ber 2010, however, Victoria’s individual coach was contacted by one of the top coaches in the US who expressed great interest in Victoria, in hopes that she would become a member of the World Team. When she was invited to join, Victoria told me she “had to seriously think about it, considering the tre-mendous commitment in-volved.” However, realizing that this was the only ticket to World Championship, she quickly said yes, and immedi-ately began a rigorous two year training period.

For the next two years, while a senior in high school and a Freshman in college, Victoria was required to attend practice sessions every month for from three to five days usually from Friday through Sunday night in order not to interfere with aca-demic work. But these sessions were held not in a gym around the corner from the school, but rather in Maryland or Califor-nia.

In March 2012 the US trials for the US World Team again took place, this time in California. Victoria’s team won, and subse-quently qualified to travel to France for the World Baton Twirling Championship. They were in France almost a week, where they competed against Japan, Italy and France – the top competitors around the world, - as well as against many other teams. They per-formed in front of as many as 6000 spectators. At this compe-tition the US won 4 medals – 2 bronze and 2 silver, achieving fourth place. This is the biggest and most prestigious

VICTORIA MASSEYVICTORIA MASSEYVICTORIA MASSEY———BATON TWIRLER/ BARTENDERBATON TWIRLER/ BARTENDERBATON TWIRLER/ BARTENDER


es with “Dynamics” twirling or-ganization” for 14 or 15 hours a week. Her class consists of 12 solo students and 1 trio. Their ages range from 7 – 16, which repre-sents Beginning to Elite level. These little athletes are already ac-tively competing in twirling events, and Victoria works hard to help them reach their goals and achieve success.yet she still has time for us! It’s always such a joy to see her in the dining room or behind the bar. Did you know that Victo-ria was responsible for choreo-graphing the “Flash Mob” dancing by the staff at the “Embraceable You” event?

All of us at JF wish her good luck as her twirling career moves for-ward, and when the day arrives when baton twirling is on the Olympic program, we’ll lift a glass at the bar and join in singing the National Anthem as we watch Vic-toria stand on the platform to re-ceive the gold.

VICTORIA MASSEYVICTORIA MASSEYVICTORIA MASSEY———BARTENDER/BATON TWIRLERBARTENDER/BATON TWIRLERBARTENDER/BATON TWIRLER

Page 6 Ferry Tales July, August 2013

Victoria Leading the Flash Mob

When we asked Victoria why Baton Twirling is not included in Olympic competition, she told me that as yet there are not enough countries which would be eligible. And in addition, the sport is very similar to Rhyth-mic Gymnastics. Nevertheless, efforts continue so hopefully this beautiful sport will some day be included in the Games.

In addition to all the activities in her busy life, Victoria coach-

competition anywhere in the world and is held every other year.

In odd years, the international Cup Baton Twirling Champi-onship takes place. In 2009, Victoria traveled to Sydney, Australia with her team where they won a gold medal.

At competitions, team and pairs are scored on a scale of 100. Individual performances are scored on a scale of 10. Victoria told me she scores quite consistently around 8. The finals are usually held the last day of competition, and each routine lasts about 2 minutes.

This summer Victoria is trav-elling to Holland with her coach to compete in a solo and artistic event. The preliminar-ies will consist of 20 athletes who perform before three judges, the top 8 chosen to compete in the finals.

RETIRED SENIOR VOLUNTEER PROGRAM

By Joyce Edward

Volunteering either at Jeffer-son's Ferry or in the communi-ty or both is a way of life for many residents. The Residents Council is looking into ways to expand volunteer activities through the Retired Senior Volunteer Program of Suffolk County (RSVP). The RSVP program may be particularly useful to residents who come from other areas and are unfa-miliar with local needs.

Recently, Maureen McCarthy, North Shore Coordinator of RSVP described the program

to interested residents. RSVP offers lists of volunteer oppor-tunities, including educational, health and environmental pro-grams. For example, for resi-dents interested in working with children, they list openings in Head Start programs or in some local public schools.

