By Judi Markowitz My final stroll down the hallways of Berkley High School, a public school in suburban Detroit, was quite eerie — it felt like I was walking down a plank to the unknown. It was June, 2020, and I had made the decision to retire after 34 years as an English teacher, at the end of February, before Covid closed the schools and the country. The hallways were dimly lit and only a few teachers were allowed in the school at one time due to Covid restrictions. But I saw no one as I made my way to the main office. I turned the handle of the door — it didn’t budge. It was dark inside and no one was home — no secretaries, no counselors, no administrators, and no students. I used my trusty key one last time. As I walked through the door, I felt like I was entering an alternate universe. On the day that I should have been saying goodbye to the people I worked with, exchanging hugs and reminiscing, there was perfect and unexcepted solitude. I proceeded to the front of the office and laid down my precious cargo — keys and an IPad. I left a note on a Post-it stating I would be back in the fall to visit. I looked around one last time and made my way back through the very doors I had opened thousands of times. It was not the good-bye I had envisioned for my last day. Not only did Covid take away my desired exit from the teaching profession I loved so dearly, but it also took away the last time I would be at a graduation ceremony with my students. I never missed a graduation — they are magical. I was even robbed of telling my students, in person, of my intentions to retire —email had to suffice. The entire situation seemed surreal. I felt as if this scenario was like the 1951 movie The Day the Earth Stood Still. In the film, an alien arrived on earth, warning humankind to live peacefully or be destroyed, as they were a threat to other planets. Like the movie, we were now in the eye of the storm — life as we knew it came to a screeching halt. We are not a peaceful planet, and this alien, the coronavirus, had us in its grip. We were being destroyed. When in-person teaching was no longer permitted, virtual classes took over. The pandemic interrupted the entire educational process and innovation; teaching via Zoom was now center stage. I taught 18-year-old twelfth graders and, unfortunately, my students infrequently appeared in our virtual classroom. They were scared, confused, lonely and didn’t know how nor want to navigate this strange new world. Eventually they began to hand in assignments — but at strange times. I am a night owl, so I was grading papers at 1:00 am in the morning — sometimes even at 3:00 am. The senior class had plans that were interrupted too. Childhood dreams of walking across the stage to receive their diplomas were dashed. The Senior Prom, taking pictures with friends, family, and teachers — eliminated. The Senior Walk down the hallways – strutting their superiority to underclassmen— gone. The All-Night Party after graduation, sponsored by parents and the school— cancelled. I had plans for my retirement that went down the tubes as well due to the pandemic. After teaching at Berkley High School each morning, afternoons were spent at CASA (Center for Advanced Studies and the Arts). I had been there for 29 years and taught Detroit Film, along with other subjects throughout the years. I thought I had everything figured out for my next teaching adventure, but Covid changed my well-laid plans. I planned to continue teaching part time, two hours a day, just enough time to satisfy my passion for the profession. I wasn’t willing to give up my career so quickly. But with declining enrollment rates and students wanting to stay home and learn virtually, my classes went up in smoke. Sadly, I was out of the game. As for the senior class, new and inventive ideas took hold. Administrators and teachers worked tirelessly to create gratifying solutions to celebrate their achievements. It wasn’t what they imagined, but with super-hero strength — Mighty Mouse came to save the day. Our fearless leader, the principal, never missed a beat by sending emails of encouragement each week to the senior class as well as the entire student body— it was wonderful! And then new plans were set in motion. In place of the Senior Walk, 12th graders (some accompanied by parents), drove slowly through designated areas in the various parking lots of the school to wave, talk and give air hugs to staff members who were standing six feet apart along the route. It was overwhelming to see all the students once again. After this event, staff members recorded messages to their senior classes, and these were presented in style —virtually of course. I drafted a poem. Pictures were taken with caps and gowns and displayed on their day of graduation. Each student’s name was called then messages and emojis could be sent. Computers and phones were in close range to view the event. It was a special moment during an uncertain time. There were even innovative ideas on the horizon for retiring staff members. Typically, we celebrate with a luncheon either in the school or a designated restaurant. Speeches are delivered, awards are presented and there is the continuing bond of friendship and respect in the air. On occasion, I would even think about what I was going to say to the staff on that coveted day. But my thoughts, gratitude for my career, student interactions, and relationships with my colleagues were, once again, presented by email. However, due to a nice turn of events, I was fortunate enough to attend a face-to-face gathering — six feet apart, sitting in lawn chairs — to celebrate my retirement with the very people with whom I was the closest — the English Department. My department chair organized a “sendoff” to celebrate the moment. I was now able to tell them, in person, how much our arduous work and dedication meant to the students. Our commitment to the teaching profession was unwavering. I was honored to be their colleague and cherished the many years we taught together. As I reflect on those early days of the pandemic, I am proud of how educators persevered instead of crumbling. We didn’t let Covid conquer our desire to educate students during this rough time — and we provided memorable moments for the senior class as well. As for my retirement soirée, well, it was simply the best! My Ode to 2020 Seniors (In Dr. Seuss Style) Congratulations, today is your day, You’re off to great places You’re off and away. The school year started great, All Seniors will attest Football, Powder Puff, Homecoming, Life was at its best. Decisions, decisions, What college to attend, What do I do next? Too many options before the end. Soccer, Basketball, Hockey Band Practice and plays, So many fun activities To fill each and every day. Seeing friends in the hallway Eating lunch at your favorite place, No doubt, Seniors ruled the school There was no immediate alarm to face. Then boom! the doors closed What a huge surprise. No more mingling with friends, It changed quickly, right before our eyes. The path wasn’t easy What a lesson to behold, But you have your future, And adventures yet to be told. So go out in the world And find your place, Be that person you dreamed about Do it with pride and grace. Don’t forget where you came from Berkley is your legacy, You’ll always be a Berkley Bear And that is plain to see. Yes, things are different And things are new, But you have places to go, And things to do. 