Remembering 9/11/01 - Twenty Years Later

Today is 9/10/21.  Tomorrow is the 20th anniversary of 9/11.  

When it happened, we were in Ocean City, MD and it was the eve of our 20th wedding anniversary.  Here we are today, on the eve of our 40th.

At that time we'd just gotten up and turned on the news.  Lou wasn't in view of the TV but I sat watching the World Trade Center where a plane had just struck the tower.  I remember saying, wow, there was an accident and a plane hit the World Trade Center, and it's on fire.  Then to my absolute horror, I saw the second plane hit.  I knew immediately it had been an attack rather than an accident.

I was grateful my whole family (including Dad, at that time) was there, and I knew where everyone was who really mattered to me.

This year it's the eve of our 40th wedding anniversary.  Things have changed - Mom joined Dad in Heaven this past March.  We will still be in Ocean City MD, though I think this year will be a little difficult and bittersweet.  They are both with us in spirit, though.  We're all a little older, don't know how much wiser.  

The reason for this note - please take a minute to say a little prayer, thanking God for helping you through this past very weird and difficult year, giving you blessings and good things.  I have prayed for so much.  Some I have been granted, some not.  But God answers all prayers in HIS time, not ours, and sometimes, the answer is "no".  Remember, you have your plan and God has His plan - Yours don't count. 

Thank God for our police, firefighters, first responders of all kinds, and for our military, past and present, no matter where in the world they may be.  Thank Him for the friends, love and family He has given you.  He may have given you some rough road and some hurdles, but He is always with you as you travel them.  Maybe you asked Him to help you get over some hurts and grant you the grace to get by, and your prayers were answered.  Like all of us, He loves to be loved and appreciated.  Be sure to thank Him. 

If you have smiled today and someone has helped you, or you are the recipient of anyone's generosity and love, say a prayer for them.  Thank them and make sure they know you care.  Do someone a good deed, pay it forward.  It's so important to express your thanks and love.  

SAY it, MEAN it, SHOW it.  Love to you all, and may God continue to bless all of us.  God is good ALL the time.  ALL the time, God is GOOD.  

In Memory of Retired Chief Deputy US Marshal Nicholas L. Vinci

This post is a tribute to Nicholas L. Vinci.

Nick was the Chief Deputy US Marshal who hired me as a summer intern with the US Marshals Service in the summer of 1970.  He was easy, pleasant and had a "sparkle" in his eyes.  He hired me on the spot after finding out I went to West Catholic Girls' High School.  I was between my junior and senior years.

I worked for him for those three months, and he must have thought I did a pretty good job.  When I graduated from West the following June, there was no vacancy there, so I pestered him continually to call me if a vacancy became available.  At the time I worked at the US Navy Recruiting Station in Philadelphia.

Finally after continued pestering, finally he called me to offer me a job at the rate of GS-4.  I was a GS-3 at the Navy.  I'd worked there for nine months when he called.  I gave my two week notice to my sour old boss that very day.  She was not pleased.  But I digress.

I returned to the Marshals Service full time in March, 1972.  And there I remained, working for him doing civil work and as receptionist in the front office.  He took good care of me, rewarding my dedication and good work with promotions and some perks, minimal as they were at the time.  

During that time, in about 1977,  I ran into George Miller, a docket clerk in the Clerk's Office.  He overheard me in the hallway talking about my father, who was in the Imhof Thunderbirds Drum and Bugle Corps.  He waited and asked me if I knew about drum corps.  I told him about my father's love for the activity, and how he missed it.  George told me that the Archer Epler Musketeers had reformed their senior corps, at their American Legion Post in Upper Darby.  George told me he'd marched with the Reading Buccaneers and was very interested, still, in the activity.

That night I went home and told my parents about Archie reforming their corps.  The very next Friday night, Dad went to the Post and rejoined.  He remained at Archer Epler, playing bugle, singing in their chorus, and then a member of their Honor Guard.  Those were some of the happiest days of his life.  My parent persuaded me to come to the Post one Friday night.  When I did, they introduced me to my future husband.  My youngest brother then joined, and met his future wife.