The organizations which RSVP serves are listed at http://www. cssny.org/services/rsvp. In the future the list will be posted monthly on our Activities Board. Volunteers may choose their assignments based on their interests and talents and time availability.

Interested residents may con-tact Joyce Edward, Apt. 2215, phone 650-3015 for application forms. Ms. McCarthy, the pro-gram coordinator, will meet here with applicants who have completed forms to consider possible placements.

For now, residents will need to provide their own transporta-tion. If there are enough vol-unteers, other arrangements may be worked out.

Those who are already volun-teering in programs served by RSVP may register with the organization and thereby be covered by RSVP's insurance.

SUSAN TRUMPSUSAN TRUMPSUSAN TRUMP———AMERICANA DULCIMER MUSICAMERICANA DULCIMER MUSICAMERICANA DULCIMER MUSIC


angering the preacher. The word “Dulcimer” comes from the Latin, “dulce” which means sweet, and the “Greek” melos, which means music.

Although the roots of the Mountain Dulcimer lie in the Appalachian region of the Unit-ed States, it has captured the imagination of musicians across the globe. Folklorists and mis-sionaries who traveled to the Appalachians in the 1800’s made note of the dulcimer in their journals, but some re-marked it would soon be ex-tinct. They were so wrong!

Because many of the settlers of the early frontier (western Car-olina and Eastern Tennessee) were of Scots Irish descent, many of the songs we consider traditional mountain dulcimer songs are rooted in the English and Celtic tradition. The de-sign of the dulcimer with its droning skills is reminiscent of the sounds of the bagpipe.

Today in the 21st century, art-ists including Susan Trump are performing at sell-out weekend performances, and recording such solos as “What the Hill People Say,” “Tree of Life” and “Live at Cafe Lena.” Susan’s newest CD “Songs of Faith and Hope’ is a collection of inspira-tional and uplifting songs for everyone. At gatherings like the Old Songs Festival in Alta-mont, New York, artists per-form, record and give work-shops on dulcimer music.

Susan has also authored the book, “Classical Collections, and she has produced Vol. I and II of “Masters of the Mountain Dulcimer” series, featuring in-

T he Mountain Dulcimer! Susan Trump, the creative, tal-ented daughter of Jefferson’s Ferry resident, Dorothy Trump, has been winning fans with her singing, her song-writing and her outstanding skill on this little known and beautiful in-strument.

Susan Trump is a singer whose gentle voice and story songs, accompanied on the dulcimer, are unforgettable. Her audienc-es use phrases like, “voice of an

angel.” Her magic stems from her ability to link the pastoral, tranquil images of traditional rural America to our contempo-rary life. Her songs touch the heart, recall the past and inspire the times ahead. Her sense of humor always adds a fresh touch to her performances.

The Mountain Dulcimer is a beautiful instrument both visu-ally and in sound. No one knows who managed to devel-op the dulcimer in its current form, although the ancient form of the instrument is mentioned in the Psalms. Perhaps be-cause the dulcimer is men-tioned in the Bible, its music could be used in church without

strumental selections from many of the finest players in the coun-try.

Susan writes, “It was an honor and great fun to … perform and give workshops at the 30th Anni-versary of the Old Songs Festival. We selected a few of the songs to share with you and posted them on You Tube. You will also find a lovely version of “Rainbow Col-lection.” Just go to You Tube, enter ‘Susan Trump’ in the search window to see and hear them, as well as other songs from the Dul-

cimore festival in Ohio.”

If you’d like to see some more photos of either Susan or the dulci-mer, or if you’d like to hear some of

her distinctive music, contact her Mom, Dorothy Trump. She’d love to share her pride with you!

A few hearty souls began the shuffleboard, bocci, horse-shoes season on a cloudy May morning.

By LOUISE BENDER

Outdoor Sports Begin

“Q” IS FOR QUETZAL

Jose said he heard a quetzal an-swer the call he had been imi-tating as we walked quietly. We came to a bench in a small clearing and he suggested that we sit until he actually spotted the bird. We did not argue with this since we were getting tired.

