North Carolina - Day 0 - A Long-Expected Journey

“North Carolina”

3/24/17, “A Long-Expected Journey”

LaGuardia Airport, New York (LGA)

For four Marches now, I have been saying that I would go to North Carolina.  Originally, the plan was to drive down Friday night, arriving Saturday morning, and drive back up Sunday night, arriving back in NYC Monday morning.  Obviously, I couldn’t do that drive solo, and I had tentative commitments from various traveling companions, but they all fell through.  Instead, I wound up going to the Redwoods WHS, the Lake Placid Winter Stadiums, and Iqaluit in 2014, Central Mexico and Poverty Point WHS in 2015, and South Carolina in 2016.  Now, we have arrived at the last March weekend before I turn 30, and I can put this off no longer.  I will be going alone and by airplane, the purpose of the trip is twofold: Wright Brothers NMem and getting a missing WHS stamp at Great Smoky Mountains NP.  Cape Hatteras Lighthouse and some other NPS provide an added draw, as does the State Capitol in Raleigh, where the infamous HB2 was passed.

When I first started considering this trip, an added draw was NCAA March Madness events that rotated around the state every year.  Well, HB2 put paid to that, when the NCAA, in its infinite wisdom, decided to withdraw all March Madness events from the Great State of North Carolina for deigning to pass a law that mandated that people must perform certain biological functions in public bathrooms segregated by biological sex, rather than “gender identity,” a term which has no technical definition.  If I am allowed a brief political discourse here, it is stupid shit like this that cost Democrats the election.  Who cares who uses which bathroom?  You are there to perform a biological function, not start a political war.  This liberal insistence that, if you do not see the world exactly the way they do, you are evil is what drove me away from the Democratic Party, a party whose basic beliefs, I mostly support on a moral level.  I just don’t like those beliefs forced on me, either by guilt-tripping or the coercive force of government.

Okay, back my regularly scheduled Travelogue.  Are my readers tired yet of my standard Night -1 description?  Reader, I’m sure you could write it yourself.  The only thing you need to know is which movie I saw.  It was Power Rangers, and it was good, brought back lots of fun memories.  I then packed and woke up and get ready and headed to the office, like usual.  For lunch, I got my usual pre-departure lunch at Hop Won, followed by my usual pre-departure Cohiba, smoked in the loading dock in shelter from the elements.  I had a productive day at the office.  Reader, you could have written this whole paragraph, right?

Now, here’s where it gets interesting.  My flight was at 8:30 PM from LGA, which meant that I could work until 6 PM and take a taxi and be at the airport in good time.  At 5 PM, one of my coworkers was leaving, and he asked what was bringing me to North Carolina.  I told him just some National Park Sites.  I thought about all the stamped brochures I would get.  Something was nagging at me.  What was I forgetting?  Then, it hit me.  I had forgotten the most important thing to pack, one of the two reasons I was taking this trip.  I had forgotten my WHS folder.

Without it, the trip was almost pointless.  I needed that stamp I had forgotten.  The first time, I completely forget the folder.  I bought a new passport at the site, and I transferred the page to the old passport, but the other documents were unstamped.  When I returned five years ago, I forgot that missing passport page, and I also forgot to get one of other documents stamped.  That was the only reason I am returning the site, to get that last document stamped.  If I forgot the folder, it would have been only too ironic.  I quickly finished up at work and biked home to retrieve the folder, which meant I had pointlessly brought my bags to work with me today.  I got home, retrieved my folder (and night mask and sunglasses for good measure), and took a taxi to the airport.

There was some traffic, but I was there around 6:30 PM.  Plenty of time.  There would be no meal due on board, due to the short length of the flight, so I went to the burger place that I like to get dinner.  It is high-quality food, but the order process is very dumb.  You place your order at a kiosk, but you can’t pay there.  Instead, you have to wait on another line, which is in the direction of the gates, to pay, so I wind up having to redouble my steps when I go back to pick up my food and bring it to my gate.  I ordered a mushroom and onion burger with fries and a red velvet shake.  The mushrooms and onions were cold, which was annoying, since it made the sandwich cold overall.  I was starving.  Otherwise, I would have returned it and made a stink.

Once I scarfed down the burger, it was too late to do anything.  The milkshake was the best part.  After I finished my dinner, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we will be boarding soon.  Oh, and to add to the adventures of the day, as I was writing this entry, I was looking through my computer bag and noticed that my laptop wasn’t there.  I had a mini panic attack, until I realized it was on top of my lap.

Raleigh, North Carolina

This all feels very familiar.  It harkens back to my trip a year ago this weekend, a very similar trip to South Carolina.  I will not continue my discourse from last year on the South being populated by the descendants of slaves and slaveholders.  North Carolina is no different, but it has larger and more liberal population centers, and the prestigious colleges in this state are in no small part responsible for it being less reliable conservative than its neighbor to the south.  Since that entry a year ago, Trump won the election, and Governor McRory lost his bid for reelection, due to HB2.