A few years later, my husband and I were looking to buy a home in Hatboro, PA.  Our house in Philly was for sale, and the guy who bought it disappeared.  Then, with the settlement date approaching quickly, we were crestfallen as we realized we could never make the payment for the new house without the proceeds from the old one.  We were short $5,000.

I was so upset, and when I went to work the next day, Nick picked up on it immediately.  He pressed me for the reason, and it all came spilling out.  Our dream house was going to fall through our fingers because we couldn't make the settlement costs.  He asked how much we needed, and I told him, also saying how impossible the whole thing was.  He said, go back to work and don't worry about it.

Yes, easy for Nick to say.  The next day, he called me into his office, told me to close the door, and swore me to secrecy.  I couldn't imagine what was coming.  He handed me a small paper bag.  Inside it was $6,000 cash.  He told me to use what we needed, and give it back to him when we could.  He insisted.  I took it.  A few months later, I gave it back to him, in the same paper bag.  

We made settlement on our house.  And have lived here ever since.

So there it is.  This man, Nicholas L. Vinci, Navy Veteran, Deputy US Marshal, present at the riots in Mississippi, Chief Deputy US Marshal, worker at Spectacor at the Vet for the Phillies, runner for a few lawyers after his retirements.  Driving cross legged in his Buick Riviera.  Going to MCC New York with him with a woman in the back who was coming off a heroin high, trying to kick him, was fighting, screaming and barfing as I sat on my knees in the front seat of the car, fighting her and trying to keep her from opening the door while we were moving on the NJ Turnpike at about 90 mph...

The man was a living legend.

We had a chance to reconnect recently.  His memory was sharp as a tack.  He remembered things I forgot.  We laughed, reminisced and promised to keep in touch.  I told Nick how much he meant to me, how much meeting him influenced my life, and lastly, told him I loved him.

Nick passed away yesterday.  I'm so glad I got to reconnect.  Thank you, Nick.  For everything. 

Goodbye, Nick.  I will miss you, and am sure you are together now with Bridget and your sons.  

Where Has COMMON SENSE Gone???

 OK as usual... if you are easily offended...  PASS THIS ON BY because you WILL get pissed off especially if you are a left winger.

Normally, in the old days when there was common sense... what you did in the privacy of your own home was YOUR BUSINESS.  

Today, some idiot school district called the police (NOT the parents) to report that a 12 year old that was in his OWN HOME had a TOY GUN.  Really?  Ok in our day the TOY gun would have been confiscated.  Today, a child got arrested.  For having a TOY gun.  AT HIS OWN HOUSE.  Really????  Ok maybe he shouldn't have been fooling with it during "school" hours... but that hasn't been made clear yet.  Someone SAW it.  A TOY gun.  IDIOCY.  And outrageous that the school didn't do the NORMAL thing and call the PARENTS first.  

And on to the next case...  Let's use a little imagery here.

Imagery #1

You have a daughter.  She is your pride and joy, the apple of your eye.  She comes into the house, her nose bleeding, crying, and tells you one of the neighborhood bullies hit her and knocked her down.  You are incensed, so you call the mother of the other kid.  The other kid's mother absolutely refuses to believe that her little sweet boy said he didn't do it, and HE never lies.  Yeah right.  

So you patch up your daughter, tell her that some people are just not nice, and tell her that doing what that little boy did to her is not only NOT NICE but totally wrong.  

The next day, the boy who hit your little girl is being put up as the neighborhood hero, even though you have insisted the boy is a bully.  He's been a bully before and gotten away with it.  One time, one of the kids he bullied kicked the hell out of him and the bully's parents screamed bloody murder.  But no, the bully's the hero now, for whatever reason.  YOU want to beat the shit out of the bully AND the parents.

That week, the high school football team are wearing the bully's name on their jerseys.  You shake your head in disbelief.

