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Don Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That's Often None of His Business

Yet Even More Tales of The Pine Center

Back in the Forties through the Fifties, in the foothills of the Catskills in Upstate New York, my family owned The Pine Center, a small hotel in what the city people called “The Mountains”. These are their stories.

To avoid confusion, the two pictured above are not the Duke and Duchess of Sussex who would not be born for another forty years. No, this pic is of Henry and Corny the night they didn’t make it home. Well almost, but, that story’s going to have to wait for some background not covered in previous Tales of The Pine Center posts.

I was nine or ten when our hotel was so full I had to sleep on a cot in the office beside the roll top desk. Then there were times it was even “fuller” and I slept in the roll top desk — with the top down. Okay, I never slept in the desk. But more than once it was so booked, my brothers and I and even a few guests had to bunk at neighbors. Guests weren’t necessarily nicer in the 1940s and 50s. The ones who agreed to sleep away were close family friends. You could call it the price of friendship.

From what I said about sleeping accommodations, you might come away with the impression The Pine Center was relatively small. And, you’d be right. But, until I started writing these posts I never realized, how many people it took to run even our small place.

Guests were drawn to my father who entertained them with tales of his growing up in a tough Harlem neighborhood and mildly off-color stories that began in English and ended in punchlines in Yiddish impossible for me to decipher, but that the intended audience found hilarious. In addition to playing poker and pinochle with guests, he quelled complaints, hired dish washers, chambermaids, and servers, did the billing and taxes, and once a week took the long trip to Honesdale, Pennsylvania to restock supplies. I tagged along every chance I could get. One time in particular on the way home out of the blue, he turned to me, “Son, you have any money on you?” He’d never asked that before and never did again.

I dug around my dungaree pockets and came up with lint, three singles and another dollar or so in dimes and quarters from selling soda. He pulled the car into the parking lot of a diner. We had apple pie and coffee. And I paid for it — like a real man. It wasn’t the best-tasting apple pie I ever had, but it’s one that left the best taste in my mouth.

My Mom did all the meal planning, food prep, cooking and baking in a pre-air conditioned kitchen in June, July and August heat, generally without a whole lot of help. One man my father hired, though, was exceptional. Then six weeks in, he explained he’d been dry as long as he could stand it. He’d try climbing back on the wagon after a couple of weeks, but couldn’t promise anything.

We never saw him again.

No matter what, somehow, Mom managed to feed the guests — to rave reviews. It caused many of them to request her recipes. And she was willing to share her secrets. However, she never specified how much a dash, dollop or pinch was because she would change things up by the amount of food and number of people, availability of ingredients in season and the like. In other words, Mom did what you could call “improv chefery"— more artistry than assembly line.

During the summer my mother would be up at five and work till eight or nine. This went on without letup till Labor Day after which she’d hibernate for a couple of weeks sleeping days on end.

Local high-school girls got the food from the kitchen to the dining room. And no. Waitressing (No one used the term server) was a plum summer job. There was loads of free time between meals and salary came with generous tips when the guests left.

The waitress I’ll never forget was my first girlfriend, Maria. She was sixteen. I was four. But I was not about to let that difference in age stand between us. Then she met Eugene with that way he had of chewing gum. Every second-and-a-half or third chew, he’d run the tip of his tongue over his upper lip starting at the left-hand corner of his mouth and let it glide around in a graceful arc coming to a halt at the right corner.

When I was old enough to go to school, I'd study Eugene (Narrowsburg Central Rural School buses carried first grade through seniors in high school). I was fascinated. Transfixed was more like it. And I did my damnedest to mimic his moves, never quite getting it right. I switched from Juicy Fruit to Double Bubble. I would’ve even tried Feen-a-ment if I thought that might help and damn the consequences. Look up Feen-a-mint and you’ll see the consequences could be dire.

Six years after Maria and I first met, she threw me over, marrying Eugene. A lot of people, maybe even you, would again point to the age difference. BUT I was catching up. As I said, Maria was sixteen and I was four when we met. She was four times as old as I was. By the time she married Eugene, she was twenty-three and I was ten which only made her a little more than twice as old. Clearly it wouldn’t have been too long before I caught up.* If only Eugene hadn’t been so gum gifted.

After Maria, there were other servers, including Maria’s sister Mildred, but it could never be the same. Perhaps it had to do with my sneaking up behind one of the girls while she was sorting silverware, lifting her skirt and running away laughing hysterically before she could strangle me. I should mention, I gave up this practice before my seventh birthday and long before I could be charged with sexual harassment if I’d known what sexual harassment was — or if I’d known what sex was.