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 Laurence Lerman / New York City Jules Bass made it possible for a nice Jewish boy in the suburbs of Jersey by way of Brooklyn to learn all about the legends of Christmas. To take in the tales of Santa Claus, his reindeer, his workshop and his elves. Of course, I’m talking about Bass’ Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, the venerable 1964 stop motion animated Christmas special produced by the team of Arthur Rankin Jr. and Bass, whose Rankin/Bass Productions was also behind such time-honored holiday specials as 1969’s Frosty the Snowman (featuring the voices of comedians Jackie Vernon and Jimmy Durante) and 1970’s Santa Claus is Coming to Town (with Fred Astaire). The three programs remain annual television staples. Jules Bass died of an age-related illness on Tuesday, October 25, at an assisted living facility in Rye, New York. He was 87. My favorite character in Rudolph was Hermey, the adorable blonde misfit elf who runs away from Santa’s workshop because he wants to be dentist. You remember him, right? He hooks up with a vagabond reindeer sporting a glowing crimson proboscis, and eventually returns home with the Abominable Snowman in tow, a once terrifying beast who is tamed after Hermey performs an emergency dental extraction on him. Hermey was a creation of the Philadelphia-born Bass, who attended New York University and worked at an advertising agency before meeting Arthur Rankin, Jr., an art director at ABC TV in 1955. The two formed a team and initially made television commercials, with Bass primarily serving as a writer, composer and lyricist and Rankin taking on the more artistic duties. The two moved into moved into TV and movies, launching their production house Videocraft International in 1960. Specializing in animated programs with a focus on stop motion techniques, they released their first syndicated television series, The New Adventures of Pinocchio, the same year. The series consisted of 130 ambitious five-minute chapters, which were then pieced together and distributed as five-chapter, 25-minute episodes. Pinocchio was very well-received and the two ambitious creators renamed their company Rankin/Bass Productions before diving into an ambitious slate of programming, which began with Rudoph and continued to feed a growing demand for family-styled holiday entertainment. Bass reportedly took the lead on the scripting and also wrote the lyrics for the majority of the songs in the programs he and Rankin created, under both his own name and the pseudonym Julian P. Gardner. With his musical collaborator Maury Laws, Bass penned plucky, earworm-y tunes that were performed by such talents as Danny Kaye, Mickey Rooney, Ed Wynn, Patty Duke, Ray Bolger, Shirley Booth, Phyllis Diller and the Vienna Boys Choir. Bass and Rankin’s other notable TV projects during their heyday include The Ballad of Smokey the Bear (1966), The Wacky World of Mother Goose (1967), The Little Drummer Boy (1968), the Easter special Here Comes Peter Cottontail (1967), the creature-feature musical Mad Monster Party (1967), The Year Without a Santa Claus (1974), the feature film The Last Unicorn (1982) and Silverhawks (1986). Bass and Rankin’s offerings occasionally extended beyond the gentler, family-oriented holiday programming for which they were best known. Their 1970 animated TV movie The Mad, Mad, Mad Comedians featuring voiceover work by comics George Burns, Flip Wilson, Groucho Marks, and the Smothers Brothers appealed to a distinctly older audience, while their music-filled adaptations of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit (1977) and The Return of the King (1980) also clicked with a slightly older audience. (The Hobbit won a Peabody Award). Bass retired to France in the late Eighties and, a decade later, wrote two children’s books, Herb, The Vegetarian Dragon (1999) and a companion cookbook for kids, Cooking With Herb, The Vegetarian Dragon. He also penned the 2001 novel Headhunters which was adapted for the 2011 film Monte Carlo starring Selena Gomez. Rankin died in 2014 at the age of 89 and now Bass, the name on the right side of the slash, is gone. But put on your TV in December and you’ll be confident that their indelible, delightful and timeless work isn’t going anywhere. 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 Andrea Sachs, Editor I can’t claim Jane Fishman as a blood relative, as can Bonnie Fishman, our lucky cooking columnist. But after editing Jane’s seven stories for The Insider, and having lunch with Jane and her wife Carmela Aliffi during their trip in March to New York City, I knew that Jane would become one of my journalistic role models. She had all the creativity and curiosity of the writers and authors whom I most admire and try to emulate. The three of us had a delightful lunch on March 6th at Harvest Kitchen, a popular restaurant on the Upper West Side. As part of an animated conversation, Jane and I talked about our mutual love for journalism and our common roots in suburban Detroit. When we said goodbye, Jane and Carmela and I made plans to see each other again on their next visit to Manhattan. It was not to be. Jane passed away at 78 on October 16 in Savannah, Ga. Bonnie Fishman’s lovely tribute to Jane, her first cousin, follows as part of our cover package celebrating our gifted Savannah contributor. We are also running a tribute to Jane by Zach Dennis that appeared on October 19 in the Savannah Morning News, where Jane worked for more than 30 years. Finally, we are re-running our favorite story by Jane, “If the Dress Fits, Wear it,” about her 2021 marriage to Carmela after a 20-year courtship. We encourage you to stick around and get to know Jane. She was a wonderful teammate and talented wordsmith. Her many friends at The Insider, including yours truly, will miss her. Click to Continue Reading...