Soon another quetzal-seeker

came along. We signaled to

him to whisper, and he asked

what we were doing. When we

explained, he asked if he could

join us. Continuing our conver-

sation in whispers, we found

out he not only lived near Bill’s

sister, Barbara, he also knew

her from a birding club they

belonged to. Small world!

Soon after this discovery, Jose motioned us to approach. There up in the very high branches we saw our first quet-zal. It was certainly worth the wait. And within the next ten or fifteen minutes we saw five or six more in the clearing. We knew how lucky we were and thanked Jose profusely for re-fusing to let us leave without magnificent birds. Some peo-ple we spoke to who had gone into the forest that day had not seen any.

Back at the mo-tel that evening, we talked with one of the young owners and found out that his mother lived in our town with-in walking dis-tance of our home. A very small world! Maybe the quetzal does have some mystical power!


By Faith Littlefield

T he Quetzal, a strikingly beautiful but very elusive bird, has played an important role in the cultural history of Central America. The quetzal is a shimmering green, crimson-breasted tropical bird with ex-tremely long tail feathers that help birders and interested tourists to spot them. It served as an object of worship for both Aztec and Maya Indians and was believed to be the spiritual protector of tribal chieftains. This legendary bird is the na-tional symbol of Guatemala as well as the name of its mone-tary unit.

My husband Bill and I visited Guatemala in February of 1989 but saw no quetzals. We were not, however, in search of any at that time. Even if we were, we would not have been al-lowed into the reserve where the quetzals are being protected along with many plants and animal species.

In April of 1991, we went to Costa Rica. Here the quetzals can be spotted in the Monte-verde cloud forest—if one is patient and has a guide who

knows where and how to spot them. This will save you hours of aimless wandering, and is well worth whatever his/her tour might cost.

From San Jose, the capital of Costa Rica, we headed to Mon-teverde. It was suggested that we not rent a car to make this trip, but rather hire someone to take us who was familiar with the roads. We found out why once we turned off the Pan American Highway. The paved road ended and became rougher and rougher as we headed into the cloud forest area. Our driver knew where every “pot hole” was and avoided them as much as pos-sible. We thought this bumpy road that seemed to serpentine endlessly would never end. The scenery, however, was beautiful and our driver point-ed out many points of interest. He even stopped when we saw a pecan tree and picked one for us. This required him to break open the hard shell they are encased it.

Reaching our destination—a motel run by Quakers—we planned our visit the next day to the Monteverde cloud forest.

Once there, we requested a guide. We soon realized that what Jose didn’t know about flora and fauna wasn’t worth knowing. He knew that we were anxious to see a quetzal and said we would not leave the forest until this was accom-plished. Fortunately the cano-py of the cloud forest would shade us and keep us cool. At one point when it seemed we had been walking for hours,

A L ITTL E VOCAB UL ARY NON S EN S E


G oogle is an amazing infor-mation source: ask any stupid question and you get a hundred answers. Yet, I wondered if one could confound it and have it respond “No answer available”. Well, let’s try.

What if one made up a word, any word from nonsense sylla-bles and asks Google for a defi-nition? How about a word like “STITION.” It sounds like a legitimate English word yet it is not in the dictionary. Does it have a meaning? I gave Google a try. Well, I was sur-prised! Others before me had asked about the same word and there were even some defini-tions. One answerer thought it could be related to superstition. Stition meant “not fully super-stitious.” As an example one would never walk under a lad-der because of “superstition.” Another might walk under the ladder with no fear, but he would have knowledge of the possibility of unfortunate luck. In other words he was “stitious” But not “super”.

Further research into odd word conception led me to a web site called UrbanDictionary.Com. The sight had hundreds of non-sense words like “cussemights” And there, sur-prisingly, was also, my word “stition.” Someone else had dreamed up the word, provided a definition and got his name attached as its originator. This site had a box where you could type a word, and if it existed, it would give you a definition. If not, you could claim it, define

it, and have your name at-tached. I tried several words. Many existed but I could only claim as my words ”napson”, “quanfox” and “hapcan.” But how could I reasonably define the words. So first, I’ll have to create a definition and then use them in some published writ-ings. If they are used often enough, Webster’s dictionary will pick them up and publish them in its standard dictionary and then I will have made a contribution to the English lan-guage.