I am sitting in front of North Carolina State Capitol, right in front of statue of the three “Presidents North Carolina gave to the Nation”.  Unless I am forgetting my history, all three of these Presidents hailed from Tennessee, but the “alternative facts” inscribed on the base of this podium speaks volumes of the state I am currently visiting.  According to the statue, Andrew Jackson “revitalized American democracy,” James Knox Polk “enlarged our national boundaries,” and Andrew Johnson “defended the constitution.”  Need I remind my readers about, respectively, the Trail of Tears, the Mexican-American War, and Reconstruction?  These are not three presidents of whom to be particularly proud.

Anyway, the two hours from the time I landed at RDU to the time I lit up my cigar and walked to the Capitol was hellish.  After I closed at LGA, we soon boarded, and I think we spent exactly an hour in the hour.  I was only able to finish my chapter of Lord of the Rings and not even start another chapter.  I had a bourbon, club soda, and some assorted snacks en route.  When we landed, I was the first one off the plane, my favorite part about sitting in seat 1A.

That’s when the hell began.  It was a long walk to the ground transportation area, and then I had to wait for the shuttle bus to take me to Hertz.  When I got there, I had to wait on line, since my Gold Club membership wasn’t properly linking.  Then there was confusion about which car I was supposed to take.  Eventually, I figured it out.  After that, more confusion in how to exit the parking lot.  More confusion about how to get on the highway.  Then, oddly, there was bumper-to-bumper traffic.

Soon enough, though, I found myself at the hotel.  It was what I would call a “college party” scene, very similar to what I saw a year ago at the hotel in Charleston and two years ago at the hotel in Jackson.  There is a theme here, reader.  I settled into my room and did something I almost never do: unpacked.  Since I would be staying at this hotel for three nights and had my clothes in a shopping bag, rather than a suitcase, I figured I would utilize the drawers.

I changed into some more casual clothes and then went down to park my car and head out.  I got a cup of coffee, which was lukewarm.  The receptionist said he would make a fresh pot.  In the meantime, I parked the car, which was a hassle, even though the garage was across the street.  I saw some police activity in the garage, probably related to some drunken kids about to get in their car.  The police probably were lying in wait for such eventualities.  I had to go to the third level, and it was quite a walk back to the hotel, but then everything was good again.  The coffee was soon ready, and I poured myself a cup.  I walked outside and lit up a Saisson by Oliva cigar and walked to the State Capitol, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and walk back to the hotel and get to sleep.  Tomorrow will be an early and long day.

Philly 2017 - Day 2 - Famous, Historic Philadelphia

3/19/17, “Famous, Historic Philadelphia”

Aboard Northeast Regional 140, En route PHL-NYP

There are really only four cities in the country where I can spend the day doing what I did today, all four cities, in fact, are served by this train.  Those cities are Boston, New York, Philadelphia, and Washington.  My grandfather had related that he probably would not be available before I left for my train this afternoon and asked if I would be okay on my own for the day.  I assured him that I would have no trouble entertaining myself here in one of my favorite cities in the world.

Philadelphia has 67 National Historic Landmarks.  Until I have taken a ceremonial picture with my cigar and water bottle in front of each and every one of those 67 famous and historic sites, there would never be a question of me being able to entertain myself in this city.  I inched closer today by knocking off 16 NHLs, taking the exact same picture 16 times.  I was in my element, and I was thrilled to spend the day doing that.

Okay, so how did it all go down?  After I closed last night, I went back to the hotel and published my entry.  I then started mapping out my day.  I highlighted, I think, 18 sites.  Some of them didn’t even have entries saved on Google Maps, so I had to create the entries myself.  To my shock, they were approved almost instantaneously.  I also had my carrot cake that I had gotten to take home from the restaurant and made a cup of coffee in the room.  There was only one problem, though.  They didn’t give me utensils, so I had to improvise.  I looked around the room for a tool to use to eat the cake.  I found something that would work.  The plastic lid for the coffee cup.  It worked perfectly.  The cake was delicious, and I went to bed after I had finished making my map for today.

I woke up close to 10 AM, and I figured that I would have until around 2 PM to do my sightseeing.  I went down to breakfast, but I didn’t have much of an appetite.  The buffet was a letdown, to boot.  They had some cooked-to-order dishes, which were the same price as the buffet.  I knew there was zero chance I would want a second plate from the buffet, so I opted for the freshly cooked meal, getting bacon, eggs, hashed browns, and toast, along with coffee.

I then packed and got ready for the day.  I just had my one bag, so I could sling that over my shoulder as I walked around the city.  I headed out, lit up a Caoba, and walked to my first site.  Okay, I could make this a five paragraph summary, or a two sentence summary.  Again, I will only highlight the more interesting sites.  I first went to Christ Church, the first Episcopal Church in the Country, then Elfreth’s Alley, the oldest residential street in the country.

A lot of the places I saw today were “the oldest X in the country.”  Next it was the First Bank of the United States, then the Merchant’s Exchange Building, followed by Carpenters’ Hall, where the First Continental Congress was held, and I got a replica there to add to my collection.  Then the Second Bank of the United States, followed by the American Philosophical Society Hall.

Then it was time for a new cigar, so I lit up a Montecristo Open Eagle and took a ceremonial picture at Independence Hall, which, though a WHS, is not an NHL.  After that, my quest was back on.  Next came the Philadelphia Contributionship, founded by Benjamin Franklin, the oldest property insurance company in the country.  After that it was the Hill-Keith-Physick House, followed by New Market, then St. Paul’s Church, and then the Mother Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church.