Aided, abetted and egged on... literally…by guests Eleanor and Paul, my older brother, who was waiting on tables one summer, substituted a raw egg for a half apricot in heavy syrup in another guest’s dessert. Waiting on tables could be fun.

Obviously a hotel needs chambermaids. There was Mary, who looked to be about eighty and actually may have been older. Hardly ever saying a word, Mary was famous for drinking prodigious amounts of alcohol, the many empties discovered after the summer a testament to her ability to hold her liquor and do her job.

Then there was Sophie. Asked to help with something…anything, her answer was the same even if the building were on fire. “Zjust ah minute. Zjust ah secont,” It was a phrase that echoed down through family lore for years right up there with “Who the horse?”

It might've been a second or third cousin…could’ve been a distant uncle…maybe a brother-in-law. Anyway he was told about a farmer who was leading a horse into his barn when the animal reared up. He was kicked in the head and died. The second or third cousin…could’ve been a distant uncle…maybe a brother-in-law asked, “Who the horse?”

Zjust ah minute. Zjust ah secont and I’ll tell you about Elisha originally from the Caribbean. Every spring she’d call from the city to tell my father she dreamed he died. Finding he was alive, she’d ask if her usual summer gig were available.

Having spent a good chunk of my working life submitting resumes, going on interviews, etc, I’d have to say Elisha’s way of getting work was unique.

As you know, GE, Maytag and Samsung are the names of dishwashers. What you don’t know is so are Corny, Donald and Tony. Tony or Mr. Ovetchka as he insisted on being called when he was drunk, demanded undeserved respect from a five-year-old who needed him to get a glass off a high shelf so the boy (me) could get a drink of water. A petty thief if an opportunity presented itself, Tony’s major claim to fame was getting so blasted he slept thirty-six hours straight. No one shook him because nobody wanted to be the one to find his dead body.

Over the years, there were probably as many dish washers as the hotel had plates. An employment agency in Monticello, a town twenty miles away, would get periodic shipments of…for want of a better description…bums shanghaied from one of New York’s skid rows. Okay “shanghaied” would be too strong since they could leave any time and usually did after the first paycheck. Then they’d be off on a bender and the process would start over.

Tony and Corny were local but about as reliable as the rest. Still, they were very different characters. Tony was a nasty drunk while Corny was happy-go-lucky, likable and always getting into some kind of mischief or misfortune like the time he showed up with his arm in a sling, the result of a bar fight with an opponent who had him in a tweezer hold.

The guy in the pic with Corny? His name was Henry. Other than that I didn’t know too much about him except he was illegitimate. I had no idea what that meant except it was something people didn’t talk about like getting a bad report card or diarrhea. The other thing about Henry was he had a habit of getting married...often. What one had to do with the other I still haven’t figured out. But those were the two things I knew about him before he and Corny set off on a night of drinking.

The Pine Center was at the top of a three-quarter-of-a-mile long hill. At the bottom were Henry and Corny drunk as proverbial lords. Supporting each other they started up. Progress was labored because for every two steps up, they took three back.

The laws of physics and mathematics might call into question how they could ever have made it to the top. But even physics and mathematics have to take a back seat to empirical proof as any sober assessment would show.

*In the interest of accuracy and truth, I readily admit “borrowing” the age bit from an Abbott and Costello routine.

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LASKIN PUBLISHING

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Subjects range from humor to mystery, the paranormal, sci-fi and more with titles that include but are not limited to:

The Trilevolence by Donald Neal Laskin

Facing execution for murder, on the run from both police and nameless killers, deserted and alone, Manuel Landaye must save his unborn son and possibly mankind. It's a perilous journey taking him from this world to the threshold of the next.

When the Rant Is Due by Donald Neal Laskin; Original art by Stacey Laskin

Pages of original art, wry humor and lunacy covering the most impactful quarter century of Silicon Valley…and much more from medicine to monkeys.

Talara II by Liana Laskin

Earth conquered, a Talaran officer crushing a new revolt falls in love with a rebel, but can’t let him, or her superiors, discover her secret.

The Mysterious Death of Lord Redcomb by Donald Neal Laskin

The world’s most famous consulting detective is on hand to find out who dispatched Lord Redcomb. Could he himself be a suspect? Great fun with a killer ending.