But what if for each of my words above, I could think of a possible human activity (discovered yet or not). I could do research on the activity and write a report using the new word. The report would help define and establish the word. To start the research, suppose I define the word “quanfox” as

an individual who, while quite thoroughly understanding a sub-ject of discussion, puts on a dumb look on his face. I would call this individual a “quanfox’.” I would then write a research survey to establish if one is a ‘quanfox’ or not. If the survey is successful I would through “hapcan” (original prin-ciples that determine ones ‘quanfox’ qualities) write a sci-entific report on the prevalence of ‘quanfoxes’ in society. Thus through this scientific research I would establish some new words in the English vocabulary. Of course, this is happening all the time in genuine scientific efforts at the present time: establishing new English words.

Now it’s your turn to start some new English words and check them out on “Urbandictionary.com”

So, Roy, What have you been doing since you retirement?

BY BOB SPANN

THE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEETHE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEETHE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEE


By Alice Rhodes

M any of us would find it

hard to start the day without a

cup or two of coffee. Hot or

iced, espresso, latte or mocha,

with milk and/or sugar, coffee

gets us “up and at it” – well,

almost.

Although the origin of coffee is

hidden in the mystery of the

Far East, we do know that it is

indigenous to the Arabian colo-

ny of Abyssinia and was exten-

sively cultivated by the Arabs

in the 15th Century. Most like-

ly, coffee in its wild state was

discovered centuries before, its

history shrouded in mystery

and romantic legend.

Here’s one of those delightful

legends; A young Arab herds-

man named Kaldi noticed that

his goats became quite frisky

after tasting the red fruit from a

certain evergreen bush. When

Kaldi ate the berries himself, he

found they stimulated him, too,

allowing him to watch over his

animals throughout the danger-

ous night without fatigue. One

day a monk chanced by, and

when he saw Kaldi dancing

with his goats, he asked about

the cause of this strange be-

havior. When he tried the

marvelous fruit the monk rea-

soned that Mohammed him-

self had revealed this miracle

to help him and his fellow

monks overcome their sleepi-

ness during night-long pray-

ers.

However its discovery was

made, coffee first came into

vogue as a popular drink when it

was endorsed by the Mufti of

Aden, Sheik Mohammed

Bensaid, around 1454. In its

early history, the beverage was

prepared in two ways—one,

made from the skin and pulp sur-

rounding the bean, and the other,

prepared from the bean itself. It

has been suggested that early

Mohammedans were seeking an

alternative for the wine forbid-

den by the Koran!

By 1510 coffee was popular in

Cairo, and in 1554 it was intro-

duced in Constantinople. Soon

Turks were each drinking as

many as twelve cups of very

strong coffee a day

in the hundreds of

coffee houses that

had sprung up.

Coffee drinking

spread throughout

the Moslem world

during the 16th

Century and was

introduced into

Western Europe

around 1615 by Venetian trad-

ers. Responding to complaints

concerning “Satan’s Drink,”

Pope Clement VIII is said to

have sampled coffee and, find-

ing it so delicious, immediate-

ly put his seal of approval on

it, making coffee a totally ac-

ceptable beverage.

The use of coffee spread rapid-

ly across Western Europe, and

by 1675 there were coffee

houses in London and Paris.

By 1715 there were 2,000 in

London alone, which started

out as gathering places for the

“commoners” but soon be-

came highly elite social clubs

for the aristocracy. Later in

the century, however, the cof-

fee houses degenerated, and

the British East India Compa-

ny promoted tea as the nation-

al beverage—which it has

been ever since.

Coffee was first brought to

North America by Capt. John

Smith, leader of the first per-

manent European settlement in

Virginia, who had become fa-

miliar with coffee during his

earlier travels in Turkey. The

earliest consumption of coffee

probably occurred in Dutch

New Amsterdam in the 17th

Century, and by the early 18th

Century, Boston, New York,

and Philadelphia had popular

coffee houses. The colonists,

however, were primarily tea

drinkers until King George III

initiated the Stamp Act in 1766.

