By Jessie Seigel / Washington, D.C. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” That’s a myth to comfort children. Because what starts with lies spoken, can lead to blows, and end in murder. And this has happened to the Jews somewhere in the world at least once per century for the last 2,000 years. The Holocaust, by far the largest in scope, was not the only historical mass murder of Jews. And while the hate is brewing, Jews—I happen to be one—are always told we are too sensitive or are being paranoid. Well, brewing time is over. Now, that hate is coming to a boil around the world again, and here in our nation, it has come completely out into the open where no one can avoid seeing it unless—like the leaders of the Republican party—they close their eyes and stick their fingers in their ears. On Tuesday, November 22, former President Donald Trump broke bread with antisemitic rapper Kanye “Ye” West and virulent white supremacist Nick Fuentes at Trump’s private Mar-a-Lago club. Prior to the dinner, West made himself infamous with his statement that he would go “deathcon 3” on Jews on right-winger Tucker Carlson’s Fox News show. As a celebrity, West has a long reach. And Trump, by his acceptance, has extended West’s influence even further. As if this were not enough, Kanye subsequently appeared on Alex Jones’ alt-right show, praising Hitler and the Nazis at length. While doing so, he wore a large jacket, mask, and gloves that entirely hid his color. For West, a Black man, to take up the cause of Hitler and Nazis—who likely would have killed him—is sufficiently unhinged to suggest some self-hate may be at work. And the effort to hide his color was bizarre. Although it does not ameliorate the danger of Kanye’s influence, he does seem to suffer from some form of mental illness. Nick Fuentes, however, is another matter. To fully understand the depraved antisemitism Trump countenanced by having Fuentes to dinner, it’s necessary to explain the extent of the vile activities in which Fuentes has been engaged. Fuentes, who attended the 2017 “Unite the Right” rally in Charlottesville, Va., is a hate-monger who uses his platform as a neo-Nazi podcaster and organizer to spread racist and antisemitic conspiracy theories. On his podcasts, Fuentes promotes the spurious stereotype that Black people are innately violent. Based on the bogus “white genocide” conspiracy theory, he calls for closure of U.S. borders to immigrants, and savagely opposes feminism and LGBTQ+ rights. But like all good fascists, Fuentes attributes these and other progressive and civil rights efforts to Jewish influence. According to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL), Fuentes has said these endeavors are the “bastardized Jewish subversion of the American creed. The Founders never intended for America to be a refugee camp for nonwhite people.” The ADL told Reuters that Fuentes once “denied the Holocaust and compared Jews burnt in concentration camps to cookies in an oven.” But to simply say Fuentes is an antisemitic Holocaust denier does not sufficiently define the rabid, deadly hate he spews at Jews in particular. In one of his podcasts, Fuentes raved, “Jews hate Jesus,” and told Jews to “Get the fuck out of America; You serve the devil. You serve Satan….I piss on your Talmud.” In another podcast, Fuentes repeated the well-worn slander that Jews control the levers of power, ranting “I want this country to have Catholic media, Catholic Hollywood, Catholic government. I want this to be a Catholic occupied government, not a Jewish occupied government.” In addition, the New York Times reports that Fuentes in recent weeks has called for the military to be sent into Black neighborhoods and demanded that Jews leave the country. Trump’s Attempt at Damage Control That Trump would receive Fuentes at Mar-a-Lago is not in the least surprising. Trump has shown time and again that the only things he cares about are power, money, and praise. And Fuentes apparently has been an eager Trump adherent. At a so-called “Stop the Steal” rally in Washington in November 2020, Fuentes called for followers to “storm every state capitol until January 20, 2021, until President Trump is inaugurated for four more years.” Furthermore, at least seven people connected to Fuentes’ America First organization have been charged with federal crimes related to the Jan. 6 attack at the Capitol. And Fuentes was issued a subpoena by the House Jan. 6 committee, seeking information about his role in that event. After receiving flak for the dinner, Trump made tepid efforts at damage control, claiming that he invited only West for dinner, and that West brought Fuentes with him. Trump added his usual disclaimer when caught consorting with someone unsavory, claiming West “arrived with a guest whom I had never met and knew nothing about.” Of course, Trump did not denounce either West’s or Fuentes views. Why would he? After all, as Trump noted in one of his repeated defenses, West “expressed no antisemitism” and “I appreciated all of the nice things he said about me on Tucker Carlson. Why wouldn’t I agree to meet?” The Republican Fellow Travelers Trump’s behavior was utterly predictable. Far more troubling is that the foremost leaders of the Republican Party have shown themselves perfectly amenable to the virulent antisemitism and racism of Trump, West, and Fuentes. They just wish Trump and his companions wouldn’t express it aloud but keep it hidden in code, however thinly veiled. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell proclaimed: “There is no room in the Republican Party for antisemitism or white supremacy. And anyone meeting with people advocating that point of view, in my judgment, are [sic] highly unlikely to ever be elected president of the United States.” McConnell’s so-called condemnation is akin to a non-apology apology. Given the presence of reactionaries such as Marjorie Taylor Greene and Paul Gosar in Congress, McConnell’s proclamation that the Republican Party has no room for antisemitism or white supremacy is demonstrably false. Furthermore, McConnell didn’t denounce Trump or say that he won’t support Trump if he becomes the party’s 2024 presidential nominee. Rather, the minority leader merely made a lackluster prediction that someone with such views is “highly unlikely” to “ever” be elected president. This of course ignores the fact that Trump—a man who furthers such views—was already elected once. As reported by NPR, Kevin McCarthy, current minority leader of the House (who may become Speaker in January) aped McConnell’s pro forma statement, saying: "I don't think anybody should be spending any time with Nick Fuentes. He has no place in this Republican Party." Then McCarthy defended Trump with a lie: "I think President Trump came out four times and condemned” Fuentes. McCarthy also repeated Trump’s excuse that he didn’t know who Fuentes was. When cornered by a reporter pointing out that Trump did not condemn Fuentes’ ideology, McCarthy replied, "Well, I condemn his ideology, it has no place in society; at all." But McCarthy does not condemn that ideology. As house minority leader, he has refused to discipline open antisemites such as Representatives Marjorie Taylor Greene or Paul Gosar, and plans—if he is chosen to be speaker—to reinstate them to committees from which they were removed by Speaker Nancy Pelosi in part for their antisemitism and ties to white supremacists. According to Politico, Florida Sen. Marco Rubio said he hopes to see Trump condemn Fuentes. But Rubio had the gall to add: “because I know [Trump’s] not an antisemite. I can tell you that for a fact that Trump is not.” One must wonder exactly how Rubio would define antisemitism. Maybe he should leave it to those who are affected by it to make that call. As Jonathan Greenblatt, the CEO of ADL, told the New York Times: “You can’t say that you oppose hate and break bread with haters. It’s that simple.” To put it another way, when you provide a platform elevating the cause of antisemites, you are one. And Trump has