By Bonnie Fishman / San Francisco Bay Area My cousin Jane was an extraordinary woman. She was a writer, gardener, activist, teacher, accomplished cook, and traveler. She died peacefully at 78 on October 16, with her wife Carmela Aliffi by her side. There was never a more loving, devoted couple than these two. They were a hoot together. I’m proud to say that Jane and I were first cousins, even though our families were estranged when we were children and for most of our lives. We reconnected with Jane about 20 years ago at the bar mitzvah in Southfield, Mich. of our mutual cousin, Eric. My sister, Nancy, and I hadn’t seen Jane since we were kids in Detroit . We decided to find her in the sea of people lining the pews of the huge synagogue. We went up the center aisle, took one look at a smiling woman who looked just like our family, and asked, “Is that you, Jane?” Her quick-witted response? “Of course it’s me!” The three of us ran into the ladies room like 13-year-old girls avoiding the rabbi’s sermon and cackling away! Ever since then, Jane and Carmela have been involved in our lives, even though they lived in Savannah, Ga., and the rest of us cousins lived in Detroit all those years. We became fast friends and close cousins. Jane would just call us “cuz.” We solidified that bond at my dad’s 85th birthday party in 2005 in Florida, where most of the Fishman cousins came to help celebrate. I would see Jane during the years from 2008 to 2010, when my dad and her mom both lived in the same assisted living facility in Southfield. Jane would come up from Savannah and I’d meet her in the lobby for a visit. When her mom passed in 2010, Jane’s first phone calls were to me and our cousin, Jeri. We sat in her mother’s small studio apartment, comforting Jane. Even though all those years had passed with no connection, she felt close enough to reach out to us at a very sad time. Jane lived life to the fullest. She had friends all over the world, and particularly in her Savannah community. Once when visiting her in her home, we spent the day flitting about town. Everywhere we went, people knew Jane. I was with a local celebrity! She was a people person if I ever saw one. The best part of these encounters was how folks just lit up when they saw her. So special. Jane was a stitch. She was a master storyteller, just proclaiming what was on her mind, unfiltered, and would soon have you rolling on the floor. One of our favorite Fishman stories was a cousins’ reunion we had in September, 2016 at our family’s old Camp Michigama on Peach Lake in W. Branch, Mich. A few of us went for a lake swim. My sister Nancy followed in a canoe for safety reasons. My cousin Carol and I were swimming east toward the dock. Jane, on the other hand, kept going south. Nancy yelled, “Jane, you’re going south!” a number of times. Jane kept moving on. That became a catch phrase for us when Jane marched to the beat of her own drum. Last April, we had a Fishman family reunion at our compound in California, as described in my column “We Are Family”. Unbeknown to us, it would be our last time with Jane. We had a blast. A fond memory of her: we were having coffee on my front porch and Chester, our springer spaniel, has a playful tendency to “steal” stuff out of guests’ suitcases. He started parading around the orchard with something in his mouth. Jane pointed and said with amusement, “Is that my bra?” Getting it back was no easy feat, several of us chasing the dog in circles. What more can I say? Jane is gone but will not be forgotten. She had a very open heart to all peoples from all walks of life. Her intellect, her wit, her warmth, her myriad interests will be missed by the Fishman family and the rest of the world. Click to Continue Reading... 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 Zach Dennis October 19, 2022 Reprinted with permission from the Savannah Morning News. One thing to know about Jane Fishman: she LOVED compost. “Everybody remembers her for her gardening… but she told me once that really what she loved was compost, and she would be quite happy just making compost all the time, instead,” remembered longtime friend, colleague and neighbor Mary Landers. The essence of compost is gathering and mixing ingredients together to improve the soil and leave the plants more nourished. For decades, Jane Fishman did the same and nourished the Savannah community with her writing, personality and spirit. On Sunday, Fishman died after a battle with cancer. She was 78. Carmela Aliffi said Fishman immediately fell in love with Savannah when she came to town after accepting a job at the Savannah Morning News in 1989. "She immediately fell in with some great people like Betsy Cain and Alvin Neely...through her writing (she met) all kinds of people," she said. "She's one of those people who can make you laugh and cry in the same column and she introduced Savannah to many people." In a turn that would make Fishman chuckle, Landers remembers coming into the Savannah Morning News newsroom after she started and thinking of Jane as “one of the cool kids” in the back of the newsroom with the other arts reporters. “I never thought I’d get to be friends with one of the cool kids so I was thrilled when I did,” Landers said. “She wasn’t in the office that much — she was out and about.” Landers remembers Jane’s love for little black dogs. “When I first started at the paper, she had Patches, and then Patches died and she had Charlie for a long time. And now she had Sweetie. In September, she called one day or Carmela (her wife) called and she, Jane and I discussed how Sweetie needed to have a backstory so we decided that Sweetie was actually Sweetie Schwartz and had this whole history,” Landers said. Local author and writer Jessica Leigh Lebos remembers meeting Fishman for the first time. Lebos had just moved to Savannah and had been a newspaper columnist back in California. Her mother-in-law immediately brought her to the synagogue to meet Fishman because she was so excited that she knew another female, Jewish newspaper columnist. “I remember telling Jane that story years later and she was like, ‘What was I doing at synagogue?’” Lebos said with a chuckle. That blunt response was indicative of what you could expect from Jane. “Jane was always honest, always fair and always funny,” Lebos added. She was all three things for Savannah for decades in her writing, which appeared most recently (and off-and-on) in the Savannah Morning News. “She was the kind of reporter who was always interested in the small stories that make up a community’s life and she made those come alive,” Landers said. “You have a unique voice (in Jane Fishman) who has consistently documented and witnessed what Savannah was when she (first) got here…she kept that perspective all the way through,” Lebos said. “This wry perspective about Savannah from somebody who really loved it, but knew exactly where we live –– there was none of this rah rah cheerleading. Is this the best place in the entire world? She examined its faults and its filth, and was not afraid to do that. But she also not only considered the beauty, but created it as well with her gardens and her words.” Aliffi, Jane's wife, agreed. "She could always really evoke emotion in the people that she touched, the stories she told. She liked to go for the smallest stories, the people who weren't in the headlines. She really had that feeling that everyone had a story, if not many." Fishman's passing leave a hole in the community, Landers said. “Somebody will come along with their own unique ways (but) there will never be another Jane.” https://www.savannahnow.com/story/lifestyle/2022/10/19/savannah-morning-news-writer-columnist-jane-fishman-obituary/10522415002/ Zach Dennis is the editor of the arts and culture section, and weekly Do Savannah alt-weekly publication at the Savannah Morning News. He can be reached at zdennis@savannahnow.com or 912-239-7706. Click to Continue Reading...