History tells the story….In

1773 in retaliation against a

new tax on tea and other com-

modities, the Boston Tea Party

took place. Tea immediately

became an “unpatriotic drink.” -

-- The result was that America

became the world’s center of

coffee drinking. Witness the

fact that today Americans drink

almost half of the world’s sup-

ply of coffee!

As word of the discovery of

coffee spread toward Europe

and the New World, so did the

desire to grow coffee. In 1616

a coffee tree was successfully

transplanted from Arabia to

Holland. By 1699 cuttings

were established in the Dutch

colony of Java. From this is-

land, the cultivation of coffee

spread throughout the Dutch

East Indies and immediately

became the primary source of

coffee to Europe and later to

America. Samples of coffee

trees were sent to Amsterdam,

one of which in 1714 was pre-

sented to King Louis XIV of

France. Incredibly, most of the

coffee of the Caribbean and

South and Central America are

descendants of this one plant.

The story of this first coffee

plant’s trip to the New World is

another episodes in the vast lore

associated with coffee. In 1723

a young officer in the French

army, Gabriel Mathieu de

Cleiu, carried one precious

plant in a glass-framed box as

he headed for duty in Marti-

nique. His ship was becalmed

for many days in the mid-

Atlantic, resulting in a water

shortage for the entire voyage.

For more than a month, de

Clieu shared his frugal ration of

life-giving water with the frail

coffee tree. Arriving finally in

Martinique, the Frenchman

planted his treasure among

some protective thorn bushes.

By the beginning of the Ameri-

can Revolution over eighteen

million coffee trees flourished

in Martinique, and from de

Cleiu’s one small plant, coffee

was established in the New

World.

Although coffee seeds germi-

nate in six weeks, the plants do

not produce their first full crop

for five or six years. Approxi-

mately six months after the

beautiful white blossoms as,

ppear, fully mature coffee fruit,

or berries, are ready for harvest-

ing. Inside each deep red berry

are two coffee beans. Incredi-

bly, coffee is still harvested by

hand, one tree producing only

one or two pounds of coffee.

The fruit is prepared for market

in one of two ways: The dry

method consists of spreading

the fruit in a thin layer over

open drying ground, turned sev-

eral times daily while the sun

dries the fruit. After three

weeks, the husks are removed

and the beans sorted and grad-

ed. The second method of

preparation, the wet method, is

generally practiced today. The

fruit is soaked in tanks of water

which soften outer skins. Pulp-

ing machines remove the skins

and fruit by friction. Whichev-

er method is used, the coffee is

then hulled, polished and grad-

ed. It is now ready for export

as …green coffee. Coffee is the

second most valuable commod-

ity traded in the world today—

second only to oil.

The green coffee flows from

planter to government control

board to licensed exporter who

sells it to an importer in the

consuming country. Only then

is it cleaned, roasted and packed

by the dealer.

When coffee was

first popularized,

the beverage was

usually created

from unblended

coffees. Today it

is possible to purchase many

fine coffees in an unblended

state and taste variations be-

yond count!

So next time we are enjoying

our morning or after-dinner cof-

fee, let’s remember its fascinat-

ing history and raise our coffee

cups to salute you …Coffee

Forever!!!

THE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEETHE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEETHE LOVE AND LURE OF COFFEE


By Robert Spann

P icture the operating room: a table surrounded by a surgeon or two, nurses and assistants in sanitary face masks and plastic gloves un-der a high intensity light. Trays of sterilized instru-ments, sur-rounding monitors purring and beeping, with an anesthesiologist on the ready. The surgeon takes his scalpel and …..

This is how we visualize surgi-cal operations but, believe it or not, doctors, technicians and engineers are now working on the a different picture of surgi-cal operations in the future where there would be no per-sonnel in the operating room. The cutting, extractions and closing-up are all done by ro-bots; that is, we will have Ro-botic Surgery.