Imagery #2

Your kid, your precious daughter, has been RAPED.  She has been assaulted and put through the worst thing a woman can undergo.  She frantically calls the police.  They come to your house.  While they are trying to arrest the no good thug animal bastard piece of shit, he resists.  They try to taze him, and fail.

This is YOUR DAUGHTER.  You would give your own life to protect her from ANY harm.  Let alone a vicious assault and rape.  YOUR DAUGHTER.

The piece of shit resists and is shot seven times.  I don't want to hear anything about how the cops coulda woulda shoulda.  This is YOUR DAUGHTER.  Do you really want the cops to use restraint and say Oh, Bad Boy, come with us, poor baby....

NO.  You would probably want a piece of his criminal ass yourself.  You might have shot him way more than seven times.  He hurt your little girl and you want him punished.  This is YOUR LITTLE GIRL.  

So now, the piece of shit is paralyzed.  He will not be raping anyone else any time soon.  He should be rotting in jail anyway, shouldn't he?  HE RAPED YOUR LITTLE GIRL.

No, he's now made the victim.  The victim instead of the perp.  Instead of the no good criminal piece of shit that he is.  He's a hero.  Imagine your disgust and HURT when you see a so-called "professional" sports personality wear HIS name on his uniform.  Not the name of the REAL victim, who is YOUR LITTLE GIRL.  He's being made a saint, the cops vilified, and your daughter, your precious little girl, is left seeing her rapist being made a hero.

Not only that, this criminal thug bastard piece of shit is not only being lauded by sports teams, the candidate for vice president is "proud of him".  Really, you stupid, cruel, idiotic BITCH?  Whatever happened to #metoo?  I guess none of those women's stories matter to you now.  You'd rather praise and laud a CRIMINAL BASTARD.

Hello... calling common sense.....  HELLO???? Common Sense??? Where have you gone?

Offended?  TOUGH SHIT and I don't want to debate or hear your comments.  

Retirement

There was a time my job was almost my total identity. It was such a part of me for 37 years. Twelve years ago today I walked away from it. Went to some awesome places (Tampa, Anchorage, San Diego, San Francisco, Providence) to learn, teach, or set up and work fugitive operations. There were some not so nice places, too (mostly jails!). Met some awesome people (too many to name). I'm proud of my service and miss my work.

This was a job that turned into an adventure. I walked into a State Unemployment office in the spring of 1970 to apply for a summer job, with a friend who'd talked me into it. She got a job at the Custom House for the summer. I was to report to the Navy Yard. I wasn't the least bit serious about a job, let alone a career, at the time. I was a junior in high school, 16 years old.

Got to the Navy Yard and was informed that my job was given away. But I had working papers and a written "promise of employment" so I trekked back to the State office and asked where I should report for the job I'd been promised. The woman thumbed through a box full of 3x5 index cards. Yes there were NO computers, not so much as an electric typewriter. She pulled out a card, asked if I'd mind going uptown (center city) for the job. I said it was ok. Still not enthused, wondering if this whole thing was for real.

Got to 9th and Market, 3rd floor (US Courthouse). Wondered what could I possibly be doing here!
Get to office, met by a woman, their admin boss, Grace McGill. She led me to the office of the Chief Deputy US Marshal. Now I'm really wondering where I am... The Chief, Nick Vinci, takes one look at me in my hot pink blouse, and black pleated miniskirt... asks if I can type and take shorthand. Well, I'd had one year of typing and shorthand, so I said yes. He asked where I went to school. I said West Catholic Girls. He said, "You're hired. You start Monday morning, 8:30." I was floating on air!