consistently given such people and organizations a megaphone. In an interview with News Nation Now, former Vice President Mike Pence said Trump was “wrong” to give a white nationalist Holocaust denier “a seat at the table,” and that Trump “should apologize” and “denounce the hateful rhetoric without qualification.” But Pence’s call for an apology is strictly for damage control to the party. In his usual, two-faced manner, Pence tried to have it both ways by also claiming he doesn’t believe Trump is an antisemite. Ron DeSantis, current front-running challenger to Trump for the 2024 presidential nomination, has remained strategically silent. Real politick is apparently his watchword. Sen. Mitt Romney of Utah, who twice voted to convict Trump on impeachment charges, was the only politician whose condemnation rang true. According the The Hill, Romney said: “There’s no bottom to the degree which [Trump’s] willing to degrade himself and the country, for that matter. Having dinner with those people was disgusting.” Romney said he did not think Trump should be the Republican presidential nominee in 2024, adding, “And I certainly don’t want him hanging over our party like a gargoyle.” When asked if the dinner showed a lapse in judgment, Romney replied, “It’s a character issue.” Thus, Romney was the sole Republican to disown Trump, and do so based on character rather than out of concern for his own or the party’s political fortunes. The Folly of Republican Jewish Organizations and Leaders Many Republican Jewish organizations and leaders appear loathe to leave their dream world. Although some, like GOP billionaire megadonor Ronald Lauder, have been moved by the infamous dinner to withdraw their support of Trump in favor of other craven hopefuls, a number of Republican Jewish leaders continue to rationalize Trump’s antisemitism away. They cannot admit to themselves the nature of the man and the party they continue to support. The Republican Jewish Coalition condemned Fuentes and West for their “virulent antisemitism” but did not mention former president Trump. The Coalition just called on all political leaders to reject West’s and Fuentes’ “messages of hate” and “refuse to meet with them.” Ari Fleischer, former press secretary to George W. Bush and a member of the Republican Jewish Coalition’s board, gave Trump a pass—accepting the latter’s statement that he didn’t know Fuentes. Fleischer only suggested that Trump should have said that “had he known, Fuentes would never have been allowed into Mar-a-Lago.” Ahhh! The magic words that would have made Trump’s despicable ideas and actions disappear from view. Morton Klein, head of the Zionist Organization of America, referring to his parents’ survival of the Holocaust, said in the New York Times, “I am a child of survivors. I have become very frightened for my people.” Klein is right to be frightened. But he nevertheless insists, “Donald Trump is not an antisemite. He loves Israel. He loves Jews. But he mainstreams, he legitimizes Jew hatred and Jew haters. And this scares me.” Why does Mr. Klein not understand that legitimizing Jew hatred and Jew haters is classical antisemitism? Trump’s use of antisemitic tropes demonstrate that he does not “love Jews.” And Trump’s sociopathic, narcissistic nature more than suggests that his support of Israel is entirely transactional. If Klein thinks Trump will continue to support Israel or Jews anywhere if his white supremacist base grabs power for him, Klein is deluding himself. In the introduction to his 1943 book, The Forgotten Ally, Dutch-Canadian-American journalist Pierre Van Paassen writes of a Dr. W. Filderman, a member of the Rumanian parliament who met his end in Rumania’s Bessarabian murder camps. Van Paassen writes that in the early 1930s, Dr. Filderman lauded the degree to which he was accepted as a citizen—a Jew who was “heart and soul a Rumanian at the same time.” He told Van Paassen, “I am the friend of King Carol, and the Foreign Minister calls me by my first name and always consults me on important matters of foreign policy.” But when Van Paassen met with that Foreign Minister, the minister’s first question was, “Are you a Jew?” And when Van Paassen confirmed he was not, the Minister added, “You see, we don’t like Jews in Rumania. We are going to get rid of the whole lot of them, every one of them. They either go abroad, or we’ll starve them out.” Unlike Rumania in the 1930s, the ancestors of everyone in the United States except Native Americans are from somewhere else. One would expect that fact to place us all on an equal footing. And that a citizen’s status as an American could not be questioned or denied. Nevertheless, here we are again. And the Morton Kleins, Ari Fleischers, and Ronald Lauders—who ultimately will not be protected by their wealth or connections—would do well to heed Van Paassen’s history lesson. As would we all. Because, if permitted, the Trumpian fascists and their confederates in Congress will threaten not only our rights as citizens but even acknowledgement of our citizenship—and then the right to life itself. Political columnist Jessie Seigel had a long career as a government attorney in which she honed her analytic skills. She has also twice received an Artist’s Fellowship from the Washington, D.C. Commission on the Arts and Humanities for her fiction, and has been a finalist for a number of literary awards. In addition, Seigel is an associate editor at the Potomac Review, a reviewer for The Washington Independent Review of Books, and a dabbler in political cartoons at Daily Kos. Of this balance in her work between the analytic and the imaginative, Seigel jokes, “I guess my right and left brains are well-balanced.” More on and from Seigel can be found at The Adventurous Writer, https://www.jessieseigel.com.

Fred Plotkin, a pleasure activist and passionate Italy and culinary expert, speaks each Friday with leading people in the arts Ermonela Jaho will be starring in La Traviata at the Metropolitan Opera starting January 5, 2023 FRED PLOTKIN is one of America’s foremost experts on opera and has distinguished himself in many fields as a writer, speaker, consultant and as a compelling teacher. He is an expert on everything Italian, the person other so-called Italy experts turn to for definitive information.  Fred discovered the concept of "The Renaissance Man" as a small child and has devoted himself to pursuing that ideal as the central role of his life. In a “Public Lives” profile in The New York Times on August 30, 2002, Plotkin was described as "one of those New York word-of-mouth legends, known by the cognoscenti for his renaissance mastery of two seemingly separate disciplines: music and the food of Italy." In the same publication, on May 11, 2006, it was written that "Fred is a New Yorker, but has the soul of an Italian."

By Andy Borowitz December 5, 2022 PALM BEACH (The Borowitz Report)—Donald J. Trump clarified his call for the termination of the United States Constitution by indicating that he would abolish the entire document except for the Fifth Amendment. “I haven’t read the Constitution, but, from what I’ve been told, most of it is a waste of paper, quite frankly,” he told the One America News Network. “The Fifth Amendment is the only part worth saving.” Trump said that the Fifth Amendment was “maybe the most beautiful amendment ever written,” and noted that he had used it “many, many times.” “When I left office, I took a lot of documents with me, but I had no interest in taking the Constitution,” he said. “If I could have cut the Fifth Amendment out of the Constitution and put it in my pocket, I would have done that, but the rest of it was written by a bunch of dummies. A bunch of dummies.” Republican leaders were noticeably silent on the former President’s latest remarks, except for Representative Kevin McCarthy, who said, “Hunter Biden’s laptop.” Andy Borowitz is a Times best-selling author and a comedian who has written for The New Yorker since 1998. He writes The Borowitz Report, a satirical column on the news.