Even today, we can catch a glimpse of the future. Research is being directed toward mini-mal invasive surgery such as laparoscopy. In a typical lapa-roscopic procedure, for exam-ple, a surgeon makes small cuts in the patient’s skin through which small operating tools and a camera are inserted. The sur-geon then views the operating site, usually on a monitor, while controlling the tools.

These laparoscopic procedures are limited in the type of opera-tions that can be done, and even these minimally invasive sur-geries, such as removing an ovarian cyst or a prostate gland, have their challenges. The rigid instruments used are typically more than two feet long which can exaggerate a surgeon’s nor-mal hand tremor. Also the sur-geon has to adapt to the fact that the tip of the surgical in-strument moves in the opposite direction to his hand move-ment. Such operations require extensive skills and dexterity, making for a difficult and ex-tensive learning period for sur-geons.

To overcome some of the prob-lems with laprascopic surgery, an advanced machine has been developed, called the da Vinci Surgical System which has been called a Robot. Unlike a traditional surgeon, a doctor using the robot does not handle most of the surgical instruments directly. Instead, after making the small incisions, the surgeon attaches instruments to three or four robotic arms, one of which holds a stereoscopic camera, and inserts them into the inci-sions. The surgeon then sits at a control console near the operat-ing table, looks through a view-finder to examine 3-D images from inside the patient. Using joystick-like controls located beneath the screen, the surgeon manipulates the surgical tools. The da Vinci is installed in nearly 2000 hospitals world-wide and is used in about 80 percent of prostatectomies in the United States.

A new procedure is now being

introduced that can be used for the heart and other more com-plex operations. Carnegie Mellon University has devel-oped what is called the I-Snake Robot. The new, ultra-slim “snake” can crawl inside a small incision and perform sur-gery on the heart or excise pros-tate tumors. The surgeon makes a keyhole incision and then feeds the snake into it. A re-mote control is used to guide the snake to the damaged or diseased organ where it extends its miniature scissors and for-ceps and gets to work. The ro-bot-snake has 102 joints and a camera head the smaller than size of a dime It can slither around your organs with amaz-ing precision. The I-Snake re-quires that the operation be un-der human control, but experts say the day is coming when some robots will roam the body on their own.

Other tools presently being used in operations could also become autonomous, using computer memory to control all steps of the operation. In addi-tion, an autonomous machine would remember all its former operations as well as the re-search work done on the type of operation in other places. Once the object of surgery is identi-fied, the autonomous surgeon can evaluate the organ and sur-rounding tissue and, based on a stored memory of past opera-tions, can plan the steps to be taken to correct the problem and then proceed to complete the operation. Conceivably, it is possible to have a room full of machines performing multiple operations with one surgeon

ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?


present to step in if a complica-tion arises.

These robotic operating ma-chines may be initially expen-

sive but would drive the cost of the operation for the individual down lower than if done by a traditional surgeon.

It would appear that the robot could perform a safer operation than a human surgeon. First, technically, the sensing devices would be of a much higher res-olution than what the surgeon’s magnified eyesight can provide. The sensor could be positioned in closer proximity to the point of surgery. Second, the cutting and sewing movements can be controlled with much finer pre-

cision than a surgeon’s hand. Surgeons can guide the tool into regions of the body that are hard to get at with minimum cutting. It would not be neces-sary to cut through muscles or cause inadvertent damage to structures such as the nerves –making recovery much quicker. A robot requires just one inci-sion, as opposed to the several used in today’s laparoscopies.

Then again, maybe we’d just rather not know what is going on while we snooze through surgery.

ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?ROBOTS IN THE O.R.?


(This is supposedly a true

account recorded in the Po-lice Log of Sarasota, Fl.)

Shared by

SIRI BERGHEIM

A n elderly Florida lady did her shopping, and upon returning to her car, found four males in the act of leav-ing her vehicle.

She dropped her shopping bags and drew her handgun, proceeding to scream at the top of her lungs, “I have a gun and I know how to use it! Get out of that car!”