Next came the site that I found most exciting to visit, the Thomas Sully Residence.  Thomas Sully was a famed portrait artist, who painted, among other things, the portrait of Andrew Jackson that is found on the banknotes, so I took a banknote out of my pocket for a picture at the residence.  At his point, my cigar was almost done, and the time was coming.  I wanted to be on a 2:18 PM train, which meant I would need to stop my sightseeing at 1:30 PM to get a taxi.  I had been to 13 sites so far, and I wanted to get 16 for my collage to make it 4x4.  It would be tight.

Next came the Pennsylvania Hospital, followed by the J. Peter Lesley house.  It was now 1:28 PM, and my cigar was down to the nub.  It was a 6-minute walk to the next site.  If my cigar did not last, I would be forced to abort the mission, as I did not have time to light up another cigar.   I made it and took my last ceremonial picture outside the Frances Ellen Watkins Harper House.

That was it.  I had visited 16 sites, and I would have a great collage to show for the day.  One problem.  It was now 1:35 PM, and I was deep in a residential neighborhood.  No taxis.  I had to walk to Broad Street to get a taxi.  It was 1:45 PM at that point, and my reader will note that I spent the entirety of the two-and-a-half hours since I left my hotel on my feet, most of it walking.  I got the taxi and posted my collage.

I was at 30^th Street Station by 2 PM, and I got my ticket for the 2:18 PM.  I even had time for lunch.  I picked up a grilled cheese sandwich to eat on the train.  Their specialty was actually the exact same sandwich I usually order at the deli by my office, so I took that as a good sign.  The timing worked out perfectly, and we were boarding as soon as I got to the track.  I was able to secure a two-seater to myself, and, once we were en route, I proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out this brief trip.  Next stop: North Carolina.

Philly 2017 - Day 1 - The 23

“Philly 2017”

3/18/17, “The 23”

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Twenty years ago, when I was in the Fifth Grade, we came here on a school field trip.  This was when I learned what a World Heritage Site was.  At the time, our teacher (incorrectly) told us that there were only 2 World Heritage Sites in the US: Independence Hall and Hawaii Volcanoes National Park.  I thought that that was pretty cool.  I was seeing Independence Hall then, and one day I would see the Hawaii Volcanoes.

I would soon learn that there not 2, but rather 20 WHS in the US, including the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon.  My parents took me to the Everglades and the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon and Mesa Verde and Olympic National Park and the Great Smoky Mountains and Monticello.  I’m sure I had the whole list memorized in due time.

I am good at that kind of stuff.  When we were inside Independence Hall (or Constitution Hall), the park ranger asked if any of us knew what the Bill of Rights was.  I raised my hand.  When the rest of the class saw my hand raised, they deferred to me.  I effortlessly rattled off the first ten amendments of the Constitution to the shock of the park ranger and the amusement of the class.  I was met with only a proud and knowing smirk from my teacher.  Memorizing the 20 WHS in the US was nothing compared to that.

When would we go to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, I wanted to know.  The beaches there meant nothing to me, as the Jersey Shore provided me all the beach I needed.  Eventually, I was promised.  We also had trips to New Mexico and Yosemite and Yellowstone to plan, but those never happened before I went to college.  We went to Paris and Greece, but never Hawaii.  In college, I went to Old San Juan, and then it stalled for a while, until we went to Mammoth Caves in 2012.

That was when I set out to see the world.  I swore then and there that I would visit each and every US WHS by the time I turned 30.  How I could possibly set out to see the world and neglect my own country?  The list had grown to 21 by then, and it is now up to 23, hence the title of tonight’s entry.  Later that year, I went to Cahokia Mounds and Yosemite.

As the years went by, I inched closer to having visited every one of the 23 WHS in our country, racing to visit the new ones as soon as the Plaques were up.  Eventually my mother and I did go to Yellowstone and Glacier, along with a different trip to the newly inscribed San Antonio Missions, but the rest were done on my own or with a close friend.  Now, all that remain are the two in Hawaii.

In six months, I will be at Hawaii Volcanoes National Park, and there I will proudly be able to proclaim that I have visited each and every one of the 23 WHS in the US, along with having completed the other 16 Goals I have set for myself.  It isn’t working out the way I expected, but, just as I originally thought, going to Hawaii Volcanoes National Park will enable me to say that I have visited every WHS in the US.  In the meantime, I have made a pilgrimage to Philadelphia almost every year, and I have never forgotten to pay homage to Independence Hall, the one that started it all.

Okay, so, what did this Day entail other than writing this entry in the rain and snow and I freeze my fingers?  Day 0 consisted of an epic St Patrick’s Day feast with some of my old cigar store buddies, eating, drinking, smoking, and seeing Terrence Malick’s new film.  The eating and drinking and smoking was excellent, but the movie was long and boring, even if incredibly well done.  I didn’t get to sleep until after 4 AM, not for being out late, though, but rather from insomnia.