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area I mean this quite literally. About the eagle, that is. I hope you’re sitting down. My nice daughter from suburban Detroit went to Outer Mongolian in October (no, really!) to have the experience of a lifetime. She rode a horse on the steppes and up in the mountains of Mongolia for six hours a day to hunt with golden eagles. Why, you ask? I ask? Hanna, my daughter, is a real adventurer, this being the ultimate off-the-grid exploit. She did the riding and the eagle did the hunting for fox. Anything caught was given to the host nomadic family for pelts and the eagles ate the meat. The bigger question is why and how did Hanna ever get the idea to travel halfway around the world by herself, after a short pit stop in South Korea, to hunt with eagles? It turns out that falconry is still practiced today in the Kazakh region (far northwest corner) of Mongolia. It began in Mongolia some 3,000 years ago and some say before that in the Middle East in 3,500 B.C. Still, I can’t picture my daughter on horseback, riding through the streets of Los Angeles, where she lives, looking for rodents. Hanna has always been fascinated with birds. We owned a couple of cockatiels and small parrots. Fast forward to present day, when she met a licensed falconer in Ernest Debs Park in Los Angeles. One has to be licensed in order to own and handle birds of prey. That was it, she was all in. That falconer has now become her sponsor (a requirement to be licensed) along with lots of studying and exams. The challenge doesn’t stop there. To be licensed, the most important piece of the puzzle is that you have to capture your own immature hawk and train it to be yours during a two-year apprenticeship. Going to Mongolia brought the true experience to life while satisfying her yearning to learn about indigenous cultures, not unlike what she studied for her cultural anthropology degree at University of Michigan. Two of Hanna’s companions on her trip made a short video of their collective experience. It really gives you the essence of what it was like being among nomads in the middle of nowhere with no running water, no toilet, very limited electricity, and no cell-phone service. The only source of heat was a yak manure-burning stove in the middle of the tent. It was either insufferably hot or freezing cold. Obviously, this adventure is not for the faint of heart! As shown in the video, the nomads live in gers (Kazakh for yurt), lined with traditional hand-embroidered tapestries. These tents can be collapsed and relocated in 30 minutes. The residents basically have a winter camp and summer camp. Life is very harsh, yet simple. Can you just imagine not having the Internet ever? It’s all about survival. Their domesticated animals are horses, sheep, yak, goats, cattle, and sometimes camels. The nearest town is a three-hour drive away, no roads for most of it. Less than one percent of Mongolian land is used for agriculture, due to the country’s harsh winters, expansive deserts and steppes, lack of precipitation, and high altitude. The food is very meat focused: meat, dairy products, and fat are the mainstays of the Mongolian diet. Hanna says that at most meals, there would be a huge platter of yak butter. People scooped it up and ate it. I’ll pass, thank you! A few crops are grown, mostly root vegetables. The food is very simply seasoned with just salt. Attention all foodies: this does not seem like a good destination if you’re seeking a three-star Michelin restaurant! I gave a lot of thought as to what recipe to present today. Basically, I find the culinary aspects of this culture, dare I say, lacking? The Mongolian Beef dish that we see in Chinese restaurants is not Mongolian at all. It is a classic preparation from Taiwan. I decided not to go there. Instead, I’ve created a very basic one-pot dish, as most of the cooking is done that way. In the encampment, the noodles are always made from scratch, just flour and water. I’ve decided to use a store-bought convenience instead. Also, since seasoning is almost nonexistent In Mongolia, I’ve taken creative license to make it palatable if not downright tasty. Feel free to exchange beef in place of the lamb and add vegetables of your choosing. Let us know at The Insider about your own global adventure fantasy. If you decide to go hunting with eagles in Mongolia, don’t forget to dress warm and pack some energy bars! Mongolian Lamb Stew Yield: 6 servings 3-4 tbsp. vegetable oil for cooking 1 1/2 lb. lamb stew meat, cut into 1” pieces 1/4 c. flour 1 tsp. salt 1/2 tsp. fresh ground black pepper 1 lg. onion, cut into medium dice 12 oz. carrots, peeled and cut into 1” pieces 6 c. water 1/2 medium cabbage, sliced into 1/4” thick pieces 8 oz. Yukon gold or white potato, peeled, cut into 1” chunks 6 oz. fettuccine or pappardelle noodles, broken in half or packaged as nests Toss the lamb stew meat, flour, salt and pepper together in a bowl.  Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a large Dutch oven over moderately high heat.  When oil is hot, add half of the meat. Toss around the pan; cook until browned.  Transfer to a clean bowl.  Add more oil to the pot if needed. Cook the remaining meat in the same fashion. Transfer to bowl. Turn heat down to medium.  Add the onions and carrots.  Cook until browned, stirring occasionally, about 10-12 minutes.  Return meat to the pot. Pour on the water. Scrape up the brown bits from the bottom of the pan. Increase heat to high, bringing to a boil. Turn down to a very light boil. Cook uncovered for 1 hour, stirring occasionally. Add more water if necessary. Mix in the cabbage and potatoes.  Cover; cook for 15 minutes. Place the noodles on top of the stew. Ladle some gravy over the noodles. Cover; cook 15 minutes more or until the noodles are tender.  Stir everything together. Adjust the seasoning. Bonnie Fishman attended the Cordon Bleu Cookery School in London. Later, she owned and operated Bonnie’s Patisserie in Southfield, Mich. and Bonnie’s Kitchen and Catering in Bloomfield Hills, Mich. She has taught cooking for over 35 years and created hundreds of recipes. She is now living in Northern California.

By Naomi Serviss / New York City December is the coolest month. Not just because the 3rd is my birthday. Not because Hanukkah and Christmas parties put everyone in a better mood. By parties, I mean small gatherings where Covid tests are administered at the door. One can dream. I love this month because of snow’s promise. The pure white shadow before being trampled by people and pollution. The 12th month brings irresistible urges to spend massive amounts of money so people love you more. Kidding. Gifts don’t make people love you more. Money does! Venmo your great-nephew cash instead of springing for a pricey video game. December means we’re practically through with this Covid-inflicted year. 2022, begone! Good riddance! Winter has been unpredictable these recent few years, thanks to man’s hubris in crippling Mother Nature. The silent, white sky ballet graces rolling Central Park grounds, coats cobblestone sidewalks and coaxes sledders to nearby hills. New York is famous for unpredictable winter weather. One moment it’s red-hands frigid, bossy gale force winds and wintry mixes blush unmasked noses. The next day could climb to 50°. Whether in Central Park or the theater district, I dress carefully after bone-cold forecasts. First layer: cotton leggings or thermals, elastic-waisted, black harem pants, roomy enough to contain the aforementioned layers and colorfully irreverent, calf-friendly socks. A long sleeve turtle or crew-neck pullover with a tee-shirt topper. But wait, there’s more! Puffy black winter coat, faux leather black gloves, red and blue Paris scarf (bought there) and white cable knit beanie. Masked in a trusty bright purple KN95 (good for runny noses as well as warming the face!). Ready! Treading ever more mindfully, I set off cautiously, lest freezing, slushy streets wobble me down. Comingled aromas of teen spirit and senior angst electrify this buzzing city. Where a micro-United Nations assembly queue up for a crosswalk sign. The brightly lit walking man encourages a safe bon voyage from one sidewalk to the other. Everyone’s shopping like there’s no tomorrow. Which, according to evangelicals, might be the case. Just getting more cynical as I move closer to the finish line. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no humbug. I don’t eschew cheerfully decorated gifts on my natal day. That’s fun! Grateful to celebrate another year when so many friends have been hijacked by Covid. Or just down in the dumps. Scenes from the NYC subway Speaking of down in the dumps, I started taking the subway again. My sister and country mice pals thought I was nutso. Maybe nutso is harsh, irresponsible was another epithet. Good news! Didn’t get: mugged robbed shoved or stabbed No one crazy-eyed me or sidled by weirdly. I did, however have a minor close encounter. On the station platform, waiting for a rarely on-time C train, a petite black-clad woman (giving homeless vibes) cornered me on the platform, begging for a buck. I brushed her off firmly, walking towards harmless-looking civilians. She followed me and again requested her dollar toll. Surprisingly, I did not get flustered or panicky. There was no fight or flight response, just determined anger. “Stop following me!” I thundered loudly. Other people looked up and she sidled off. I found a transit worker to hover near. My northbound train came and I boarded without incident, arriving home intact. A little shaken, but not stirred. Deciding to ride the subway again was not a snap decision. 