The following Monday I walk in, Grace shows me to my desk, in a back room next to a small kitchen. She asks a few questions which I answer, she disappears. I'm sitting there in front of a manual Royal typewriter and an adding machine. She comes back from a vault with a box and drops it on my desk, along with a huge pile of paper, and a box of envelopes. She then says, Type addresses on the envelopes, one for every one of these vouchers. (There were at least 300 vouchers.) Then she opens the box, which contains 500 blank Government checks, with 2 carbon copies attached. She says, compute what the voucher totals, take one of these checks and type it with the amount written out, then the person's name. Then total the checks and the vouchers, and they must balance by the classes of expenses on the voucher. They must add up exactly. Then bring the checks, vouchers, and adding machine tape showing they balance to me. Oh and by the way, when typing the checks, you CAN'T MAKE A MISTAKE or you have to void the check, and we don't want to void checks. Yikes. NO pressure!

I was busy. I presented the checks, vouchers, envelopes and adding machine tape to Grace. She looked at it, checked them, sees that I only voided one check. She said, this is good work. I'll be right with you, go ahead back to your desk. I leave. She has the Marshal (a florist!) sign the checks, brings them back, tells me to put them in the envelopes and mail them. Along with these, she also brings another pile of 300 vouchers. (They were for paying jurors, nobody had done the job for at least 5 months.)

In the meantime, I'm seeing guys walk by my desk, they're all cordial and very nice, but they're also all wearing handcuffs on their belts, and were carrying guns. I have NO idea what kind of place I've gotten myself into. Finally, one guy - Jack Smith, "Smitty", stops and tells me, "Hi kid. Do you work here now?" I say yes, he says, "OK kid. Just one thing. You don't have to be crazy to work here, but it helps."

That's how it went from June 22, 1970 (the day after my 17th birthday) until right before I went back to school for my senior year. The last day, Smitty comes and says, come on, we have to take a ride. I say, OK, does Grace know, he says yes. I go with him, and he tells me, "OK kid, no matter what happens, don't look scared. You can BE scared, just don't look it." So now I'm scared. HA! We pull into the Philadelphia House of Corrections. He goes in and comes out with a female, who is wearing the handcuffs. He puts her in the back seat of the car, and we drive back to the office. (I was petrified.)

Thus started my career, starting after a nine month stint with the Navy Recruiting office. Then upon going back to the Marshals, it progressed to many trips, assignments, cities, supervisors, task forces, and different jobs in the office, but I loved it. The last year and a half, not so much, but I loved it. I miss the work, I do not miss the commute. I miss most of the people, not all. Lots of them are gone now to a better place.

There's so much more to this narrative. I began writing a book about it, as I've been told I should. It will take some time, and some names have to be changed to protect the guilty.

Thirty seven years. I walked out on July 3, 2008. Retired exactly two weeks after my 55th birthday. I get up and go to bed when I want, I go where I want when I want, and though lots of people tell me I was too young to retire, I know they're just jealous. I was blessed. I was lucky. And I thank God for every minute, especially the good which vastly outnumbered the bad.

Stay tuned, the book will be out, (someday).

My Special Memories of New Years Celebrations of days gone by....

I dragged out an old blog post and amended it a little.  The memories are just as sweet.

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For those of you who may not know, I am originally from South Philly.  We moved to Southwest when I was about five, and moved back to South Philly when I was 16.  But for every year, no matter where we lived, New Year's Eve and New Year's Day were very special.

On New Years Eve, my grandmother Angela (Dad's mother) always had a big open house party.  She lived (for most of those years) on 1121 Tasker St.  All her sisters and brothers, nieces and nephews would come. There was LOTS and lots of food, drink and laughter.  My grandmother, in those years, was a wonderful, vibrant and fun woman.  And her talent.... well, she was a commercial artist, a dressmaker and an interior designer.  I can't draw a straight line, and can't sew a button.  All I got was her temper!  But that's another story for another time.  Those New Years Eve parties were enjoyed for many years, until I guess she got tired of them.  When she moved to 12th St in 1966 they ended.

But another tradition lived on for many MORE years... On New Year's Day, there was this little parade on Broad Street...  Of course, the Mummers.  When I was little, I thought it was called Mummer's Day because that's what I always heard.  I thought everyone in the world came to it, and thought that every city had one.  Only later did I learn that the Mummers are distinctly and only Philadelphia.  I love my city (even though it's changed and I don't live there anymore!)