By Judi Markowitz I am a lifelong resident of Michigan. The changing seasons here are stunning, and never more so than this time of year. Nothing can beat the kaleidoscope of colors on parade in the fall. Even our license plates communicate the true splendor of our state — Water-Winter Wonderland. When it comes to taking vacations with my family, Up North is our go-to place. This means visiting Harbor Springs, Traverse City, Petoskey, Mackinac Island, Charlevoix, and our family favorite — Burt Lake. Not to sound like a travel agent, but Michigan has more than 11,000 inland lakes and is surrounded by the five Great Lakes. It’s a summer paradise for boaters, golfers, jet skiers, hikers and just plain ole’ tourism During the winter months, these locations become a haven for those who love to ski. The chilly weather and, hopefully, the abundant snowfall make it the perfect fit without having to travel to another state to partake in this sport. Our family has been going Up North for decades. Most of the time, we’ve rented a house on Burt Lake for a week, but in 2003, our journeys took a hard left to the west side of the state. Our son, Eli, who was 15 at the time and on the varsity basketball team, was headed to basketball camp at Hope College, in Holland, Mich. I volunteered to drive a few of his teammates to the campus. My daughter, Lindsay, came along for the adventure. It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive to parts unknown. Once we arrived, unloaded their gear and settled them into their new digs (dorm life), I pulled out a map (my flip phone did not have GPS) and looked for Saugatuck. We were only 25 minutes away and so Lindsay and I took off for a new journey. My sister and her husband had visited Saugatuck a few years prior to our excursion. When they got home, they had raved about this treasure on the western coast of Michigan. Since we were in the vicinity, I decided that it was a good time to check it out. I headed down I-96 and took the expressway to the Saugatuck exit. As I drove down Blue Star Highway, there was a large sign directing visitors to the downtown area. Following my trusty map, I made a right on Lucy Street and then a left on Water Street. I had no idea about my destination. And then I saw the glistening waters of the Kalamazoo River! The landscape was dotted with beautiful homes and a line of interesting shops and restaurants. As I drove around the town, I observed the absence of parking meters and plenty of accessible spaces for those in need. This was smart city planning. I believe they borrowed the idea from the movie Field of Dreams — if you don’t charge to park, tourists will come! Winter, spring, summer or fall, people arrive in droves to experience this quaint city. I love to shop, and totally get into “the shopper’s zone.” Lindsay is a mini-me. She enjoys shopping as much as I do. We were in fresh territory and loving it! Saugatuck is known as Michigan’s Art Coast with galleries galore. There are wineries, breweries, great restaurants, and it’s an LGBTQ friendly community. There was so much to do, and we only had a few hours until we headed home. We decided to focus on the art and went into numerous galleries up and down Water and Butler Streets, and every street in between. Of course, I found a lovely oil painting of a landscape and told the owner it was a wrap. But before leaving this picturesque town, I felt compelled to stop at an interesting hotel/boatel. Boats could dock and pay a fee to use the hotel amenities. It was the on the Kalamazoo River and quite charming. I booked two rooms for our family. No trip is complete without a scoop (or two) of the local ice cream. While walking around town I noticed several enticing spots to satisfy our appetite. Hudsonville Ice Cream is a Saugatuck favorite, right up there with Kilwins. People on the west side of the state also have a sweet tooth for this delicacy. We decided to try something new and headed to Boardwalk Ice Cream. On our second trip to the city one month later, we took a leisurely sunset cruise on the Kalamazoo River to Lake Michigan. This was no ordinary boat ride. Saugatuck has an interesting history and we wanted to find out the details. To begin with, The Star of Saugatuck is an authentic sternwheel paddle boat. The captain narrated the bygone years of the city as we took in the sights. For history buffs it’s a lesson worth learning. The town was originally named Saugatuck–Sauki-Tuk–in 1640 by Native Americans in the area. As we headed to Lake Michigan, the sun was beginning to set. It looked like a ball of fire sinking into the water. It was a magnificent sight — a vast expanse of the lake and nothing else to see for miles. We have now taken this boat ride for over 20 years and always marvel at the splendor of nature. On our most recent trip we had to bundle up for the ride since evening temperatures tend to dip in the fall. The extra layers made the top deck of the boat feel like a spring night. Another point of interest in the city is Diane, the chain ferry. She is the oldest, one-of-a-kind, hand-cranked chain ferry in the United States. A chain connects one side of Saugatuck to the other, straight across the Kalamazoo River. This delightful, short ride provides more possibilities for exploration. One of these sites is Oval Beach, on Lake Michigan, along with the sand dunes that beg for more adventure. National Geographic ranks Oval Beach as one of the top freshwater beaches in the USA. Film makers also gravitate to this scenic area. In fact, a segment of the 2002 film, Road to Perdition, was filmed on Oval Beach. We never tire of visiting this unique city. With fall colors on the ascendance and Lake Michigan still warm enough for adventurous souls to take a quick dip, it’s a special destination during any season. We look forward to our next trip. Saugatuck is a Magical Mystery Tour that keeps calling us back! 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 Emmy Serviss / Boston It’s happening. It’s going to happen. FINALLY, after two years, I’m going to do it. I am throwing a party. Not just any party. A HALLOWEEN PARTY. Collaboration by Boston sketch group SUZZY and Boston cover band Medford Noise Complaint As we established last year, I am a very serious Halloween enthusiast. I didn’t get to throw OR attend a party last year, but I did get to hand out candy to trick-or-treaters in the suburbs of Boston, so it was a step up from Halloween 2020. But two years without a Halloween party, man, that was a rough stretch for me. For the past 20 years, I’ve either hosted, co-hosted or at the very least ATTENDED one Halloween party at the minimum. In those days, if I had only one Halloween costume planned, it was a quiet year. (I think I’ve maxed out at four Halloween costumes in one October.) So to be forced to sit home for the past two years without anywhere to show off my very clever and original costumes was a bitter pill to swallow. BUT NOT THIS YEAR! This year I am making up for lost time. This year I am going full tilt for the spookiest of spooktaculars. An example of pre-pandemic Halloween party snacks – this year’s spread will be MUCH grander I decorated the inside