I watch the news, read the news, inhale the news. Didn’t want to inhale rogue Covid variants by exposing myself to scads of unmasked folk. I’m also a conscientious observer, prone to eye sweeping my surroundings at all times, everywhere I am. I worried about climbing the steps without slipping on wet leaves or worse. What if I got in everyone’s way by walking too slowly? What if… I was nervous, understatement of the year. I focused on the money we’d be saving by my using public transportation. Now I’m confident on the stairs, especially when seeing others with more obstacles. Walkers, strollers, packages, canes, bicycles, you name it, someone’s struggling to ride mass transit. The cars are cleaner, no visible graffiti and no cans of diet Pepsi roll on the floor, dribbling contents under seats. These are good signs! And one more. Yesterday I went to a matinee and took the C train downtown. I prudently, one-step-at-a-time made it down. I noticed a young police officer standing at the foot of the subway stairs. It was a pleasant, much-appreciated surprise. “It’s nice to see you,” I said, my voice mask-muffled. “Thanks,” he said, nodding. “It’s nice to see you, too.” Naomi Serviss is a New York-based award-winning journalist whose work has been published in The New York Times, Newsday, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Highroads (AAA magazine), in-flight publications, spa and travel magazines and websites, including BroadwayWorld.com

One film journalist’s stream-of-consciousness cinematic journey through the pandemic, Part 110 By Laurence Lerman / New York City It’s been nearly seven decades since the murder of Emmett Till, and for years Whoopi Goldberg has wanted his story to be told in the form of a feature film. On August 28, 1955, Till, a 14-year-old Black boy, was abducted, tortured and lynched in Mississippi by white men who believed he had flirted with a white woman in her family’s store several days earlier. Such an act would have been considered a shocking affront in the segregated American South of the Jim Crow era. Following the acquittal of Till’s alleged murderers by an all-white jury, and their subsequent admission that they had indeed tortured and murdered the teen, Till became an icon in the civil rights movement that his murder in part sparked. Till, the movie that Goldberg hoped to see made for years, arrived in theaters on October 14, with Whoopi herself serving as one of its producers and appearing in the film in the role of Alma Carthan, Emmett’s grandmother. Directed and co-written by Nigerian-born, Alaskan-raised filmmaker Chinonye Chukwu, Till looks at Emmett’s story from the perspective of his mother, Mamie Till (played by up-and-comer Danielle Deadwyler), who became an educator and activist in the civil rights movement following the murder of her son. The film has been well-received by critics and as of this week has earned just under $9 million at the domestic box office, a respectable number for a specialized historical drama. Whoopi Goldberg, an international celebrity who regularly finds herself in hot water due to her determination to speak her mind on all manner of issues, is clear-minded and firm when it comes to her feelings on the necessity of a film like Till and the subject of racism that is at its center. “People say, ‘Everybody knows this story. Everybody doesn’t know this story. They said, ‘Nobody in Europe will see this.’ I said, ‘My movies are popular in Europe. Europeans see movies with black people in them,’” Goldberg proclaimed at Till’s premiere at the New York Film Festival on October 1. “When George Floyd’s story hit, they said, ‘We don’t like this.’ So we said, ‘Hey, we have a story for you.’ And we made it the way we wanted to make it.” Till is far from the first race-themed project that Goldberg has gotten involved with—as both a producer and a performer—during her 30-plus years in Hollywood. She has appeared in films that shed light on racial injustice dating back to her movie debut in 1985’s The Color Purple, Steven Spielberg’s well-received adaptation of Alice Walker’s 1982 novel by the same name about a Black woman coming into her own while growing up in the South in the 1930s, Goldberg has twice won NAACP Image Awards for those endeavors: once for her portrayal of a maid in 1955 Montgomery, Ala. who is forced to walk to and from work during the Black boycott of public transportation in 1990’s The Long Walk Home. She did so again in 1996’s Ghosts of Mississippi as Myrlie Evers, the wife of the Black civil rights activist Medgar Evers, who spends 25 years fighting for justice in the case of her husband’s murder in Mississippi in 1963. The prolific Goldberg has continued to do appear in more of the same, in between appearing as a host on TV’s The View and her numerous high-profile movies that include Soapdish (1991), How Stella Got Her Groove Back (1998), Rat Race (2001), A Little Bit of Heaven (2011), Nobody’s Fool. And that doesn’t include her dozens of other films, TV shows, theatrical pieces, recordings and books. A pair of particular Whoopi standouts are the TV series Strong Medicine (2000-06), which Goldberg created, produced and appears in, that revolves around a group of female doctors treating women and tackling female-centric issues at a women’s clinic; and Good Fences, a 2003 TV movie that she executive-produced and starred in, concerning the difficulties encountered by an upwardly mobile Black family in Connecticut for whom the American dream has become a nightmare. Till marks the first narrative feature about the Emmett Till story, which has been the subject of several documentaries over the past two decades. including The Murder of Emmett Till from 2003, a PBS film that aired on the American Experience TV series; and the hour-long 2005 doc The Untold Story of Emmett Louis Till, directed by Keith Beauchamp. Beauchamp also co-wrote the script for Till, which utilized his 27 years of research on Emmet’s story to inform the feature’s narrative. According to Goldberg, it was Till co-producers Barbara Broccoli and Fred Zollo who used their status as big-time Hollywood movie-makers to garner attention for the project and raise funds for the script to become a film. (A crowd-funding campaign via Kickstarter also helped.) But while Broccoli and Zollo are significant Hollywood movers with a list of impressive credits (Broccoli is the producer of the James Bond Franchise; Zollo’s movies include Quiz Show, Mississippi Burning and Ghosts of Mississippi), it is the involvement of producer and actor Whoopi Goldberg that certainly raised the right eyebrows. As reported by the New York Times, Goldberg, who, again, likes to speak her mind, introduced the film and spoke of its necessity at a screening in September with all the bluntness of, well, Whoopi Goldberg: “You can’t get pissed off when people are stupid when you have the ability to make them smarter,” she declared. Goldberg was surely thrilled to see that Till made noise at last week’s Gotham Awards, the season’s first big awards presentation and one that is generally regarded as a launching pad for positive press and box office momentum for the winners. And that’s what was hopefully generated for Danielle Deadwyler, who won the prize for Outstanding Lead Performer (the Gotham’s feature gender-neutral category) for her role in Till, beating out a star-packed field that included Cate Blanchett (Tár) and Michelle Yeoh (Everything Everywhere All at Once). Deadwyler’s triumph certainly raised her stock to Oscar-worthy heights and she will almost definitely receive an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress, alongside shoo-ins Blanchett and Yeoh. But even better, and undoubtedly more satisfying for the filmmakers, cast members and Ms. Goldberg, there will now be more potential viewers curious enough to give Till a try, whether it be in theaters or on one of the major streaming platforms, where it’s currently available. As everyone involved in making films will tell you, seeing the film, well, that’s what it’s all about. And maybe it’ll have the ability to make us smarter. Laurence Lerman is a film journalist, former editor of Video Business--Variety's DVD trade publication--and husband to The Insider's own Gwen Cooper. Over the course of his career he has conducted one-on-one interviews with just about every major director working today, including Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, Clint Eastwood, Kathryn Bigelow, Ridley Scott, Walter Hill, Spike Lee, and Werner Herzog, among numerous others. Once James Cameron specifically requested an interview with Laurence by name, which his wife still likes to brag about. Most recently, he is the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the online review site DiscDish.com.