Aunt Mamie by Donald Neal Laskin

Ethan Dimwiddy returns home from work to find two gigantic stuffed animals and an invitation to the place where his identical twin brother mysteriously disappeared twenty years before.

…And More!

Plus…

Stacey Laskin’s TheGrinDragon phantasmagorical art turns the mundane into magnificent. From tees to totes, mugs and more. Free your imagination with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities for gifts…and for you.

Add Us to Your Amazon Wish List

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Even More Tales of The Pine Center

Back in the Forties through the Fifties, in the foothills of the Catskills in Upstate New York, my family owned The Pine Center, a small hotel in what the city people called “The Mountains”. These are their stories.

The Soda Magnate

I was cute. I mean REALLY cute. Well, at least that was the consensus among female hotel guests who couldn’t help pinching my cheeks till they were rosy red…and swelling to the size of watermelons. I exaggerate...cantaloupes.

Worst of all were the two-fisted pinchers. They’d take a cheek in each hand, twist my little head so I’d be looking up at them and squeeze thumb to forefinger on each cheek exclaiming in roughly transliterated Yiddish,” Zaya-a-shane-a.. Zaya-a-kloogeh”, which my limited anglicized understanding translated to “handsome; and so smart.” Still holding fast, they’d add in English, “Ooh, I could just eat him up.” Fearing there was that possibility, the instant I felt their fingers loosen I was gone.

As it happens, I was exotic as well as cute. These people had never seen a real live country boy with an accent as foreign to them as their Bronxite and Brooklynese was to me. Example:

“You a native?” the kid asked me.

“Uh-huh”

“I’m from Nuh Bronx.”

“New Bronx?” I asked for clarification.

“T-H-E”, he spelled out, adding, ‘”Bronx,” then put it all together, “Nuh Bronx.”

I can’t remember if I’d learned to spell yet, but I got the gist. Eventually, however, we natives and the invaders from New York were able to converse. And once a trading language was established, I began my first tentative steps in the business world selling soda at dinner time and ice cream in the afternoons.

Now our guests literally feasted from morning till night. After a breakfast of orange juice, eggs, bagels, herring, toast, French toast, pancakes, and more, there was a slightly lighter lunch a few hours later to tide them over till a dinner that started with fruit cocktail, cantaloupe or honey dew, followed by chicken fricassee or chopped chicken liver. Then came barley, corn or possibly chicken noodle soup. A main dish of roast beef, pot roast, roast chicken or steak came with a number of sides. Topping things off would be dessert like my Mom’s lemon meringue pie and cookies filled with raisins, cherries and nuts.

The price of the food was included in the accommodations. So no one could really complain about a kid charging a paltry ten cents for a bottle of soda. Also, did I mention that everybody thought I was really cute?

Of course soda wasn’t the only available beverage. We didn’t have a liquor license, so no beer or hard liquor. However, there was hard water. Pumped fresh from our well, the minerals dissolved in it made for lousy lathers, but a unique flavor people raised on city water couldn’t get enough of.

While ice cold well water may have cut into my profits, I made out pretty well — well enough to keep me in bubble gum baseball cards and every issue of Classic Illustrated I could lay my hands on. These comic books were adaptations of literary classics such as Les Misérables, Moby-Dick and Hamlet and proved an invaluable time and energy saver in my later academic career. But, I digress — As I said, I was making out pretty well, so well in fact though I can’t say I remember it happening, it became family lore. It seems that when my pockets got so heavy with change that my dungarees sagged (no jeans in those days) threatening to go down and take my shorts with them, I purportedly told people I had enough money and they didn’t have to pay. Since I am admittedly a rotten businessman, there could be some truth lurking in the retelling.

HOWEVER, the following incidents I remember well. Now, diet soda was a fairly new thing back then, so new that our soda distributor didn’t carry any. At dinner when I went around taking orders, a thin lady with thin lips, a thin face and thin aquiline nose asked me for diet soda. Informing her I didn’t have any, she told me about a store where I could buy it for her.

Everybody in a service business knows the customer’s always right. Naturally however, this doesn’t apply to a kid on summer vacation whose priorities run to swimming, playing hide and seek, climbing apple trees to get to the fruit, building a club house in the woods, reading comic books, collecting bottle caps, catching Monarch butterflies, etc..

The next day when the thin lady with thin lips, thin face and thin aquiline nose again asked about the diet soda, I replied, “I don’t have it,” adding under my breath, “but you sure could use it.” Yes I know. She was already thin. But I was a kid without a fully developed sarcastic vocabulary.