of my apartment on September 26th. Out of respect for my landlady, I waited until October 1st to decorate the outside. And I’ve bought more supplies and decorations since then, so it’s just been an increasingly frightful scene here in my haunted abode. The pile of supplies in my pantry for the snacks and treats I’m going to make is slightly ridiculous. I already have a menu planned that includes (but is not limited to) spider hot dogs, witch finger pretzels, festive cupcakes, mummy flatbread pizza, severed-hand charcuterie board and various beverage concoctions. I’m very excited. Some of my guests for the spooky shindig And before I go any further, I will fully acknowledge that Covid is not over. It’s not gone, people are still getting sick, and it’s still a valid concern. BUT it feels that after two years, we’ve gotten to a place where safety precautions and the boosters available have minimized the risks. A lot of the food I’m making will be in individual portions to cut down on germ spreading. All the guests invited have been vaccinated at the very least, with ideally at least one additional booster. Everyone has been asked to take a Covid test the day of the party to ensure no asymptomatic contagions accidentally sneak through. Windows will be open for maximum air flow and masks will be provided for everyone’s comfort. I feel as comfortable as possible with these precautions in place that my party will be safe to attend. Does that mean I’m not nervous? Absolutely not. I’m definitely still anxious about throwing my first honest-to-goodness party in two years. In these Covid years, even two years into the pandemic (endemic?) there are still risks to any sort of social gathering. But we’ve started international travel again. Broadway is back. Schools are open. Masks are optional on public transportation. (Okay, that last one I don’t agree with at all, but that’s another issue.) My point is that this year, I will put a spell on you to do the monster mash all the way down the Transylvania 6-5000 and we’re gonna party like it’s 2019! At least up until 11 p.m. Because now that I’m 40 years old, I want to be in bed by midnight. Emmy Serviss is a Boston-based writer, actor and video editor. Once it is safe to return to live theater, you can find her performing with ComedySportz Boston and the sketch group SUZZY. When not on the stage, Emmy enjoys indulging in her new pandemic hobbies, laughing way too loudly and counting the days until Halloween.

By Jane Fishman This story originally appeared in The Insider on March 31, 2021 It wasn’t exactly a shotgun wedding. At 76 I’m a little long in the tooth for that. But it wasn’t a save-the-date kind of wedding either. Not during the pandemic. Not anytime. No caterer, no day at the salon, no registration, no arrangements of flowers. Carmela Aliffi and I both have more than enough cutlery (can you say two sets each, from mothers and grandmothers?), stemware, vases, cloth napkins. How many blenders do you need anyway? After a 20-year courtship, the decision to marry was three-quarters love, one-quarter Amy Coney Barrett and a potentially problematic U.S. Supreme Court. The deal was cinched the day we helped my bride plow through her closet during one of those at-home pandemic distraction activities of sorting, deciding what to keep, what to give away, what to throw away. “So there’s my wedding dress,” my now step-daughter Jenna cried as Carmela unearthed a white, satiny, strapless, bosomy tulle gown with a train the length of Florida. Jenna got married nine years ago on the beach at Tybee Island, near Savannah. “I was wondering what I did with it – or what I should do with it now.” “I’m wearing that,” I said quietly. “It needs to be dry-cleaned!” Carmela said. “It’ll never fit. That’s ridiculous!” No one took me seriously. “You wear what you want,” I repeated the next day. “I’m wearing that dress.” The whole marriage thing was kind of new for me. It was always so heterosexual, so bourgeois. Who wants to be like “them” anyway? I kind of preferred being on the outside looking in, making it up as I go. Hey, I’m a child of the ‘60s. Turn on, tune in, drop out. For my tombstone I always pictured: “… and she never married.” None of it seemed to matter much to Carmela - she had already gone the marriage route, our relationship was solid, we knew that the first month we met – but the grandkids, 8 and 7, jumped on it, holding up mistletoe (it was December), spontaneously commanding us to “kiss,” asking what we would wear, making up all kinds of scenarios. On the beach! In the gazebo at the park! At the Tybee Island house we just built! While we were vague with our plans, they wouldn’t let it go. We lined up a millennial I’ve known all her life who had one of those online “ordained minister” titles, came up with a date for a wedding a week later and gave thanks we didn’t have to invite a million people from Carmela’s big fat Italian family because, “It’s Covid.” Jenna made a three-layer lemon cake with lemon curd between the layers, her husband Travis prepared seared scallops with risotto and mushrooms for lunch and our artist friend Betsy, masked and distant, showed up unexpectedly to throw yellow and red tulip pedals on the steps leading up to the beach house. Baker, the 8-year-old, took her job of holding on to my voluminous train very seriously, following me everywhere around the house. After I slipped the gown over my head, bent over to fill the wired bosom cups and stood up, I felt like Brigitte Bardot. We scribbled out our vows, mine, a haiku, a little less serious than Carmela’s (“You make the bed, dear/ I’ll fold the clothes, walk the dogs/Be your prep cook too”), and got ready to proceed when I remembered something else from movies and past experience. I may be Jewish Lite and a bit deficient in ceremony and tradition, but I know some things about my tribe. As far as marriage is concerned, I always loved the breaking of the glass part. It’s so Jewish, after all. Never forget: with joy comes pain and loss. Don’t get so high and mighty; you forget everything could change in a minute. Must have light bulb! I went on and on. It’s not real until we have that. “They’re $10 apiece,” said my lovely, non-Jewish, accommodating bride. “I’m worth it,” I said. She found one. We wrapped it in a cloth napkin and set it aside. At the appropriate time after our officiant said, “I pronounce you bride and bride,” I set the package on the floor, lifted up my heavy gown and gave it a whomp with my Fly shoes. Nothing happened. I tried again. And again. “You try,” I said to Carmela, who was wearing black boots. Still nothing. Then I unwrapped the bulb. “It’s an LED,” someone said. “It’s plastic.” It was dented. That’s all. Well, darn. That won’t work at all. We need to symbolize the pain in order to feel the gain. Time to find a wine glass. “Mazel tov,” everyone yelled (at my instruction) when the glass broke to smithereens. Let the marriage go forth. The next day, when the grandkids spent the night, I handed a washcloth to Benny, 7, in the bathtub. I’ve known both children all their lives. Their mother has done a good job explaining the whole family tree thing – cousins, which