The four men didn’t wait for a second threat. They got out and ran like mad.

The lady, somewhat shaken, the proceeded to load her shopping bags into the back of the car and get into the driver’s seat. She was so shaken that she could not

get her key into the ignition.

She tried and tried, and then she realized why there was a football, a Frisbee and two 12-packs of beer in the front seat.

A few minutes later, she found her own car parked four or five spaces further down.

She loaded her bags into the car and drove to the police sta-tion to report her mistake.

The sergeant to whom she told the story couldn’t stop laugh-ing.

He pointed to the other end of the counter, where four pale men were reporting a carjack-ing by a mad, elderly woman, described as white, less than five feet tall, curly white hair and carrying a large handgun.

No charges were filed.

Moral of the story? If you’re going to have a senior moment, make it memorable.

The Golden Years

A row of bottles on my shelf Caused me to analyze myself. One yellow pill I have to pop Goes to my heart so it won’t stop. A little one that I take goes to my hands so they won’t shake. The blue one that I use a lot Tells me I’m happy when I’m not. The purple pill goes to my brain And tells me that I have no pain. The red ones, smallest to them all, Go to my blood so I won’t fall. The orange ones, big and bright Prevent my leg cramps in the night. Such an array of brilliant pills Helping to cure all kinds of ills. But what I’d really like to know…. Is what tells each one where to go!

GET OUT OF THE CAR!

CECILE SPARHUBER

REMEMBERS

I t seems to me that one leads a many-segmented life. I reminisce on my youth and say “Was that re-ally me back then?”

Back in the 1940’s my siblings and I picked potatoes in Northern Aroostook, Maine. The schools would open in August but close for potato picking season. The school schedule depended upon when the farmers said the potatoes were ready to be harvested. We were school kids on a serious work mis-sion.

We’d rise before dawn in order to be in the fields by sun-up, pack a lunch for noon break – usually fruit and cookies and sandwiches made with that awful war-time Spam. Very often Canadian migrants would join in the harvest.

In the field, I’d be assigned a cer-tain section and be responsible for picking up all the potatoes dug up by the tractor and digger. You can imagine the bending or kneeling

required! It took 4 bushel bas-kets to fill one barrel. One barrel earned me 25 cents. My goal was 100 barrels a day, but I nev-er made more than 96, my all-time high. That was good money back then and we kids earned enough for new school ward-robes.

After High School, I worked in the town pharmacy for one year before heading off to Rivier College in Nashua, New Hampshire. Return-ing home after grad-uation, I took a posi-tion as teacher in the same school I had attended as a child. The schedule had not changed. School vacation was still set so the kids

could help with the harvest. Lat-er, I met my husband Hank, who was stationed at Loring AFB. Our lives together took us to Roslyn, Long Island, and many years later brought us to Jeffer-son’s Ferry.

Today, I wonder if any school age kids still work that hard har-vesting crops in farm areas. Some might say that was child labor, but I never thought so. It was just hard work. It made me

sympathize with migrant work-ers, even though I lived locally in a lovely comfortable house.

RUTH REGAN

REMEMBERS

I first arrived in Houlton, Maine, on January 1, 1957 from Long Island, and the tempera-ture was 40 below zero. I was 23 years old and my husband of one year was 24, just out of seminary. We were there be-cause my husband, lured by sto-ries of hunting and fishing, had taken the position as the new Rector of the Episcopal Church in Houlton.

We were totally unprepared for the cold, our clothes being suit-able for outside temperatures as low as 20 degrees above zero. Our home on Long Island had radiators, heated by coal or oil burning furnaces. The rectory in which we were to live in Houlton had a wood burning furnace that blew warm air into the living room through a grate in the floor, through which you could see the flames in the fur-nace below.

The county was dependent on its single agricultural product – potatoes. All of the church pot-luck suppers featured potatoes served up in different ways. I naively inquired why nobody ever used rice or macaroni, and was met with a deafening si-lence.

After two and a half years, my husband accepted an offer in Scarsdale, NY, and my days in Maine were over.