“What did you say?” she called after me as I made my escape pretending not to hear. “Little boy! Oh little boy! Come here little boy!” Somehow I managed to avoid the thin lady with thin lips, thin face and thin aquiline nose for the rest of her stay.

That story reminds of this one. My father had turned off the water to one of our bungalows to repair a pipe. When he was done, he asked me to run over and make sure the water was on again. Now the top of the door had four panes of clear glass at my eye level. When I knocked, a stark naked lady came to the door. Caesar said, “Veni. Vidi. Vici.” (“I came. I saw. I conquered.”) Donny said, “Veni. Vidi. Cucurri.”(I came. I saw. I ran.”)

Okay, I never said it, but I sure did it. Bolting off the bungalow’s tiny porch I headed out full speed as the lady called after me, “Little boy…little boy…come back, little boy.” No, it was not the same lady as in the diet soda affair. As a matter of fact I distinctly remember this lady as being pleasingly Rubenesque. What she was thinking I couldn’t guess.

Oh, the water was on.

A PERSONAL NOTE:

If you followed my posts (and surprisingly some of you do), you know I tried to get one out every week or so. This is my first one since the end of August when I had a spinal stenosis flare up (translation: damned nasty back ache). I was allergic to the drug I was prescribed causing more problems including a couple of weeks of withdrawal and was likely a contributing factor to a fall that damned near broke my kneecap.

Dorothy Parker said, “I hate writing, but love having written.” Writing is a painful process. Add a dose of physical pain and…well that’s what’s taken so long.

Best,

Don

Go to...

LASKIN PUBLISHING

well read

Subjects range from humor to mystery, the paranormal, sci-fi and more with titles that include but are not limited to:

The Trilevolence by Donald Neal Laskin Facing execution for murder, on the run from both police and nameless killers, deserted and alone, Manuel Landaye must find a way to save his unborn son and perhaps mankind. It's a perilous journey taking him from this world to possibly the next.

When the Rant Is Due by Donald Neal Laskin; Original art by Stacey Laskin Pages of original art, wry humor and lunacy covering the most impactful quarter century of Silicon Valley…and much more from medicine to monkeys.

Talara II by Liana Laskin Earth conquered, a Talaran officer crushing a new revolt falls in love with a rebel, but can’t let him, or her superiors, discover her secret.

The Mysterious Death of Lord Redcomb by Donald Neal Laskin The world’s most famous consulting detective is on hand to find out who dispatched Lord Redcomb. Could he himself be a suspect? Great fun with a killer ending.

Aunt Mamie by Donald Neal Laskin Ethan Dimwiddy returns home from work to find two gigantic stuffed animals and an invitation to the place where his identical twin brother mysteriously disappeared twenty years before. And More!

Plus...

Stacey Laskin’s TheGrinDragon phantasmagorical art turns the mundane into magnificent. From tees to totes, mugs and more. Free your imagination with hundreds upon hundreds of possibilities for gifts…and for you.

Add Us to Your Amazon Wish List

SCROLL DOWN ▼ for Laskin Publishing's Books & Artwork

Now: Don Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That's Often None of His Business

More Tales of The Pine Center

Back in the Forties through the Fifties, in the foothills of the Catskills in Upstate New York, my family owned The Pine Center, a small hotel in what the city people called “The Mountains”. These are their stories. (Should there be a “ding ding” or “dun dun”?)

Kalma, Linda, Leon and Coca-Cola

I was ten or eleven and still had many, many years to go before puberty set in. Still I remember Kalma stirring something in me. Of course, it could’ve been the four hot dogs, my Mom’s lemon meringue pie and the ice cream sandwich I had between innings of the softball game called in the fourth on account of rain. Which brings me to Linda who was catching. Sisters Kalma and Linda couldn’t have been closer — they were always together — or further apart. Kalma was a very feminine thirteen-year-old going on sixteen while Linda was, well, squat and square and a damned fine power-hitter.

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Tales of The Pine Center

Did I Ever Tell You About Joel the Mole aka Flushbowl Jackson?