By Lydia Hope Wilen / New York City The Dame Name For generations, mine included, Ashkenazi Jews (descended from Eastern Europe) gave newborns a Hebrew name, naming a baby after a close and beloved relative who was no longer living. Instead of calling the poor kid by his or her Hebrew name (Schmule, Tzeitel, Zvi), the custom became giving the Hebrew name and an American name starting with the same first initial. (Consider actress Mayim Bialik the exception.) Fast forward to four years ago when I got a first-time invitation to a neighbor's Purim party. Since I was not expected to dress up as Queen Esther, I accepted the invitation. When it was time for the meal, I was seated next to a woman who lives in my building and who I knew by sight but had never talked with. We introduced ourselves to each other. During dinner, and during the course of conversation (and of chicken), I used what I thought was her name, Merrill. Probably used to doing it her entire life, she quickly corrected me. "My name isn't Merrill. It's Merle." I said, "Oh, like that old-time actress, Merle Oberon." "Exactly. My mother needed a name that began with an 'M' and she thought Merle Oberon was so beautiful that she named me Merle." I thought, “Isn’t that something?” and I said, "My mother needed a name that began with an 'L'. She had seen a film starring Merle Oberon who she thought was so beautiful and who played the part of Lydia...which was also the name of the film. That's how come I'm Lydia. What are the Chances...? of getting an invitation to a Purim party, then being seated next to that particular neighbor, and me getting her name wrong, leading to her correcting me with her real name that rang a bell with me, and then discovering that we're both named because of the same actress and yet, we have different names? Name Me, I’m Yours! A publisher in Minnesota asked if either my sister or I had children because she wanted a baby name book written. We said neither of us had any children, but both of us have names. And so we got a deal to write our first book, which the publisher named, Name Me, I’m Yours! Even though our little book sold for $3.95, we were sent on a first-class media tour. A city a day across the country. When we got to a city, if it wasn’t too late, we’d go to the nearest bookstore to make sure they had copies of our book. That way, whatever TV show we were on, we could tell the viewing audience exactly where our books could be found. Don’t forget this was long before the Internet and ordering online. In one of the stores, when we asked if our books were on the shelf, the clerk said, “Oh yes. Every time I pass by it, I sneeze.” That was because the pages of the book were (excuse the expression) impregnated with the smell of baby powder. The tour was a success; we sold a ton of books. Then we started getting feedback from people who bought our books. We mostly got thank you notes with birth announcements that included the name they chose from our book. One of the letters, however, was disturbing. We were told that these soon-to-be parents spent days going through every name, origins, meanings and variations of over 5,000 boys’ names. They just couldn’t find a name they both liked enough to saddle their son with it. They were very disappointed in our book, they wrote. The book was on the table and the husband and wife wanted to beat it up…they were so frustrated. They kept looking at the closed book and yelling at it. Until, suddenly, they both saw the perfect name: Wilen (the last name of the book’s authors). They thought it was a brilliant name for a boy—strong and substantial. They decided to spell it: Wylen. That spelling should make it easier for the name to be pronounced properly: Wylen, not Willen, as I am so often called. What are the chances of a couple selecting the last name of the authors as their newborn’s first name? Name Dropping I had an appointment to meet with Paddy Chayefsky, who was revered, respected and even idolized by writers who followed his illustrious stage and film careers. I met with him before he wrote Network (for which he won an Academy Award). The appointment was set up by Chayefsky’s producer-friend whom I worked with as an assistant on a TV pilot that didn’t sell. I was going to meet with him in his office to talk about my career as an actress. It was ridiculous since I didn’t have a career as an actress. But I must digress… When my father’s brothers came here from Lithuania and went through Ellis Island, they ended up with an assortment of names. One was Wiilenchick, one was Wilensky and one was Wilencov. My mother’s cousins—three brothers from the same parents—were passed through Ellis Island as Stier, Singer and Barnett. That was Ellis Island in those days. Now back to Chayefsky. I thought we should start off with something in common. I will call myself Lydia Wilensky (even though my father and his brothers legally changed their names to Wilen, way before marriage and children). Chayefsky…Wilensky—something in common. The first question Chayefsky asked me was “What does your father do for a living?” I thought it was a strange question. I told him my father is a milkman, delivering to stores, not doors. He said, “My father was also a milkman.” It was a strange question, but stranger was the fact that both our fathers had the same jobs. At the end of our pleasant and trivial conversation, as he was walking me to the door, he said “I have a piece of advice for you.” Finally! “Drop the ‘sky’ from your name. Wilen is a better theatrical name than Wilensky.” Little did he know, I added it before I got to his office. A few years later, if he looked at the Network cast list, he would have seen: Hunter’s Secretary–Lydia Wilen. (Dear me, the ‘sky’ had fallen.) What are the chances of both our fathers being milkmen? What are the chances of him asking me that question? And then his advice to me about shortening my last name? The biggest “What are the Chances…” was that I actually had a meeting with him. I never saw him again in person, not even during the week I spent on location in Canada, working as an actress on his film Network. If you have a “What Are The Chances...? story you would like to share, I’d love to know about it. Email it to me at editor@theinsider1.com. Don’t be shy! Lydia Hope Wilen had a successful collaboration with her late sister Joany as nonfiction bestselling authors (18 books), journalists, TV personalities, writers and talent coordinators on a Nickelodeon series hosted by Leonard Nimoy, Reading Rainbow episodes, skit writers for Dr. Ruth's TV show, Diet America Challenge on CBS, and writers of screenplays (optioned but not produced yet). Lydia is writing on her own now and has just completed an extraordinary book for young people and their parents. It will have them laughing and learning...once she gets an agent and it gets published.

By Andy Borowitz November 28, 2022 PALM BEACH (The Borowitz Report)—Donald J. Trump revealed that he did not know the identity of a recent dining companion at Mar-a-Lago because of the white hood his guest was wearing. “The guy shows up in a white hood, and I thought, That’s some kind of wacko,” Trump said. “I thought since he was a friend of Ye’s maybe it was some weird new fashion Ye was trying to sell. He’s been dropped by a lot of companies and has been treated very unfairly.” “Then I thought, Is this Mike Lindell?” Trump continued. “He’s the MyPillow guy, but he sells things besides pillows, like sheets. And he’s kind of a joker. Mike is a lot of fun, but the press doesn’t report that. They’ve been very nasty to him.” “Whoever it was, I didn’t think it was very smart to be wearing white to dinner with me,” he added. “When I eat, a lot of ketchup goes flying. Who would wear a white hood when they know they’re going to get hit by ketchup? Only a wacko or a joker. Anyway, he didn’t get any ketchup on the hood, so everything was fine.” Andy Borowitz is a Times best-selling author and a comedian who has written for The New Yorker since 1998. He writes The Borowitz Report, a satirical column on the news.