side which aunt and uncle are on, and step-grandparents. “You know what?” Benny said, hesitating because he’s a thoughtful kid. “Now you’re my real grandmother.” Jane Fishman’s got a great life in Savannah. She gets to grow garlic, write newspaper columns in the Savannah Morning News about any wacko she can find (and get paid for it), publish books (her latest: I’d Rather Be Seen Than Viewed, a collection of her columns; preceded by So What’s the Hurry? Tales From the Train ; I Grew it My Way, How Not to Garden; The Dirt on Jane; and The Woman Who Saved an Island, the Story of Sandy West and Ossabaw Island), listen in on conversations with her two grandchildren, Baker and Benny, while going on morning nature walks as they debate which is better, living in the country or the city (“I like both habitats,” says 7-year-old Benny). Fishman owned a laundromat in Eureka Springs, Ark., cooked in a French restaurant in Key West, won a bunch of journalism awards in Savannah for humorous and serious columns. When she lived in Chicago and worked at WTTW public television, she met Fran of Kukla, Fran and Ollie and watched Abbie Hoffman rant at the trial of the Chicago 7. Fishman grew up in Detroit (Huntington Woods, really), where she never owned a car. She was the sports editor of her high school newspaper (The Acorn) at Royal Oak Dondero. This is her first wedding.

By John Rolfe / Red Hook, N.Y. Truth is commonly defined as that which is in accordance with reality. But as the comedy troupe Firesign Theatre asked on their album Don’t Crush That Dwarf, Hand Me the Pliers, what is reality? Reality is commonly defined as the world or the state of things as they actually exist, as opposed to an idealistic or notional idea of them. But if you believe an idealistic or notional idea is reality and therefore true, does that make it so? In a society, truth depends on a common acceptance that something is so. Our nation’s Declaration of Independence states, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.” I certainly believe humans have those rights, simply because they feel right (as in good, decent, positive and beneficial to all). But one of the “truths” in the Declaration cites the existence of a Creator, presumably one that created humans in His own image, as justification. I don’t believe such a Creator exists. I’ve seen no evidence. I can certainly see the idea to be very comforting for explaining the complex mysteries of existence and what happens in life, but experience has shown me that humans engage in a lot of wishful projection in many things. I also find the gender designation “His” to be absurd as well as the notion of an all-powerful deity that spends its time meddling in our lives and getting its knickers in a raging, vindictive knot when we don’t do what it wants. Whatever that is. People report, you decide. The Bible and other religious texts are presented as proof of the Creator and his desires, but those texts were written by humans who claimed to know the truth. We all make the choice to believe it or not. Working as an editor and writer for 30-plus years taught me how easily words can be selected or changed to promote an argument or an agenda and be perceived in different ways by different people. So I’m comfortable living with my reality: I may never find out why all of this exists. One of my favorite lyrics is from a song by the rock band UFO: “I don't care what it’s all about. I don’t need to know.” In any case, truth has become an American battleground of tremendous consequence. During Alex Jones’ recent trial for defaming the families of Sandy Hook shooting victims, a judge scolded him saying, “You believe everything you say is true, but your beliefs do not make something true. Just because you claim to think something is true does not make it true. It does not protect you. It is not allowed. You’re under oath. That means things must actually be true when you say them.” Whether Jones actually believes what he says is true doesn’t matter. He’s made millions of dollars spouting baseless charges and conspiracy theories. Millions of people believe whatever Jones says, just as they believe Donald Trump, who has done the same and wields great political power because of it. People believe Jones and Trump because they want to, evidence or lack thereof be damned. The Republican Party has harnessed this desire into a movement that will quite likely take full control of our government in 2024. Never mind that there still isn’t a shred of legally recognized proof that the 2020 election was determined by fraud. A legion of GOP candidates is out there running on what is called The Big Lie and it is helping their chances in many cases. Downplaying the Jan. 6 siege of the Capitol, witnessed by millions on TV, as a hoax, a tourist visit or “legitimate political discourse” is perfectly acceptable to a whole helluva lot of Americans. Senate Minority Leader Mitch McConnell obviously realizes that naked hypocrisy is not a liability, it’s a valuable tool for achieving his party’s agenda. Just look at his rationale for denying President Obama a Supreme Court nomination and giving President Trump the chance to put Amy Coney Barrett on the bench. Fellow Republicans Lindsay Graham and Kevin McCarthy have also become woke to the fact that lying carries no cost in a world of alternative facts and highly subjective truth. Refusing to lie can result in an officeholder being primaried and replaced by a candidate who will. I find great irony in the fact (believe it or not) that conservatives spent decades raging about the mainstream media’s liberal bias, so they created their own media colossus that has an even more overt bias in their favor, to the point that it peddles obvious misinformation. That this media’s standard-bearer, Fox News, uses the slogan “Fair and Balanced” is particularly rich. So is the name of Donald Trump’s social media platform: Truth Social. It doesn’t matter that Trump contradicts himself almost every time he opens his mouth. You can’t convince his followers that anything he says is false. For one thing, a fierce tribalism prevents them from acknowledging the merit in any opposing argument. To do so is to be attacked and be “primaried” as politicians are: disowned as a traitor by peers and even one’s friends and family. The same phenomenon exists to a lesser extent on the left, but no matter where humans dwell on the political spectrum, they usually loathe admitting they are wrong about something, especially to others. And how do you prove anything is true? I will never forget arguing — in great, exasperating futility — with a co-worker, a man in his 70s, who had recently decided that the Earth is flat and the Holocaust was a hoax. There were no photos, videos or books I could show him that would change his views. Those materials as well as documents and concentration camp tattoos can be faked or accused of being fake without any evidence or proof that they are. All you need is the desire for it to be so. “Just give me some truth,” John Lennon famously sang. “All I want is the truth.” Good luck getting it in this world. 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.