I woke up around 10 AM and planned to take the 12 PM train to Philly.  I didn’t buy my ticket yet, since I wasn’t sure if I could make the train.  I showered and got ready and dropped off my laundry.  It was 11 AM at this point.  I then got coffee and a bagel with cream cheese and lox, but I knew that I could not enjoy it until I was on the train.  I took a taxi to Penn Station, getting there at 11:40 AM.  I thought it would be too late to buy a ticket.  Tickets were available, but the price was now 15% higher than it was when I checked from home.  Begrudgingly, I bought the ticket, rather than waiting an hour for the next train.  Soon enough, we were boarding, and I had my, now, brunch, on the train.

I was still hungry, so I got a cheese pretzel and another coffee.  We were in Philly not long after I finished my snack, and my grandfather was not yet ready for me, so he told me to take a taxi to the hotel, which was in Society Hill, not far from Independence Hall.  I settled in for a bit, and then he came to pick me up.

We, of course, went straight to Pat’s to get me a steak sandwich, by far the best thing to eat in the whole city.  It was raining out, so that put paid to anything we might do outside.  The sandwich was as good as always, and then we went back to his house, stopping at a cigar shop on the way, where I got a few sticks, including one I had never seen before.

When we got to his house, we found his dog and wife, both of whom were far more intent on each other than on him.  He would be the first to admit it.  After that epic sandwich, though, what I wanted more than anything else was a cigar, despite the weather.  I asked if there was a place I could smoke protected from the rain.  He said I was welcome to smoke inside, so we found a dish to use as an ashtray and went upstairs.  I lit up one of the new cigars, a Cuban Stock cigar it was called, and we talked about politics and my travel adventures, our usual topics.

At some point, we noticed that the favorite for the NCAA Tournament, Villanova, was on the verge of being upset in the second round by #8 Wisconsin.  We watched the end of the game and, sure enough, my bracket was busted.  He went upstairs to change, and I had a second cigar, an Oliva, after downing some hamantaschen, which made for the perfect pairing.  After the second cigar, it was time to leave for dinner, and we went to his usual place, a steakhouse called Butcher and Singer.

He was well known there.  Everyone cheerfully greets him “Mr. Block” and jumps to serve him however they can.  That’s what happens when you’ve dined at the fanciest steakhouse in the city over a hundred times and are good tipper.  The manager and all the waiters kept coming over to help however they could.  I ordered much the same as I usually do.  I got rye whiskey with club soda on the side to drink, lots of their exquisite rolls with as much butter as they could hold, and a scrumptious crab cake appetizer, but it is the main course that is most worth recording.

I got the porterhouse steak almost rare and sides of stuffed hashed browns, mushroom and onions, and creamed spinach (for the table, of course).  My grandfather and his wife both ordered fish.  My meal was heavenly, and I ate it all.  I didn’t think I could finish it, but I powered through and cleaned the plate.  I was ready to pass out with my final bites, but I was up the challenge.

The conversation was interesting, to say the least, and anyone who is familiar with my grandfather’s wife political views will understand why most of the conversation is unpublishable.  She was glad to have a fellow Trump voter with whom to share her conservative political and social views without having to apply whatever filter she might use in front of a more liberal audience.  After my last bite of dinner, I knew two things.  One, I wanted dessert.  Two, I could not eat another bite right now.  The simple solution was to get a carrot cake to go.  I knew I would be hungry again later.  My grandfather paid the check, and everyone wished “Mr. Block” and good night, as he doled out tips.  He then drove me back to my hotel, as I relayed my plan to come to Independence Hall to write my entry.

He was worried about me walking around alone in Philly at night. I assured him I had walked around much worse places in Central America alone at night. He was still worried. I went up to my room, resituated myself, and then walked over to Independence Hall, lighting up a Cohiba as I walked. I was soon there, and, with some difficulty, found a bench with a good view of the building. I then sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will bite close so that I can get back to hotel and publish and maybe even get up into some misadventures in Center City. Full disclosure, though, my laptop battery died as I was finishing this entry, so this last paragraph was mostly written on my phone.

For Gene - Day 2 - Memories

3/12/17, “Memories”

Los Angeles International Airport, California (LAX)

It’s funny how memories work.  We rarely remember past events in complete detail or minute-by-minute.  Instead, we remember scenes and images.  The things that we do remember instead play on loop in our mind’s eye when we remember them, rather than than playing continuously forward.  Nor can we recall memories at will.  Instead, they are triggered by various factors, and it is always interesting what (or where) triggers our memories, just as it interesting the small things that we remember and the big things that we forget.

That was at play at dinner last night, as we recalled events from our distant pasts and couldn’t always remember the year (or, in the case of my companions, the decade) they occurred, but each memory we recalled had at least one scene that was in great detail.  Various memories have been coming back to me all weekend, both of the times I met Gene and of other trips to San Diego.  Sitting at the exact same table this morning where we shared our last meal brought back memories, as did going to the San Diego Zoo.  That was what was at play today.

After I closed last night, I published and almost fell asleep in the process of publishing.  I woke up all confused as to what it was, both due to the time zone difference and DST beginning.  It was getting on 11 AM PDT by the time I got to breakfast, but I had nothing planned for the day, other than the zoo, and I wanted to tarry at the hotel as much as possible.  I was able to arrange for a noon check-out, which would allow me to have time to eat and get ready before heading to the smoking area, where I could kill as much time as I wanted.