MEMORIES OF THE NORTH (MAINE)MEMORIES OF THE NORTH (MAINE)MEMORIES OF THE NORTH (MAINE)


Cecile and Hank (2nd and 3rd from right) at Happy Hour.

AND THE SOUTH (WEST VIRGINIA)AND THE SOUTH (WEST VIRGINIA)AND THE SOUTH (WEST VIRGINIA)


doors. The soot would often envelop the freshly washed clothes on my mother’s wash line if not promptly removed.

We had a dog, a rat terrier named “Sport” which lived in a doghouse under our porch. One day Sport disappeared, and my brother and I tearfully walked through town looking for him calling “Sport! Sport!” to no avail. About forty years later I recalled the incident of Sport’s running away to my mother, who then confessed that my father had given him away but did not have the heart to tell us.

We also kept several pet chick-ens and a duck. Our cousins from New York once came for a visit and decided the animals needed a bath, which they pro-ceeded to do. Except for the duck, the fowl all died, proba-bly from pneumonia, in spite of our efforts to warm them up beside the furnace.

My brother and I had a Flexible Flier sled, which we would ride down one of the many hills in the neighborhood. During one of my solo trips I remember crashing into a barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill, damaging both my fingers and my pride.

Thinking back, I recall the view of those very high mountains from our living room window. Several years ago, my wife and I drove back to Weirton so that I could acquaint her (and me) with scenes from my youth. Those mountains, so high for a six year-old, turned out to be only little hills.

I was five years old at the height of the Depression when my father, like many others, lost his job. My uncle had a sizeable hardware and furniture business where my father could work. So the family packed up and moved from Brooklyn to West Virginia. It wasn’t the Ap-palachia West Virginia of hillbilly lore, but a steel town of Weirton, 40 miles from Pittsburgh. Alt-hough we spent only about two years there, my memory bank re-tains numerous issues of that time.

One of my favorite memories is walking with my family on sum-mer nights to the local dairy, (catching fireflies along the way) where we were treated to ice

stream, using a stick for a rod and a bent pin for a hook. I don’t remember catching any-thing, but my enjoyment of fishing survives to this day.

Not all was idyllic, however. I recall vividly a day when my brother (6 years older) and I were tear-gassed as we were walking to town to see a Sat-urday Tarzan movie. The Steel Worker’s Union was at-tempting to organize workers at the Weirton Steel Company, and there was a strike. The town police were firing tear gas to dispel the strikers, and my brother and I walked right into the melee. The organiza-tional effort failed, but the workers ended up with the same benefits. The Weirton Steel Workers were never or-ganized.

We lived on a hill, close to the main line of the Pennsylvania Railroad, which ran in a de-pressed roadway. There was a small bridge running over the tracks and, at one time, large pipes from a nearby construc-tion project were stored on the bridge. One day a friend and I were crossing the bridge when a train approached underneath, powered by a steam locomo-tive. We thought it would be great fun to duck into one of these pipes and watch the train go by underneath, but we nearly suffocated when soot and cinders from the train’s smokestack filled up the pipe in which we took refuge.

That soot from the railroads and the steel mill was one of the hazard of our location. There were no washers or dry-ers, so clothes were hung out-

cream. Once, an uncle from New York came to visit during a blind-ing snow storm. Not wanting to come empty handed, he brought a large container of ice cream – hardly a usual winter treat but greatly appreciated by us.

At Cove School which I attended, I recall a paddle hanging in very classroom. Corporal punishment was permitted. I never saw that paddle used, but it served as a powerful deterrent. One morning my teacher said that the after-noon’s lesson would be very diffi-cult. I decided not to go back to class after going home for lunch. Unfortunately my father also came home for lunch. Hiding behind a door, I called to my mother, “Is he home yet?” At that point, a hand came behind the door, grabbed me, and I was marched right back to school.

We used to fish in a nearby

MERVIN FIRST

REMEMBERS

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Vintage Baseball - Welcome to Jefferson Ferry Control Ernie Bodamer ... ride the train, ... called “Vintage Baseball,” it was actually taken only a few