By John Rolfe / Red Hook, N.Y. Could it happen to you? Maybe it already has, or a person you know has been a victim of gun violence. I’m lucky. So far, the closest this madness has come into my life is: A kid with whom I went to middle school was shot and killed by his father during a domestic dispute in the mid-’70s. In December 1993, I decided to stay late at my office in Manhattan, which spared me from getting on the Long Island Railroad train that gunman Colin Ferguson shot up, killing six and wounding 19. A shooting in Kingston, NY, not far from my home, in 2005. A 22-year-old fixated on the Columbine High School massacre of 13 people in 1999 fired off 60 rounds in a Best Buy store I often frequented. Fortunately, only two people were injured. I wasn’t there nor was anyone I know. Death or trauma by firearm is an enduring fact of American life. Every day brings news of shootings somewhere in the USA. Mass casualty incidents such as the ones in Colorado Springs on Nov. 19 and Chesapeake, Va, on Nov. 22 get the most coverage, inspiring short-term national grief and calls for gun control that usually fade. There have been 610 mass shootings (four or more dead) to date this year and 111 high-profile incidents since Columbine, a landmark event of America’s gun violence epidemic. We’re growing used to the carnage and learning simply to live and die with it. So far this year 75,296 people have been killed or wounded according to the Gun Violence Archive. Just add guns to the list of how you will most likely shuffle off this mortal coil. It can happen any time: at work, in a store, a theater, a club, a church, a train, you name it. We all end up at the Great Gig in the Sky and the manner of one’s own demise is not something most people enjoy contemplating. But for what it’s worth, according to the National Safety Council, your odds of going belly-up from the following causes in America are as follows: Heart disease: 1 in 6 Cancer: 1 in 7 Opioid overdose: 1 in 67 Car accident: 1 in 101 Gun attack: 1 in 221 Plane crash: 1 in 9,821 Lightning strike: 1 in 15,300 I refuse to live in constant fear, but I admit that I’ve begun thinking about the distinct possibility of being fed some lead in someone’s deranged rampage or an act of political violence. I drive a school bus and active shooter protocols have been mentioned for the first time at our annual training session. I can’t help wondering about the middle school students I haul each day. Would one of them actually do something awful? Could one of my co-workers snap? Gun violence is such a complex, deeply entrenched and multifaceted problem that it will take generations to solve or even improve. We are a culture that loves guns and fiercely protects them while our fixation on fame, material wealth and differences (race, religion, political affiliation, gender, sexual orientation, etc.) fosters anger, discontent, grievance and mental illness. Americans have long embraced settling disputes with violence. Just consider the “romance” of our proud Wild West heritage. The more available guns are, the more likely it is they will be used, but until we control our constant urge to kill and the ease at which it can be done, little will change. Given mankind’s progress or lack thereof combating climate change, hope is hard to cling to in this instance. It’s a nightmare trying to live in a country where so many people are willing to pay such a high price for the sake of owning a gun with as few restrictions as possible. I’m still trying to see the wider benefit of that freedom. I’ll probably take a bullet before I do. John Rolfe is a former senior editor for Sports Illustrated for Kids, a longtime columnist for the Poughkeepsie Journal/USA Today Network, and author of The Goose in the Bathroom: Stirring Tales of Family Life. His school bus drivin’ blog “Hellions, Mayhem and Brake Failure” is parked on his website Celestialchuckle.com (https://celestialchuckle.com) with the meter running.

By Judi Markowitz My dad was considered the rebel in his family. He was born in Janow, Poland in 1916 and his family was Orthodox. Practically every Jewish person in Europe was observant during this time period. When my dad was 10 years old, he traveled to the United States with his mother, grandfather, and two older brothers. They took a slow boat ride to America. The Flastersteins were moving on up — or so they thought. They left their profitable family farm behind for a better life. My grandfather headed to America first —a decade prior to their departure. He heard the streets were paved with gold and that his fortune would be waiting. Sadly, he found neither. Culture shock cannot even begin to describe what the family witnessed when they arrived in Pittsburgh. My grandfather’s business acumen was less than ideal — the family struggled. My dad was wide-eyed and took in the landscape – he wanted more. As he grew older, he made it known that he did not want to follow the strict religious footprint of his family. But my grandfather had other ideas. He wanted him to become a mashgiach, overseeing that kosher meat was properly handled according to Jewish law. My dad wasn’t buying into that career choice and my grandfather didn’t like his “American” assimilation ideas. Religion was no longer on my dad’s mind In 1939, when my dad and mom got married in Akron, Ohio, they kept a kosher home, but my dad worked on Saturdays instead of observing the Sabbath. Shortly after, they moved to Michigan. My dad and his two brothers changed their last name from Flasterstein to Foster, so there would be no religious affiliation. This was done for business purposes. The brother’s owned a small grocery store. My mother continued with the tradition of lighting Shabbos candles every Friday night. However, Saturdays were reserved for lunch and shopping with me and my sister. Eventually kosher food went by the wayside too. My mother started to become more “modern”, and we delighted in eating forbidden treif (Yiddish for not kosher) food— cheeseburgers, pork ribs, shrimp, lobster and bacon became staples in our home. But never a glass of milk with meat! That was a no, no. According to Jewish dietary laws, milk and meat are always kept separate. Holidays were observed with the extended family, who continued to follow traditional religious practices.. My dad would still attend services at an Orthodox synagogue on the High Holidays. However, this is where his observance ended. When I had a family, my husband, who is also Jewish, and I decided to join a reform temple since we were not brought up religious and temple life felt comfortable. It was a welcoming community. My children received a fine Jewish education along with having their bat and bar mitzvahs celebrated in reform style. And then 10 years later, there was a 180 degree turn of events. Our next-door neighbor and close family friend, Jack Jaffe, hosted a weekly Torah study group that was quite popular. Many of our neighbors came on a regular basis. Todd, our oldest son, was invited to sit in when he was 23, in his last year of college. From the outset, Todd was fascinated, and he told us that Rabbi Meisels, who instructed the group, was charismatic. Todd said that this gathering was not like the Sunday school or bar mitzvah classes he had attended in previous years. He came home and announced that he was interested in continuing with the group and desired to have private lessons with the rabbi as well. Todd instinctively knew the religious path was the best life for