I had a simple breakfast of a bagel with cream cheese, steak, eggs, and fried potatoes, along with coffee, much the same as Gene ate during our last meal, and sitting in the same seat he did that day.  Did I know that that would be the last time that I saw him?  No, but I expected it would be the case, and I had mentally prepared for that eventuality, enjoying every minute we had together that day.

After breakfast, I headed back to my room, got packed and ready, and changed into my suit.  I then headed to the smoking area, lit up an Ardor, and worked on some stuff.  After the pipe, I lit up a Graycliff and finished up what I was doing before retrieving my car and driving to the zoo.  The drive would be short, and I wondered if my cigar would be done before I arrived, but I took some wrong turns and wound up at the parking lot just as I finished my cigar.

The zoo was packed, as I expected it to be on a Sunday afternoon in March.  I was shocked and almost outraged how expensive the admission was, but this was the best zoo in the country.  I was hungry, so I went immediately to the first food place I saw, my sticker shock continuing when I saw the prices they were charging for food.  I ordered lightly, just a hot dog with a variety of toppings, which came with chips, and a soda, forgoing the pizza I might have also gotten if the prices were more reasonable.  Okay, so this could be a two-sentence recounting or a two-paragraph recounting.  Let’s see how it pans out.  I looked at the map and planned the two hours I had available.

My priority was seeing the primates, since those were a specialty here, and, if I had time, I would see the big cats.  First I saw an orangutan (“King Louie!”), followed by a gorilla, which was met with shouts of “Harambe” from everyone there of my age range.  No, I will not explain that reference.  Next, I found the bonobo chimps, and I remembered seeing them when I was here five (or maybe seven) years ago during Comic Con.  I also remembered the quests that my mother and I embarked on along the eastern seaboard in pursuit of chimps over a decade ago.  Those were all good memories.  I lit up an Oliva, not expecting to be able to smoke the cigar for more than about ten minutes before someone made me put it out, and took a ceremonial picture with the chimps.  Then it was the tiger, and I failed in finding the python.  Anyone who has seen “Jungle Book” will know what I was doing.  I wanted to see the elephants next, and I saw many other animals along the way, which I will not recount.  I found the elephants, and that was the end of my “Jungle Book” mission.  I saw some lions next, and, after I took my ceremonial pictures with the lions, my cigar was almost done.

I prepared to take my final puffs, and only then, after I had smoked the whole cigar, did a zoo employee angrily tell me that smoking was prohibited.  I made a big gesture of ditching the cigar, which I was about to do anyway, and continued on.  I got some chicken fingers at the next place, which were, surprisingly, very cheaply priced if you got them on their own.  I then headed out to the exit, stopping to see the giraffes on the way out.  I got my souvenir (a keychain) and went to my car.  I lit up an LFD and was on the road.  It was 5:45 PM, and without traffic, I would have been at LAX at 7:30 PM.  Google Maps was saying it would be closer to 8 PM.  Either way, I was fine, as my flight was at 10:40 PM.

I soon saw the sign for I-5 and Los Angeles.  It would be a straight shot.  Well, I hit traffic.  A lot of traffic.  After the LFD, I lit up a Nub, and it was after 9 PM by the time I returned my car to Hertz, after 9:30 PM by the time I got to the terminal.  I was getting a strong sense of deja vu.  There was a long line to check in bags (I had none) and at security (I had TSA PreCheck).  I was at my gate around 9:45 PM, which gave me plenty of time to get some food.

I found a place that had Asian fusion burgers, and I ordered one.  It was quite good.  I then went to my gate, only to learn that our flight was delayed due to issues with the previous flight leaving the gate.  Oh, the irony.  Well, that meant I had time for my entry.  I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, along with closing out this trip.  It will be interesting to see what memories from this trip remain, just as it was interesting to recall the memories I did during the trip.  Next stop: Philadelphia.

For Gene - Day 1 - "In Loving Memory"

3/11/17, “In Loving Memory”

Del Mar, California

While it seems odd to have a Travelogue entry for a Day that has been spent entirely along a one-mile stretch and has involved no travel-related activities, I have decided to consider this a trip, just as my brother’s wedding in Oregon was considered a trip.  Besides, this serves as a good method of sharing the details of the memorial service with those who couldn’t make it.  This dateline is not as glamorous as so many of the other datelines I have written, but it is a place that Gene loved with every fiber of his being, and the speakers today made that clear, the same as he had made it clear to me.  The speeches I heard today made clear just how wonderful of a man Gene was, and I was glad to have been there for it.

After I closed last night, I soon went to bed, waking up way earlier than I had expected and having trouble getting back to sleep.  In fact, I had woken up early enough that I considered driving down to Tijuana before the service, but I wanted to today to be about Del Mar.  I finally got back to sleep and woke up again around 10 AM.  I then headed outside for brunch, the same place we shared our last meal together, and the menu was the same.  I ordered much the same as he ordered in January: an everything bagel with cream cheese (as a starter) and bacon, eggs, and hash browns, along with coffee and club soda.

