Racing is not my thing. . .

It's Sunday morning and I was watching TV when CBS came on with Mo Roca interviewing  Mario Andretti, considered the greatest race car driver of all time with shelves full of trophies and awards.  He's 77 now, has a head of white hair, and still looks great. As they talked about the fact that he is still involved in the racing world, with two sons who are successful drivers, it took me back about 40 years to the time when my PR firm represented the  Miami International Auto Show.

The show arrived annually to the Miami Beach Convention Center and it was part of my job to get as much publicity in the Miami Herald and other local publications as possible.  The star attraction at this particular year's show was the appearance of Mario Andretti who was at the height of his career at the time.  I had arranged for an interview at the Herald with Ed Pope, one of the best known sports reporters in the nation, and a great coup for me to have pulled off.  Andretti was staying at the Coconut Grove Hotel (I still lived up in North Miami at the time), and to my horror, I was informed that I needed to drive there and pick him up to take him to the interview.

I was driving a four door Mercedes sedan in those days, and was definitely not a nominee for "driver of the year".  I told myself I could do this.  All I had to do was get him to the Herald safely. . big deal. . .so what if he is the king of the racing world.  I've been driving since I was 16.  (My stomach is now feeling very queasy.)

I arrive at the Coconut Grove Hotel, ease up the steep circular drive, and find Mario waiting for my arrival.  He hops in the visitor's side, I introduce myself, and we start down the other side of the drive.  Did I mention that the hotel was located on what passes for a hill in Miami and the driveway was very steep?  And I was more than slightly nervous? Bottom line, I started out too fast and when we hit the bottom of the driveway we literally bounced into the air before settling onto the street.  Mario looked horrified, actually he looked scared, and I wanted to die, but I got us to the Herald without any further incident. 

The interview went great.  He drove my car back to the hotel.
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I remember. . . .

I read in the newspaper the other day that Playboy magazine is bringing back nude women.  Apparently people weren't buying the magazine once they did away with their signature nude layouts and there was no rush to buy it for the articles.  Circulation had dropped drastically from the 7.1 million of its heyday in the early 70's.

The article reminded me of my brush with Playboy in that period when I represented a very successful Miami-based artist by the name of Tony Scornavacca.  Tony had done a series of paintings of elegant and sexy young Renaissance men that he thought would go great in the magazine.  He hired my public relations services to try to sell Playboy on publishing them as he realized they would go way up in price if they did.

Playboy, in the 70's, was the hottest place you could possibly be published and not an easy task to accomplish.  My deal with Tony was a really terrific fee in the thousands if I accomplished it, and nothing if I couldn't.  And boy, did I try.  I used every contact I had in the publishing world and pulled every trick I could think of.  No deal. 

When I realized it was not going to happen I showed up at Tony's studio/gallery one afternoon to make my apologies.  He was sitting at his easel apparently painting as I explained how I had tried and tried and how sorry I was that I didn't get his elegant paintings printed in Playboy, and there was no reason to pay me for my work.  He was very understanding and kind and told me that he knew I had really tried.

When I went up to him to say goodbye, I suddenly realized that the subject he was painting, the whole time I was talking, was me!  It was Tony's way of thanking me for my efforts.

He was an incredible artist who died much too young.  I guess I have Playboy to thank for this painting that hangs on my bedroom wall.  
 

And yes, I had long hair worn on top of my head in those days!

New York, New York. . .it's a helluva crazy town!

You know who's home.

Once upon a time I was a true New Yorker, actually living and working in that amazing city.  But I've been a Floridian since arriving in Miami in 1957 with a five year old daughter, so occasional trips back north are always an adventure.

Which brings me to my holiday trip to that wild and crazy city for New Year's.  Paul and I flew into JFK on the 29th for four days of fun that included tickets to "Front Page", an extraordinary Broadway show that featured Nathan Lane, John Slattery and John Goodman.  We also ventured on the subway down to visit One World Trade Center.  The view from the 103rd floor was breathtaking.  We visited the awe-inspiring Memorial Museum on our last trip to the city.  Sad, sad, sad.

When I say wild and crazy, I'm talking about 5th Avenue, especially anywhere near Trump Tower.  Forgeddaboutit.  Barriers everywhere.  Police inspecting your handbag before allowing you to walk down the street.  The Christmas lights on the buildings along 5th were fantastic but the crush of human beings was almost unbearable.  We found ourselves taking side streets to gain a little space, until the day of New Year's Eve when those crosstown streets, all the way up to Central Park, were closed off to traffic and it was not possible to get around by cab or Uber and we had to hoof it back to our hotel.

It's a good thing I wasn't planning to do a big shop at Tiffany's.  Located next door to The Donald's building, it is literally impossible to approach without pushing through hordes of tourists camping out in front of his building. 

Yes, New York is amazing, but to be truthful, I'm happy to be back in Miami.  Hope you all had a great holiday.
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View of Central Park from our hotel room.
Great fireworks on New Year's Eve!

On the subway to One World Trade Center



Fabulous Christmas tree at The Met



Our favorite spot, the bar at our hotel.  I'll drink to that!

Tiffany, all lit up
 

Some things have to be said. . .

I decided this morning to count how many presidents there have been since I was born.  I remember my Father saying that I was born the day the stock markets crashed in 1929, and that Herbert Hoover was the president at that time.  According to Google, there have been 14 presidents from Hoover to Obama, with Trump being the 15th when he is inaugurated in January.