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."

By Naomi Serviss / New York City This is Liz Pressman’s busy season. As a psychic, witch, medium and astrologer, she’s swamped with media queries from muggle (non-magical) reporters. They ask the same Halloween-y questions they lobbed at her last year. Liz answers with gusto and enthusiasm, because that is her wont. “Non-magical people want to know a lot and ask questions,” she says. There’s much ritual around the Halloween celebration. “We have to prepare! This is a very social time of year with open rituals and balls,” she explains. “Big-time witches tend to be solitary people, except for covens.” “You get to see old witch friends if that’s your jam,” she says. Psychics are drawn to this apple-crisp time of year. “It’s the time when spirit communication is easier because the veil is so thin.” Liz was initiated into witchery in 1975, when she was 15. (She’s 64 now.) But it wasn’t her first experience with other worlds. “I was born with both mediumistic and psychic abilities,” she says simply. “As a child, I assumed everyone could see, hear, feel, sense what I did. But I soon learned that was not so.. “And I probably should hide these abilities.” A trauma at age six brought her mediumship into focus. “Most people who can see spirit can see it from birth.” Her new spirit friend Caroline would pop out of the den wall. She’d greet Liz with a handshake. “One day my mom, thinking that this imaginary friend was cute, asked to meet Caroline. I brought her out of the wall and my mom pretended to see her. Caroline always wore a white dress and was a guide to me.” “Caroline said something that I conveyed for her to my mom. My mother turned white as a ghost. She knew it was a spirit and not my imagination. “From that point on, my mom made sure I went to church with her every Sunday.” As the leaves turn color and drift to the cold earth, Liz considers all the spirits and guides she’s encountered these many decades past. The coming solar eclipse on November 8th will be a portal for spooky energy. “It’s annoying and I have to set boundaries with spirits I don’t want walking around. Doors have been pushed open and they party in the attic. Occasionally they’ll walk there and I realize it’s a spirit, not a person.“ Her coven is a handful of witches who’ve been together for 25 years. “Our High Priestess is upstairs, and we have a bond that will go on and on.” What about spell-casting? 
Not her cup of tea. Liz prefers coffee, anyway. “I’ll cast a spell only if it’s an emergency,” she explains. “Love spells, money spells, road-opener spells, I don’t do those for clients anymore. It attracts people who are weird, and I don’t want to attract bad karma.” Some spiritualists, including Liz, believe we are born with two guides: “a teacher-main guide and a joy guide. These are the spirits who watch over us. Their job is to be our guides in this lifetime, although we may know them from previous lifetimes,” she says. Deceased loved ones can act as guides as well. Says Liz, “I am lucky to have a deceased friend who has a very high vibration and was a guide to me while he was incarnated and agreed to work with me, knowing he would soon be going upstairs.” She loves the hoopla over Halloween. “I decorate with all the kitschy, Halloween stuff,” she admits. “I have a giant skull that laughs when people come to the door.” “It’s kind of a Mardi Gras, a carnival atmosphere,” Liz adds. “Kids dress up and you get to give them candy. Children aren’t scared of witchcraft. A four-year-old asked me ‘Mom told me you’re a real-life witch. Is that right?’ “I said yes, I’m real and a witch, too!” Liz describes some of the rituals she’s participated in, combining witchcraft with ceremonial magic. Her small coven casts a circle,purifies it, then performs the ritual called for. When Liz reads for clients, she first prepares an intricately detailed natal chart. Over Zoom, she records the session. “Astrology is a sacred art, not a tool to wow people with. Our natal charts are sacred documents. “During sessions my guides are in charge. I have come to trust them implicitly. It’s like virtual reality—I’m in the movie of a person’s life, in a place where there’s no time or space, just spirit.” “I give what I get. If I’m not supposed to say something, my guide sort of frowns at me.” Her best companion now is Boo, her black (what else?) cat. “Boo is my everything. My co-magician, my co-medium. He meows whenever spirit is impatient and wants to be brought into a reading. He’s like my host to spirit.” Liz wants muggles to relax about witches, who are now in the zeitgeist! “It’s safe to say I’m not superstitious. I believe in cause and effect. Muggles might feel witchcraft is filled with wacky beliefs, but it’s really basic science.” 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 105 By Laurence Lerman / New York City In celebration of Halloween, Reel Streaming is turning back the clock to relive the glorious black-and-white horror films of yesteryear. But we’re not taking a trip back to the years when the film industry was only making black-and-white movies. The technology for producing color motion picture film—crude but, yes, color—actually dates back to the early years of the 20th century. But aside from some specialty productions (The Wizard of Oz and Gone with the Wind, anyone?), color film didn’t come into general, wide use until the late Forties. This time out, I want to avoid a list of the usual black-and-white silent suspects (Robert Weine’s 1920 The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, F.W. Murnau’s 1922 Nosferatu, Rupert Julian’s 1925 The Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney, and so on). There are also dozens of