The food was, for the most part, exceptional, and I remembered our last meal together as I ate.  I had ordered scrambled eggs loose, and they were anything but loose.  Worst still, they were bland and unseasoned.  I grabbed what I thought were the salt and pepper shakers on the table to season my eggs and potatoes, too, for good measure.  After using both shakers, I tasted my eggs, and they were still not salted enough.  That was when I realized that the table had two pepper shakers and no salt shaker, meaning I had put twice the intended amount of pepper on my eggs and potatoes and no salt.  I found a salt shaker and remedied it, though the eggs and potatoes were a little more peppery than I would have liked.

After my meal, I went back to my porch and lit up a Caoba as I started working on my essay draft for school.  After the draft, I worked on the project I had outlined last night, learning it would take 15 minutes per year to prepare the chart.  The numbers I learned for 1983 made Disney’s “accomplishment” last year seem even less significant.  After my cigar, I walked up the block from the hotel to the memorial service.

It was being held at a place called Southfair, which had a nice event space.  It was elegant and simple, just the way Gene would have liked it.  I saw Gene’s son, Joe, and we recognized each other instantly.  I grabbed a copy of the program, which said, “In Loving Memory of Eugene G Schwartz 1925 – 2017”.  1925.  I wondered who was President in 1925.  FDR didn’t take office until 1929, so I was pretty sure it was Calvin Coolidge.  I confirmed my hunch and determined that, from Coolidge to Trump, Gene had lived to see 15 Presidents.  That’s not a small number.

The service started, and Joe spoke beautifully about his father, as did so many other people.  They spoke of the things I had intended to say, and I knew that my assessment of Gene’s character had hit the mark.  They spoke of his ability to listen and to see the heart of things in a way no one else could.  When two people referred disparagingly to his connection Ayn Rand, I started to worry about how my speech that would entirely laud his connection to Rand would go over.

When it was my turn, Joe introduced me and (in absentia) my father and his history with Gene.  No one else had been given an introduction.  My speech was well-received, as I praised his ability to see the gray and the importance that he placed on community values.  However, Joe wanted to respond to my comment about Gene’s support for Trump, no doubt because a large percentage of the audience hadn’t voted for a Republican since Eisenhower.  He said only that it was a long and hard decision for Gene to support Trump.  He also addressed the concept of the “virtue of selfishness,” reemphasizing that Gene gave higher weight to community values.

There were a few more speeches, then a viola performance on Gene’s old instrument, followed by a reading of some of his poetry.  He was quite a poet, it turned out.  It was then time to eat, and I didn’t have to be told twice.  They had quite a spread.  As I made my way to the food (and throughout the afternoon), I received much praise for my speech, and people kept saying how special it was that I came all the way across the country for this.  Well, Gene was a very special person, and he became even more special to me in the end.

The spread consisted of all sorts of breads and cold cuts, and I made myself a plate of two types of bread, meats, smoked fishes, and cheeses.  That first plate did not last long, so I got a second plate, just of bread, smoked fishes, and soft cheeses.  The third plate, this time just breads and soft cheeses finally filled me up.  As I ate, I spoke with various people who came over to me, including one older gentleman who engaged me in a conversation about philosophy.  When I explained that the “virtue of selfishness” is a misunderstood concept, we came up with a good way of rephrasing, a way that he was able to accept.  It simply means that you should be self-directed instead of others-directed, inwardly-directed instead of outwardly-directed.  We discussed how that related to the philosophies of various German philosphers.

After my third plate, everything was starting to die down, so I said my goodbyes.  Joe insisted that I come out to dinner later, and I said I would.  I then lit up a blue Graycliff, the same cigar I smoked after saying goodbye to Gene for the last time, and walked back to the hotel.  I finished revising my essay draft and thought about to do tomorrow.  I also had some coffee, chips, and cookies.  After my cigar, I lit up my trusty Ardor, glad to add Del Mar to the list of places where I have smoked this, and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as it is almost time to head out.

Tonight was a celebration of life.  It was not a celebration of Gene’s life, but of life in general.  Gene would have been very happy to know that the four of us came together to celebrate life in that manner tonight.  It was a feast for the record books, and the conversation was rich and friendly.  We were glad for the epic feast we enjoyed and even gladder for each other’s company.

After I closed earlier, I soon headed out for dinner, and I was worried I would not have an appetite, still full from the lunch I had earlier and the chips I had just eaten.  I drove the short distance up the road to the restaurant where we had arranged to meat, a seafood place appropriately called Fish Market.  When I got there, I saw Joe waiting for me, but he said that there was a change of plans.  Their cat back home had gotten out and disappeared.  His wife was devastated and refused to leave the hotel.  We would not be having dinner at the Fish Market.  Instead, he said, he would drive me back to his hotel, and we could all have dinner there.  He would then drive me back to Fish Market, and I could drive to my hotel from there.  That made no sense.  I asked if the hotel was further up the road or back down towards my hotel.  He said it was actually past my hotel, so I said I would just follow him in my car.

He walked me to the bar where his sister Alex and brother-in-law were drinking martinis while he want back up to his room to talk to his wife.  Meanwhile, the brother-in-law asked what I wanted to drink.  He was having a vodka martini, and that sounded perfectly good to me, so I got one as well.  Alex asked about my Guerrero Negro t-shirt I was wearing, and I told them all about last month’s trip.  Joe was hesitant to leave his wife in this state, but Alex insisted that we go out for dinner, the four of us being her and her husband, me, and Joe.