My parents were both born in the United States of immigrant parents.  They taught my sister and me to have the utmost respect for the leader of our country, and in truth, since my first vote for Adlai Stevenson over Dwight Eisenhower, I have always totally accepted whomever is elected, regardless of whether they were Democrats or Republicans.

I am having a problem with Donald Trump.  I want him to stop tweeting stupid things and start to act presidential.  I want him to understand how important his new position is to the people of this country, whether they voted for him or not.  So far, he's acting more like he did on "The Apprentice".  Actually, I wish he'd say "You're fired!" already to Kellyanne Conway, who is really starting to piss me off.  I am a confirmed feminist, but her disrespect for Mitt Romney (who I also didn't vote for), is totally uncalled for.  We understand you are rooting for Rudy Gulianni, but don't be so obvious.

I have never used my blog for political purposes, but this morning, after hearing about Donald's tweets about "Millions of fraudulent votes that was the only reason Iidn't win the popular vote", I'm having a hard time marshaling that "respect" my parents taught me.

I'm hoping I'm wrong and that he will eventually rise to the role.  (Or at least he'll stop tweeting.)
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How dare he!!!

The Bank of Malaysia just e-mailed me that a gentleman named Lee Fui Fui (pronounced Phooey Phooey where I come from) wants to transfer my very valuable Bank of China fund into his account.  He insists I have authorized him to do so and promises to take care of all the legal fees. 

All I have to do to stop him from this dastardly act is to send another gentleman named Andy Lau all my banking information.  You know.  Things like my account number and my password.  Nothing really important.  Not to mention that I wasn't aware that I had a valuable fund in the Bank of China.  However did that skip my attention????  I tend to forget names and an occasional word these days, but an entire bank fund?????  Pshaw!!!

Mr. Lau is waiting for me to get back to him immediately so he can proceed with the transfer process.  I hope he isn't holding his breath.  I do wish he'd given me a phone number so I could find out how many millions I am getting.  It must be a substantial sum or why would Mr. Fui Fui be trying to steal it?

For a person who has a hard time getting even one number right on a Florida Lottery ticket, it certainly seems like my luck has changed.

Sorry, Mr. Phooey.  Maybe next time.
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I love a parade. . .

I admit it.  I'm watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.  Always do.  The parade is celebrating its 90th year and I remember by Mother and Dad taking my sister Fran and I to New York City, when we were little kids, to watch the parade. It was a really big deal for us then.

Thanksgiving in those days was in Mt. Vernon, New York, where Fran and I grew up.  There was no such thing as the "extended families" we have today, where my daughter is in Charlotte, North Carolina, my grandson and his family are in Jacksonville, Florida, and I'm here in Miami.  Our whole family lived in the Mt. Vernon area and everyone came to Thanksgiving dinner, whether it was at our house or one of the aunts and uncles.  It was family time.

Standing in for my kids today will be my sister Fran's family up in Fort Lauderdale.  My niece Vicki knows better than to ask Aunt Joan to cook something, so I've been charged with bringing cupcakes.  I spent a lot of time picking them out.  I don't want Fran's grandkids and great-grand daughter to think badly of me.  I always remember once asking my grandson Adam when he was a teen-ager whether it bothered him that his grandmother didn't bake cookies.  His reply?  "Hell, no.  You have great seats for the Dolphins, the Miami Heat and the Florida Panthers.  I can buy cookies."

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone. . .make it a wonderful day!  My thanks for sticking with me and my blog for so many years.
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Ready to go!

Another walk down memory lane. . . .

I picked up the Miami Herald the other morning to find an article on the front page that an old friend had passed away.  Charlie Cinnamon was a rare holdover from the days when PR guys. . public relations people. . . made the world go round on Miami Beach. 

I remember it well, because I was there.  In 1958, I was the PR director of the Barcelona Hotel and Charlie was the PR director of the Empress Hotel, right next door.  We were compadres, meeting often on our rounds to deliver press releases to the Miami Herald, the Miami News, the Miami Times and the Miami Beach Sun.  Newspaper relations were incredibly important in those days, and Charlie and I made it our business to have good friends at all of our stops.  How else did you make sure your release got printed???

Hotel PR wasn't really a full time job and both of us had other clients whose names and businesses we spent our days pushing.  Charlie was hired by Zev Bufman, the owner/producer of the young Coconut Grove Playhouse, to promote productions at the Playhouse.  Coconut Grove was not exactly a metropolis in those days.  Actually, it was a little bohemian village with lots of artists in residence, when Charlie came up with the idea of a Parisian-style art festival along the main street leading to the Playhouse.  The idea was to promote attendance for a new show.  The end result was the world famous Coconut Grove Art Festival that still brings thousands of visitors to the Grove today.

The obit in the Herald talked about his remarkable career as well as his genuine likeability with friendships that numbered stars such as Liz Taylor and Richard Burton among his close friends.  Charlie liked to call himself a press agent and he was definitely one of the best. At 94, he was still actively involved in "the business".   Although my career veered away from the hotels and nightclubs I represented in those early years, with builder/developers, trade shows and financial clients the bulk of my business, whenever we ran into each other, it was always time for a little reminiscing about those crazy early days.

 
It made me sad to read of his passing.  If I know Charlie, he's probably already promoting    a group of angels in some fabulous new Christmas show.  You will be missed, Charlie.  That's for sure..
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