My dad's uncles, Ralph and Paris, would get their prime spot on Broad St. directly across from the St. Agnes Hospital.  They always brought a ladder, and the nieces and nephews always had a prime viewing spot.  And Dad always had a thermos full of "special" coffee... spiked!  I remember him letting us sip it when we got too cold.

When it would get unbearably cold, we would walk back to Grandmom Rucci's house on Iseminger St., where you were sure to get laughs, and hot chocolate and cookies.  Then when you were warm, you would go back out to Broad Street in time for the String Bands.  Then you would go back to Grandmom's where there would be food, laughs, fun, card games and (mostly friendly) arguments!  Great times.

This went on for most of my youth, up till I was in my late teens.  The memories are burned into my mind, and they are sweet memories of a family long gone.  The only of my grandmother's siblings still alive is Aunt Cheta... she is in her 90s and looks fabulous.  The Ruccis always held their age remarkably well.

Since those days ended, we had many other New Years Eve parties, some at Mom's house (one of which lasted three days because the parade was canceled!) and some we celebrated with the Archer Epler drum corps brothers and sisters.  All good times.

Maybe its a sign of age that New Years Eve and New Years Day are now just days to me.  I prefer to stay in now, and prefer to not travel far even on New Years Day.  I'm happy to stay here, warm and comfy, after an early dinner with some close friends.  And I'm happy to see in the New Year quietly, and stay home and watch the parade without having to trek a couple of blocks to get warm.

I prefer to let those memories flow and keep me warm.  I truly value the family I have, the friends I've made, and the traditions that once graced our lives.

Make yourself some good memories.  Even though Grandmom Rucci, most of the aunts and uncles, and Dad are gone, they live in our hearts, and most of all, in our smiles.

May 2020 year be a good one for all of you. And may it NOT take you till May to write "2020" instead of 2019.  HA!

Happy, Healthy New Year, everyone.  Be safe, and make sure you tell your family and friends you LOVE THEM.  Say it, Mean it, Show it!  Good night.  <3  I love you all.

The Power of Prayer - IT IS REAL

If you get offended by my talking about my personal prayer life, skip this over.  You may not think prayer helps... but WHAT CAN IT HURT?

Today, in the wake of the departure/arrival of Hurricane Dorian...

I realized that many people prayed it would change course and not hit Florida.  It hit the Bahamas hard, and it's not for us to question God why.  I suppose He has His reasons.  But, now it has skirted the coast of Florida and Georgia, causing some wind and rain and possible flooding.  And there's the possibility it hits SC, NC, VA.  However, I know it could have been SO MUCH worse had it hit Florida the way it was first thought.  It could have been total devastation and loss of life.  What else could have turned that hurricane away from the mainland?  WHO ELSE could have?  No one on this earth, that's for sure.  

It irks the hell out of me that people, even some supposed friends, make fun of me and others for "sending thoughts and prayers".  They make fun of it and scowl at it as if it has no merit.  Well, I think they're dead wrong, and no one will ever be able to change my mind.

When I got out of high school, in spite of my 12 years of Catholic school, I turned away from the church.  Not because of anything specific other than I was buying into the bullshit that it didn't do any good.  I know some of you still believe that.  That's on you.

When we moved here, the parish was doing house to house visitations, the way they did when you were a kid, the priest comes into the house and blesses it.  Father Dougherty, the pastor, saw me outside doing yard work.  He asked if I felt it unusual, being the only Protestant in my row of houses.  I sheepishly said I was Catholic but fallen away.  He smiled, blessed me anyway, and went to the next house.  I thought of it often and my "little voice" kept telling me to go back to church.