possibilities from the Thirties through the Fifties that could rightfully be awarded a spot on this list (like the entire Universal Monster Cycle from those years, Erle Kenton’s 1932 Island of Lost Souls, Edgar Ulmer’s 1935 The Black Cat, Jacques Tournier’s 1942 Cat People, and all the rest). Well, I’m going to push them to the side, too. What I’m thinking here is that filmmakers who were directing horror films that they chose to shoot in black-and-white did so because they were trying to create a certain kind of atmosphere and tone, or attempting to convey a thematic idea. The simple fact is that black-and-white cinematography does not represent the way people see the world (I’m talking literally, not metaphorically), so its very appearance adds a wonderful unrealness to a film’s content. It stands to reason, then, that the emotional resonance that accompanies a horror or thriller film in black-and-white would be heightened or, at the very least, greatly affected. But I’m explaining too much here, when it’s the films themselves that should do the talking, flickering and frightening. Here are ten outstanding black-and-white fright flicks, all shot that way during the color era because that’s the way their directors wanted to shoot them! It’s worth noting that four of my picks are from 1960, a banner year for black-and-white horror films if there ever was one! Bride of Frankenstein (1935) Directed by James Whale Alright, I lied. I simply had to include a film from the time when only black-and-white films were being produced. But just one. Considered to be an improvement on his original Frankenstein from 1931, Whale’s follow-up is a first-rate horror-fantasy that is at once gruesome, emotional and haunting. The climactic meeting of Boris Karloff’s monster and his fresh-off-the-electrified-table spouse (Elsa Lanchester) is unforgettable. The City of the Dead (1960) Directed by John Llewellyn Moxey Dripping with cobwebby atmosphere, this low-budget British fright flick concerns the unholy happenings that transpire in a New England village that harbors the spirits of witches burned at the stake there three centuries earlier. So pity the coed who heads up there to work on a thesis paper about witchcraft. Featuring horror icon Christopher Lee in a supporting turn, this one was released in the U.S. under the name Horror Hotel. The Lighthouse (2019) Directed by Robert Eggers This ambitious independent effort is as tough to categorize as it is downright creepy. Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson are 19th century lighthouse keepers on an isolated and mysterious New England island who try to maintain their sanity as hallucinations of mermaids and Proteus-like creatures roll in with the fog and really do a number on them. Eraserhead (1977) Directed by David Lynch An odd man with a wild haircut on a desolate industrial cityscape tries to live his life with an angry girlfriend-turned-wife and their grossly deformed child. Playing out somewhere between a dream and a nightmare state of consciousness, this unique and uncomfortably surreal horror piece represents the first feature-length effort by writer/director/editor Lynch. Repulsion (1965) Directed by Roman Polanski Polanski’s first English language film is a masterful psychological horror piece about a withdrawn, sexually repressed young woman who begins to unravel after she’s left alone in the apartment she shares with her sister. Catherine Deneuve is outstanding as the disturbed Carol and ace cinematographer Gil Taylor’s work has never been better. This one will get under your skin and stick with you for days. Psycho (1960) Directed by Alfred Hitchcock After all the college film class papers and sitcom punchlines, Hitchcock’s most famous film about a blonde embezzler on the run (Janet Leigh) and a soft-spoken, taxidermy-practicing motel proprietor (Anthony Perkins) who really loves his mother hasn’t lost any of its power. The shower sequence, house on the hill and climactic reveal have become cinematic legend. Black Sunday (1960) Directed by Mario Bava Italian horror master Bava’s directorial debut concerns a witch who is put to death by her brother, and then returns two centuries later to seek revenge upon his descendants. Barbara Steele, one of the original Scream Queens, is tawdry and terrifying in the dual role of the ancient witch and her modern-day reincarnated self. Based on the Nikolai Gogol short story Viy. The Haunting (1963) Directed by Robert Wise This adaptation of Shirley Jackson’s 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House finds Julie Harris, Claire Bloom, Richard Johnson and Russ Tamblyn invited by a paranormal expert to investigate a supposedly haunted house. Carefully constructed and shot for maximum claustrophobia and unease, it holds up as one of Hollywood’s most enduring haunted house films. Eyes Without a Face (1960) Directed by Georges Franju In this French shocker, a plastic surgeon is determined to perform a face transplant on his daughter, who has been disfigured in a car accident he was responsible for. Pierre Brasseur is disturbingly effective as the surgeon obsessed with finding victims’ faces to steal. Playing his tragic daughter, Édith Scob has the most evocative eyes to ever grace a horror film. Young Frankenstein (1974) Directed by Mel Brooks We started off with a Frankenstein film, right? Well, to keep things balanced, let’s end with one, too, but this time, one with a few laughs. Make that a lot of laughs as we’re talking about Mel Brooks. His send-up of the original Frankenstein films and the whole of Universal Studios’ legendary monster movie cycle of the black-and-white era remains hysterical and unmatched. 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.