We went to a restaurant called Pacifica, a seafood restaurant, and we all drove there in one car.  It was in Del Mar Plaza, the fixture of Del Mar that Gene fought so valiantly to have built, failing over decades before finally succeeding.  We noted with irony that it was across the street from my hotel and that they were going to have to drive me back to their hotel after dinner, only so that I could drive back there.  I still didn’t have much of an appetite, but I was sure that I could find something light to eat.  There was nothing light about that meal.

We started with cocktails, just a plain gin for me.  That was when my appetite started to return.  My companions ordered two appetizers for the table, fried calamari and some odd thing that I don’t even know how to describe.  Alex’s husband ordered the shrimp and grits for his main and asked if anyone wanted to do halves.  I took him up on his offer and ordered the scallops as my contribution to the halves.  The conversation began with a discussion of my travels, and then it led to Joe and Alex sharing some of their wilder exploits from their youth.  It was a fun conversation, but it really took off when we started talking about movies.

Alex had worked in the movie industry most of her life, and she had an encyclopedic knowledge of movies to match mine, especially when it came to animated movies, but that was no surprise.  The surprise was that her husband and brother were able to keep up.  I will talk forever with total strangers about movies if they can keep up with me.  These were not strangers, and they were all able to more than keep up.  We talked about Ghibli and DreamWorks and Illumination.  We barely talked about Disney.  We all agreed in our praise for “Kubo and the Two Strings.”  We also all agreed in our belief that “La La Land” was overrated, though we found flaws in it for different reasons.  I knew that the liberal couple would agree with my praise for “20^th Century Women,” and we discussed the merits of other movies of the past three years.

Alex’s husband ordered wine to go with our scallops, an excellent pinot noir.  The meal was delicious, and I was beyond full, but we could not resist dessert.  I didn’t even get to see the menu, but Joe and his brother-in-law picked out three dessert for the table, and I knew it was all good.  The dessert soon came, and I learned what we got: creme brulee, tartufo, and strawberry shortcake.  I took my portion of each, along with coffee, and I was almost dead by the end of the meal.  My reader will recall that I said that I did not have an appetite when I left my hotel.

Joe and his brother-in-law split the check 50/50, telling me to put away my card when I took it out.  They drove me back to their hotel, where we said our goodbyes, before I drove the less than five minutes back to my hotel.  I’m sure I was under the legal limit for driving, but I was very glad for the short drive.  I went to my room, lit up a Partagas, and changed into my pajamas.

I went out to the porch to finish my cigar, but I was told that smoking was prohibited on the porch.  I also learned that it is prohibited almost everywhere in town, including the sidewalks.  However, the hotel did have a heated outdoor smoking area, so she walked me there.  I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish and get to sleep.  It has been a wonderful day, and I know that Gene would have loved the manner in which we honored his memory.

For Gene - Day 0 - We the Living

“For Gene”

3/10/17, “We the Living”

John F. Kennedy International Airport, New York (JFK)

When I began my last trip I dedicated the Day 0 entry to Gene, but this trip in its entirety is dedicated to him.  I am travelling to California for his memorial service, and it is only fitting.  The first time that I went to Los Angeles in recent memory was also the first time that I met Gene in recent memory, as we never connected during my trips to San Diego for Comic Con.  However, we made up for it over the three times we have dined and conversed together over the past five years.  It was a friendship built through lengthy and protracted email debates and cemented in those visits.  I have written in great depth elsewhere about Gene, and I do not wish to be repetitive, but Gene’s memory is worth honoring in as many ways as possible.

He was one of the last of his kind, representing one of the few people who had personally interacted with Ayn Rand herself.  Through him, I am only one degree of separation from Ayn Rand.  However, when the great schism occurred between Ayn Rand and Nathaniel Branden, Gene, along with my father, was one of the only people who sought the truth and stood by his principles, instead of blindly siding with the woman many considered a goddess.  It was a small group, and, six weeks ago, it got a little smaller.

Few now remain that remember those times, and it is for we the living to honor their memories and the philosophy of that time.  It is for we the living to remember the stories as we preserve the knowledge we have learned and the values we hold.  Gene was unique in many ways and a many of the highest intelligence and even higher character.  His memory never faded, and he recounted to me the details of the 1960s, as if they had occurred yesterday.

When he told Ayn Rand that Nathaniel Branden had saved his life and that he could not abandon Branden, she told him that he must follow his conscience.  This was a man that had conversations with Ayn Rand beyond a question at a lecture or a cocktail party.  He was a patient of Nathanial Branden.  These stories he has related to me, and my father has related others.  I remember them all.  We the living can preserve the memories of those who are no longer with us, of Ayn Rand, of Nathaniel Branden, and of Gene.  When I eulogize him tomorrow, it will be with a speech that I have written from the heart, dedicated to a man who made the world a better place over his 90 years.  And, if this Travelogue is ever published, the first words after the table of contents will be, “For Gene”.

Okay, so I do need to briefly describe what has occurred hitherto on Day 0.  It was snowing when I woke up, which affected my morning.  I had some leftover popcorn from last night’s movie (Kong: Skull Island, which was amazing), and I brought that to the office, taking a taxi, but I had eaten too much at the movie last night, and my appetite had not yet returned.  I had about 20% of the bucket, but I had no appetite beyond that.