Shortly thereafter, I was invited to my next door neighbor's daughter's wedding.  At the reception, you were not allowed to clink glasses to get the bride and groom to kiss.  You and your whole table had to get up and sing a song with "Love" in it.  So we got up, and I led "What the World Needs Now".  My neighbor, bless her soul, Anita Conrad, said Lou and I should join the choir because she thought we could sing.  She was also in the choir.  So we did.  And then, figuring it was a church choir, I should probably come back to the Sacraments.  The following Holy Thursday, I did.  Went back to church and who was giving the homily at Mass but Father Dougherty.   In his homily, he said, "Come home.  Come home to the Church.  Come home to the Sacraments.  If you haven't confessed in a long while, come to me.  There will be no sermons, no yelling, no judgement."   So the following week, after Easter, I did.  I went face to face as I learned to do at West Catholic.  I was petrified! (I should add that Lou also returned to church.)

The good Father was gentle.  He said, OK, here's what we do.  I will say the commandment, and you tell me if you did it.  I was instantly at ease.  He laughed when I said he could skip 5 (killing) and 6 (adultery).  He made it SO easy to come back.  And that was in 1993.  I've been back ever since.

Which brings me to the reason I so completely believe in the power of prayer.  In time, the choir director changed, and one of the following pastors fired her.  Dr. Lucy Carroll went to the Carmelite Monastery, and a few of the choir followed her.  "The Rogue Choir", also known as the Monastery Mice.  We started singing there in 1999 and were there till 2017 when the sisters took in 11 new nuns and do their own singing now, as the Masses are all Latin.

We sang every year at the Novena of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.  One year, Lucy hurt her ankle and couldn't drive.  She had to go every night as organist, and asked me to drive her.  So I did.  Earlier that year, my brother lost his job, and my father was getting very ill with complications from the Parkinson's Disease which robbed him of his ability to walk and talk.  It was very difficult to watch him decline, and even more difficult for the love of his life, my mother.

So, I figured I'd make this Novena worth it.  I prayed every night of the nine nights that my brother would find a job soon, and then asked the good Lord to take my father so he wouldn't suffer any more.  I felt awful that I actually prayed for my father's passing.  

The Novena ends on July 16th, the Feast of Our Lady of Mount Carmel.  

The following week, my brother found a job.  And on July 19th, my dad went to Heaven.  If that doesn't make you a believer...  I don't know what does.

So ever since then, through good times and bad times, rough times and easy times, wellness and illness, predicament after predicament, I prayed and prayed.  And learned that God has His own timetable.  That He answers ALL prayers, but that sometimes the answer is NO.  And that HE knows what's best for you, even if you get mad at Him.  He's the guy you can ALWAYS go back to because He's always willing to forgive you, no matter what you did, no matter how bad you think it was.  He's willing to forgive you, even when you think you're not good enough for forgiveness.  

So YES.  I believe in the power of prayer.  I always will, because I've seen it.  If you don't want to believe, fine.  It's not my job to judge.  The Lord said it, and I believe it, and that's it.  

Just some Thoughts....

Over the past few days, I was in Ocean City, NJ with my dear friend of over 45 years.  We are both the same age (66).  Neither of us have any biological kids, though we have both helped a few over the years.  We stayed at the Beach Club, on the Boardwalk at 13th St. 

It was a very nice stay.  We made a few observations:

    Little kids now are so freakin' spoiled.  I can tell you I saw a few temper tantrums that my parents would have NEVER tolerated.  We were not permitted to misbehave or shout or screech at the top of our lungs at a restaurant.  No way.  Same at the swimming pool.  One tantrum and it would be the last.  Somehow we grew up and survived a smack on the ass.  These idiot parents are raising the next generation of entitled little weenies and criminals, who see that there's no consequence for misbehavior or acting like a little shit in a restaurant or other public venue.  If the adults wanted any time in the swimming pool, they could forget it.  I wish they would have had a swim for adults only that started after the pool closed to the brats at 7pm. 

   We should open a resort/retreat for people OVER 55 only.  And that means, everyone.  Don't bring your whining, crying, spoiled little brat bastards to my resort.  No kids including your spoiled, entitled little grandbrats.  Yeah, this means everyone.