I've got a problem, folks. . . .

I have a new addiction.  I admit it.  It doesn't come in a bottle or from a syringe.  It's more in the form of an app on my cell phone and I can't stay away from it.  If this keeps up, I may have to consider rehab.

It's called Magic Puzzles and it is turning me into a jigsaw fanatic.  At last count I have successfully completed 46 individual puzzles in the last two months, plus one additional "free" puzzle for each day of July and August.  Not to mention the fact that I have worked my way up to the next-to-highest difficulty level.  I definitely need help.

I'm starting to relate to the kids you see glued to their cell phones playing Pokémon and all different games.  This morning I finished off two puzzles from the Wild Animal series while supposedly watching Meet The Press.  One was a picture of a Madagascan lemur, the other a pygmy sloth from Panama.  Don't ask me what they were talking about on the TV, I was much too involved to pay any real attention to the latest on Donald and Hillary.

I've always loved a good crossword puzzle and the day wouldn't start right without my two cups of coffee and the Miami Herald's daily offering, but this new addiction is getting out of hand.

Any suggestions out there for a cure, short of losing my iphone????

Bad Stuff!  Stay away from it.

#    #    #

Memories are made of this . .

I went to the Wolfsonian Museum on Miami Beach today.  If you've never been there it is the result of the astonishing collection of memorabilia from the 1850's through the 1950's by Mickey Wolfson, the very wealthy scion of one of Miami's first families.

The collections change every few months and the premier one right now is titled "Promising Paradise: Cuban Allure, American Seduction."  For me, it was a walk down Memory Lane, revisiting the years 1958 and 1959, when it was part of my job to fly to Cuba once a month and review all the major night club shows in Havana for the entertainment editor of the Miami Beach Sun. 

Paul Bruun, the man who hired me for this fascinating job, was the "Walter Winchell" of our town in those days, and it was his name that appeared in the newspaper on my written  reviews, but my name that appeared on the monthly check that he paid me. He also paid all my expenses to fly there and back and stay at one of the top hotels, either the Havana Riviera,  the Havana Hilton, or the Havana Nacional.  (The only thing he wouldn't pay for was my husband's airfare on Cubana Airlines, $25 round trip!  We managed to begrudgingly come up with that.)

But it was one particular nightclub in the exhibition at the Wolfsonian that mesmerized me today.  An entire room was dedicated to Havana's famous Tropicana Nightclub, and I knew it very well.  In addition to reviewing its incredible shows, held outdoors under the palm trees, with gorgeous showgirls  parading on catwalks through the trees, my public 


Exhibit at the Wolfsonian

relations firm was also responsible for representing the Club in the American press.  For that reason, I spent more time there than any of the other clubs we visited.

The Tropicana's gambling casino, in fact the entire club, was overseen by a man named Lefty Clark.  In truth, Lefty represented the Mob, the true owners of the club, but he was a very likeable guy who was extremely nice to me and my husband Ralph, who always accompanied me on my trips to Cuba (much to the annoyance of my client, Mr.Bruun, who was a well known lecher.)

We would usually show up at the Tropicana on Friday evening for the midnight show, having already reviewed the 10 o'clock show at one of the hotels, and would go on to do a 2am show before quitting for the night and heading back to our hotel room at close to 4 in the morning. Three in a night was my limit, and we would do another three shows on Saturday night before returning home on Sunday.  (Remember, I was a lot younger then!)  Since all the clubs knew who I represented, and that I was there to review, we were always seated next to the stage and I would just sign the bill for whatever we ate or drank. That was a good thing, since we were not exactly in the chips in those days and these were expensive places.

My favorite memory of the Tropicana:  Lefty Clark welcoming us on our arrival, giving me a hug and simultaneously handing my husband a $10 roll of quarters. "Go play the slots, Ralph,"  he would say, patting him on the back.  "Joan has to work." 

We were scheduled to go to Havana for New Years of 1959 but decided not to go because we had a party in Miami we wanted to attend.  It was a good thing we didn't.   If you know your history, Castro and the Revolution arrived on January 1st, 1960.  Haven't been back since, but I did have many memories looking at the Wolfsonian's presentation today..
#   #   #

   


Menu/program cover
 

Desi and Luci. . . he played the Club very often