I did not eat lunch, and I worked through the day, getting done what I needed to do before I left.  I took a taxi to the airport, and there was no line at security, which went quickly with my TSA PreCheck.  I then went get some dinner.  The only sit-down restaurant I could find was Palm Too, and my appetite had returned.  I ordered a burger with all the fixings and fries, along with a club soda.  The food took forever to come, and my appetite grew.  The burger was delicious, but it wasn’t enough, so I got a piece of chocolate cake for dessert, not realizing how big it was.  That filled me up.  I then headed to the gate, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close, as we are about to start boarding.

Del Mar, California

I suppose it could be said that my fondness for Gene is very similar to what Luke Skywalker felt for Ben Kenobi.  To Luke, Ben was a legend, an old friend of his father’s from their glory days, the last representatives he knew of a hallowed philosophy.  Luke only met Ben briefly, but their short time together made losing him all the more potent for Luke, as the guidance he had received from Ben would stay with him for the rest of his life.  Those sentences work equally well for me and Gene as they do for Luke and Ben.

The last thing we discussed was whether absolute truths exist, and we concluded that they do, but we allowed that absolute moral values do not exist.  Any fan of Star Wars will be familiar with Ben’s words, “What I told you was true, from a certain point of view.”  The dictum that, “You must do what you feel is right, of course,” sounds just as appropriate in Gene’s voice as Ben’s.  If this Travelogue gets properly published, I will have Gene to thank.  It was his guidance and inspiration that would make this a possibility.  That is what Gene meant to me, the same as Ben meant to Luke.

Now, here I am at the hotel where Gene and I shared our last meal together, and it feels like I am in a place of a bygone era, and I can feel the community values here that Gene held so dear, that he so valiantly fought to preserve.  As I have mentioned elsewhere, we often debated that point, about community values.  His belief that communities should be able to set their own values and collect a tax to make those values a reality was at odds with my strong libertarianism, but we both agreed that the federal government should take no part in community decisions, such as education.  Those debates were never contentious, and I understand the soundness of his arguments, even if I rejected the premise.  I will write more about Del Mar tomorrow, but I will now just briefly record the journey that brought me here from Kennedy.

After I closed at the airport, we soon boarded, and as I handed the agent my boarding pass, I learned, much to my delight, that I had been upgraded to first class.  I instantly regretted appending that huge piece of cake to my burger, as I knew that we would be served dinner in first class.  The bourbon and club soda was free flowing all flight, and I finished my chapter of “Lord of the Rings” as we made our ascent.  I continued to read during dinner, which was bread and butter, pasta, and ice cream, followed by coffee.

After my chapter, I continued a discussion with my friend from earlier.  The discussion was about how many weeks Walt Disney had a film in the top five at the box office last year.  It was certainly most weeks, but we did not know just how many.  We also wanted to know how unique of a feat that was.  He thought it was 41, and I said that I didn’t think that was a unique accomplishment.  I reckoned that the years Titanic and ET came out, their studios easily matched that feat.  Since ET had spent 27 weeks in the top five, we looked at the numbers of that year, 1982, to see how many weeks Universal had a film in the top five.  I said 45, he said 50.  Either way, that destroyed the 41 weeks that he claimed Disney had last year.  His 41 number seemed too high, so I did my own count and got 35.

That was when we discovered that we were using a variety of different methods in our calculations.  He was looking at weekly numbers, while I looked at weekend numbers.  He was looking at the movies that each studio distributed, while I was looking week by week.  He was counting up from 0 from zero, while I was subtracting from 52.  We reconciled our data and realized that 37 was the right count.  The biggest error he made was that he double counted some weeks where Disney had two films in the top five, while I made an assumption that once a movie fell out of the top five, it would never return to the top five.  I also miscounted since 2016 had 53 weekends, not 52 weekends.

We spent almost two hours on this topic.  We then started to question if 37 weekends was an impressive feat at all, and we learned it was not.  Universal’s 46 weekends in 1982 beat it, and Universal had 39 weekends in 2015.  We noted that Universal, Warner Brothers, and Walt Disney all had a realistic chance to beat 37 this year.  I surmised that the 1980s was the richest time, as it was when summer blockbusters started to become a thing, but it wasn’t yet at the point where a dozen blockbusters came out every summer.  I suggested a protocol for us to determine how many weekends each major studio had for each year in 1980.  We had already spent hours on this haphazardly guessing on our phones, and my protocol would give us definitive answers for the whole decade in about an hour.  That would have to wait, however.

When we landed, I was the first one off the plane, which I always like, and I headed to take the rental car shuttle.  After a bit of a delay, I was in my convertible, which is my standard mode of transportation in California, as the cheap rental car prices here make it priced the same as a sedan anywhere else, and the year-round sunny weather makes it an enjoyable ride.  I was soon at the hotel, and I recognized fondly all the sites from when I drove here with Gene.  They were happy memories, and it will make me happy to eulogize him tomorrow.  I checked in and settled in to my small but well-appointed hotel room.  I then lit up a Cohiba and went outside, where I sat down and proceeded to write this entry, which I will now close so that I can publish.