him. After graduating from college, Todd went to Israel to study Torah in a yeshiva (Jewish school) for those who wanted to become religious. The name for this is a ba’al teshuva— Hebrew, for a path to return to Judaism. This two-month excursion was his graduation gift. However, my husband Jeffrey and I were skeptical at first and discussed this journey with Rabbi Meisels. His response – Todd’s a cupcake – he will be back in two weeks. The rabbi knew we were a close family and assumed that taking off for two months to study Torah would be a stretch. He was wrong. A two-month jaunt turned into nine months. When the day came for Todd’s flight to Israel he wore typical college-style clothing — jeans, a colorful print shirt, athletic shoes, with his long, curly, hair in a ponytail. He did not fit the mold of those who worked or attended the yeshiva. He was worlds away from the black and white clothing of religious men. It didn’t matter — they welcomed him with open arms. This strange, new land was captivating to Todd, and the program offered an abundance of tours to important Jewish sites. He immersed himself in his studies and called frequently to let us know about his Jewish education. Our son became our teacher concerning all things Orthodox. Todd was on a learning quest, and we were the wide-eyed beneficiaries. This was unfamiliar terrain to all of us and Todd was filled with joy to be on the road to religion — he felt complete. He had found his place in the world. No one becomes Orthodox overnight. Todd explained that he had to start learning Torah and the practices of Orthodox Judaism as a beginner. Shortly after his arrival in Israel, Todd began to fully observe the Sabbath and all religious holidays while assuming the obligations of an observant Jew. It is not an easy path, especially when coming from a secular background. We were immensely proud of his desire to lead a religious life. We knew he was happy and felt at home in Israel. It was at this point that he announced he wanted to be called by his Hebrew name — Binyomin. The transition was difficult for us, but somehow, we made it work — that is, most of the time. Old habits stick like glue. After three years of learning Torah in the yeshiva and working on his master’s degree online from Texas University, Todd decided to start dating with the express desire to marry. He was 26. Instead of swiping left or right on social media, Todd placed his dating selection in the hands of the rabbi he studied with. This person is called a shadchan (Yiddish for matchmaker) and they take their due diligence seriously. They gather information about the prospective spouse who is about to be fixed up. Parents want to know the inside scoop concerning who they are letting their daughter, or son, go on a date with. Keep in mind — dating is for marriage and the Internet is not used as a resource. When dating, attraction is always thrown into the mix, but most importantly life goals, ambitions and adherence to similar religious beliefs are the most critical topics. Dating is similar to the secular world in that couples can meet at a coffee shop, go to a museum, or take a walk in the park. But here is the caveat — generally no one dates more than six to eight times unless they have intentions to marry. And — this is the part I like — if a prospective dater wants out of the situation, the rabbi or matchmaker intervenes. You don’t have to call and disappoint the other person. That makes the dating scene much easier. Todd was fixed up a few times and then the date of all dates was put in motion. But Todd had to fly to New York to meet her. It was promising — they hit it off. She flew to Michigan and the match was ignited. We found out her name was Chana Tova but Jeffrey and I couldn’t meet her until they had decided to become engaged. Stranger yet, Todd’s brothers and sister couldn’t meet her either. The two prospective mates made several trips back and forth from New York and Michigan. When they decided to marry, we finally met Chana Tova at the rabbi’s house. Jeffrey, wanted to know how to pronounce Chana Tova’s name properly. After several attempts, he finally used guttural sounds and placed his finger on his Adams apple to pronounce it correctly. He's had it right ever since. The wedding took place on November 12th, 2006. in Brooklyn. It was our first Orthodox wedding, and it was an eye opener, to say the least. Men and women sat separately during the wedding ceremony and the dinner. Dancing was also separate. There was a mechitza (partition) between the rooms. It was a beautiful and intriguing event. The atmosphere was electric and as the band played, dancers — friends and relatives — entertained the happy couple separately and then together. As the entertainment continued, my son’s new father-in-law rode through the hall on a unicycle, and Chana Tova glided around on rollerblades. Then basketball, or small ball, was played. The ball was hit from the women’s side, over the mechitza to the men’s side. The hoop was placed in the middle. To top the evening off, Chana Tova wrote “Mazel Tov” (congratulations) on the wood floor and set it on fire. A flaming fun time was had by all. The newlyweds made their home in Arzei Habira, Jerusalem, Todd continued his learning mission and started a three-year program to become a rabbi. Chana Tova worked in a girl’s Jewish seminary and climbed the ladder from madricha (counselor) to dorm mother. When they returned to Detroit for visits, we became a house divided—not by religious beliefs—by food, pots, pans, dishes, silverware, glasses and serving pieces. All non-kosher items stayed in their respective cabinets and drawers while preparing meals for our son’s family — never the twain shall meet! Jeffrey loves to barbeque, so naturally, we purchased another grill — it was designated kosher. We had to adhere to strict kosher laws and sometimes mistakes were made. We would use the wrong knife, plate, or pan (fleishig and milchig dishes — Yiddish for meat and milk, are separated) and then utensils had to be discarded. It was a true departure from our routine, and we had numerous questions about the rituals of keeping kashrut (kosher). It is a process, and we are always learning something new. In 2020, after 17 years in Israel, Todd and Chana Tova finally found their way back to Michigan, along with our seven grandchildren. Jeffrey and I view that initial two-month graduation present as the gift that keeps giving, and we are immensely happy they decided to put down roots here. Interestingly, my dad’s Hebrew name was Binyomin, the same as Todd’s. My dad would have been surprised and very proud of Todd’s decision to became observant. Todd took the road less traveled by, and it has made all the difference in his life. Judi Markowitz is a retired high school English teacher of 34 years. She primarily taught 12th grade and had the pleasure of her three sons gracing her classes. In addition, she taught debate, forensics, and Detroit film. Judi has four adult children and seven wonderful grandchildren. She is married to Jeffrey Markowitz, whom she met in high school. Judi grew up in Oak Park, Mich. which had a stellar school district, with excellent teachers. The city provided activities for all–and there were even sidewalks. Judi moved to Huntington Woods as an adult, which is a half mile from her childhood home. She wanted the same experience for her children as she had growing up, and Huntington Woods provided that. The View from Four Foot Two is Judi’s first book.

By Lydia Hope Wilen / New York City All Things Come to Those Who Wait…on Tables Years ago, after making the rounds of advertising agency casting departments for over a year, I got a call one afternoon asking me, “Are you available Monday to work as a waitress on Search for Tomorrow?” Let me see. Between signing up for unemployment and my command performance for the Queen, “Yes, I’m available Monday.” I then asked, “Should I drop by to pick up my lines, or will you mail them to me?” I was told, “It’s not a big part. You’ll be able to memorize the lines the day of the taping.” My resume says I’m a quick study. I figured that’s why she called me. Then I asked, “When do I report for a costume fitting?” I was told, “No costume fitting. CBS has a large wardrobe department. Don’t worry. They’ll take care of you when you get there Monday.” Oh, but I do worry. The casting agent made it clear that she’s giving me a big opportunity. She’ll watch my appearance on the soap opera, and if I do well, there will be more acting jobs in my future. Now I Lay Me Down…to Worry What if I can’t remember my lines? What if I have to carry a tray with cups and saucers and my hands shake and the cups rattle? What if they don’t have a waitress uniform my size? I stayed awake hour after hour, inventing what-ifs as the circles under my eyes grew bigger and darker. What if the makeup man doesn’t have enough cover-up to cover them up? At last, time to get dressed just as I was about to fall asleep. Was I Really on the Game Show “What’s My Line?” I arrived early and checked in with the woman at the desk. “Hello. I’m Lydia Wilen, the waitress.” She mumbled my name to herself as she went through the cast list. It only took her an eternity to find my name at the very bottom of the list. She made sure to inform me that my name was last. Did she think it would make me happy to know that? “Well, last but not least” I said without really knowing what I meant by that. She didn’t know either, “I see” she answered unseeingly. “Here’s your script, Linda-- “I’m Lydia.” “Uh, Lydia. Take a seat until the director is ready to rehearse the second scene. I sat down and started thumbing through the script to find my part. I figured, the sooner I started memorizing my lines, the sooner I’d have them memorized. I thumbed through the entire script and then re-thumbed. Nowhere did I see anyone or any bit of dialogue resembling a waitress. Not one “Check, please” or “There’s a fly in my soup.” Is it possible I’m here on the wrong day? I walked back to the woman at the desk and told her that I went through the script looking for my part but couldn’t find anyone resembling a waitress. She didn’t seem surprised, or even concerned. “The director will tell you what to say. Don’t worry.” Oh, but I do worry. And this was very worrisome. Not at a Loss for Words When the director appeared, he announced, “Second scene actors, please. Who’s the waitress?” “I am,” I said, stepping forward. “What’s your name?” “Lydia.” “Were you ever a waitress, Lydia?” “Funny you should ask. I was a waitress in Frank Perry’s film Last Summer.” “Okay. Good. The scene opens on you. You’ll have a Coke in your hand. I want you to yell to the short-order cook. You know, say what you said in the film, then turn to Ellen and say, ‘Here’s your Coke.’” The director walked away before I could question him about saying what I said in the film. He was busy staging the rest of the scene with the other actors. Then I heard him say, “Let’s take it from the top.” The top. That was me. I stood in position, turned toward the short-order cook, making believe I had a Coke in my hand and making believe there was a short-order cook. The director pointed his finger at me and said, “Action.” “You boys got some identification? (Turning towards Ellen). Here’s your Coke.” “Stop! Cut! Wait! What does that mean?” “You said I should say what I said in the film. That’s what I said.” “Look Linda, forget what you said in the film. Just give an order like a waitress would. You know, something waitress-y.” (How dumb of Linda to misspeak. I’m sure glad I’m Lydia.) What does a waitress say? It was at that moment my years of training paid off. I became a worn-out waitress slinging hash in some crummy dive. “One BLT down, easy on the mayo. Here’s your Coke, hon.” The director was pleased with the first run-through. He said, “We’re a few seconds under, so don’t be afraid to stretch it out a little.” I got my cue and off I went, “One BLT down, easy on the mayo, two medium-well burgers. Here’s your Coke, hon.” Once again, the director was satisfied, and after giving notes to a couple of the actors, said “One more time from the top.” By then, I was relaxed and really into the part. “One BLT down, easy on the mayo, two burgers medium well, a side of fries. Here’s your Coke, hon.” “Stop! Cut! Wait! Yoo-hoo waitress. What’s your name?” “Lydia.” “Lydia, this is turning into the Galloping Gourmet. Do you think you could limit yourself to one from Column A and none from Column B?” We rehearsed the scene one more time with me 86-ing (that’s restaurant kitchen code for canceling a dish) the side of fries. The scene went well (medium well?) and we were dismissed and sent to wardrobe and makeup. I will spare you the aggravation I went through to get a waitress uniform and to have makeup put on, simply because the part of the waitress was not in the script. Dress Rehearsal Without a Dress By the time the dress rehearsal was called, I still didn’t have a unform, so I showed up in my raincoat. Don’t ask! And no one did ask…or cared. I thought, it’s all worth it, considering that this may be the start of my soap opera career. By tape time, I showed up in a much-too-large uniform with beads of sweat streaking down the last-minute makeup job, really looking like a worn-out waitress slinging hash in a crummy dive. After one final rehearsal, the show taped and we were asked to hang in for ten minutes until the tape was double-checked. Ten minutes later, we were thanked and dismissed. TV or Not TV…That Is The Question We taped on Monday and the episode was scheduled to air on Wednesday at 12:30 p.m. That gave us 40 hours to get in touch with everyone we ever knew. My mother took Queens, Far Rockaway, and Long Island. My sister’s territory was Brooklyn and lower Manhattan. I managed Midtown, the Bronx and Yonkers. (We didn’t know anyone on Staten Island.) Two days later, we manned our station—CBS. My mother went to a TV and appliance store near her office. The store’s owner agreed to let her and her co-workers watch the soap opera there. My sister Joany was able to come home lunchtime and watch it with me. There’s No Business Like No-Show Business It was time for the oh-so-familiar Search for Tomorrow clouds dancing by to the music of the mighty Wurlitzer. During the first scene, I told Joany that my scene was next…”Don’t blink.” A couple of seconds before my scene was to start, I said “NOW!” But the next words we heard were, “We interrupt this program to bring you live coverage from Kennedy Airport where Terence Cardinal Cooke has just landed on his return from a visit with the Pope.” After a few words of welcome from Gabe Pressman, followed by the Cardinal’s words of appreciation for the reception, the announcer said, “We now resume the program already in progress.” Our reaction was weird. We both got hysterical laughing. With all the calls asking for work, the excitement when I got the job, the anxiety before getting to the studio, the anxiety once I was at the studio. I could have worn my raincoat instead of that awful uniform. I could have said, “You boys got some identification?” It wouldn’t have mattered. No one saw the scene. The phone rang. It was my mother. “Lydia, are you okay?” “Ma, of course I’m okay. That should be the worst thing that ever happens to me,” I said, beating her to her own line. “That should be the worst thing that happens to any one of us,” she said, doing me one better. Then my mother and I had a quick cry before she had to hang up and go back to work. Calls started coming in with all kinds of consolations and suggestions including reporting this incident to the Anti-Defamation League. My sister’s words were the sweetest and most optimistic when she said, “Being preempted by a man of the cloth has got to be an omen of great things to come, so take heart and don’t worry.” Oh, but I do worry…however, not about overexposure. What are the Chances of that Happening? The Cardinal (who was quite sick at the time) visiting the Pope and on his way home, landing at JFK, being met by a CBS camera crew and on air live, for no more than seven minutes…the same seven minutes of the start and end of that day’s Search for Tomorrow second scene. The incredible disappointment may have ended my soap opera career but gave birth to a journalism career when my article about the incident was published in the magazine TV Dawn to Dusk. Little did my sister know that it was also a good omen for her. Joany and I later became a successful collaborating team as writers. If you have a “What Are The Chances...? story you would like to share, I’d love to know about it. Email it to me at editor@theinsider1.com. Don’t be shy! Lydia Hope Wilen had a successful collaboration with her late sister Joany as nonfiction bestselling authors (18 books), journalists, TV personalities, writers and talent coordinators on a Nickelodeon series hosted by Leonard Nimoy, Reading Rainbow episodes, skit writers for Dr. Ruth's TV show, Diet America Challenge on CBS, and writers of screenplays (optioned but not produced yet). Lydia is writing on her own now and has just completed an extraordinary book for young people and their parents. It will have them laughing and learning...once she gets an agent and it gets published.

Fred Plotkin, a pleasure activist and passionate Italy and culinary expert, speaks each Friday with leading people in the arts FRED PLOTKIN is one of America’s foremost experts on opera and has distinguished himself in many fields as a writer, speaker, consultant and as a compelling teacher. He is an expert on everything Italian, the person other so-called Italy experts turn to for definitive information.  Fred discovered the concept of "The Renaissance Man" as a small child and has devoted himself to pursuing that ideal as the central role of his life. In a “Public Lives” profile in The New York Times on August 30, 2002, Plotkin was described as "one of those New York word-of-mouth legends, known by the cognoscenti for his renaissance mastery of two seemingly separate disciplines: music and the food of Italy." In the same publication, on May 11, 2006, it was written that "Fred is a New Yorker, but has the soul of an Italian."