I didn’t think so. Well, back in the Forties through the Fifties, in the foothills of the Catskills in Upstate New York, my family owned The Pine Center, a hotel with room for maybe eighty to a hundred or so customers. We never called them guests. That’s because guests generally don’t draw on your walls with crayons, “Leonard, you ever do that at home and you’re really gonna get it!” Guests don’t complain about another guest’s dessert, “Everybody at that table gets three maraschino cherries in their fruit cocktail. We get one!!! What the hell’s goin’ on here!?” And guests don’t steal your towels, ashtrays and anything else that’s not nailed down. “So what’re they gonna do? Call the cops?! Good advertising for them! Besides it’s a write-off.”

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SCOTUS Sperm Ruling LEAKED

Ginni Thomas photo by Gage Skidmore

Though not due out for months, in what appears will be a five to four decision, the Supreme Court is expected to uphold suits by the attorneys general and governors of Texas and Florida making onanism/masturbation in any venue a crime punishable by lengthy prison terms.

Masturbation in public in most jurisdictions is a misdemeanor. In Texas for example, it is currently punishable by a maximum of $2,000 in fines, and up to 180 days in jail for a first offense. However, based on the court’s finding that sperm is half of the makeup of a human life, the destruction of sperm is, in essence, the attempted murder of an unborn baby. And in Texas, attempted murder is punishable by a minimum of 2 and a maximum of 20 years in state prison; and/or a fine of up to $10,000.

Justice Clarence Thomas, who wrote the majority opinion, has been working on a memoir about his time on and off the court. There’s no hard evidence, but it’s been suggested that the leak occurred when excerpts from the book (following) somehow became public.

Ginni was just coming in the door. She’d had a hush-hush late night meeting with Mark (Meadows) and Rudy (Giuliani). From the broad smile and the way she tossed that beautiful blonde hair, I knew instantly that it had gone well.

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The Donald and Der Fuhrer: Not a Perfect Match

In my last post titled, February 27, 1933 - January 6, 2021 , a paean to the January 6th hearings, I pointed out a number of things Mr. Trump and Herr Hitler shared in common. In the interests of fairness, I’d like to now point out where Hitler and Trump are very different.

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

February 27, 1933

Adolf Hitler was sworn in as Chancellor of Germany. His problem? He lacked dictatorial powers. One month later arsonists torched the building housing the Reichstag, Germany’s equivalent of Congress, the seat of the country’s democracy.

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

Bagelnomics

Your 401k okay?

Without getting too personal, how do you keep track of your money? Uncounted sources — okay, I never counted them — offer all kinds of information and prognostications. There are stock market reports, jobs reports, unemployment reports, and the Old Farmer’s Almanac that’s still going strong after more than two hundred years.

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

A Real Tall Story

If you read my last post, The Man Who Never Was?, you’d already be aware my family owned a dairy farm which doubled as a hotel. There, sometime in the late 1930s, my then thirteen-year-old brother, Sonny, and our cousin, Alex, hatched a plan to grow… Wait, I think I’m kind of getting ahead of myself.

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The Man Who Never Was?

More of Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

1944. The United States had been at war for three years. The farm, which in summer doubled as a hotel for New Yorkers getting away from the broiling hot city, had one man of draft age. However, because farming was essential to the war effort, for the time being, he was exempt from serving.

Please forward to friends, enemies, frenemies, cat lovers, marathon runners, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir…anybody who reads and has a credit card. Okay, forget the reading. Anybody with a credit card. Thank you. The Management

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

What’s Ole Blue Gonna Do Now?

My brother’s family had a large old dog named Blue. At times it was hard to tell shaggy Ole Blue from the shag throw rug by the front door since both spent all their time lying there.

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

The Sweet Secret of Success 2.0

Aside from being born filthy rich, winning a few billion in a lottery or being able to accurately throw a football eighty yards, success doesn’t have a whole lot of openings. Of course, this depends on how success is defined.

Virtually every eulogized dead guy is a success. The following eulogy could’ve been delivered by a rabbi, priest, minister or imam. However, I was kinda thinkin’ down home southern preacher:

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

Tsk… Tsk… Tsk…

Ever hear of Quora.com? Me either. Or should that be “me neither”? Anyway, it’s a site where users ask questions like should it be “me either” or “me neither” and answer questions submitted by other users. Then those answers are commented on by other users who have their comments commented on by yet other users and so on…and so on…and so on…till everybody gets sick of talking about whatever it is and moves on to “What are the most disturbing facts about Ancient Egypt?” or “What are the dark secrets of chemotherapy that your oncologist won’t tell you?”

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

“I’d Never Lie to You. I’m the President of the Company.”*

*This was the tagline of a Sixties TV commercial for toupees. In the spot, a man dives into a pool, comes out smiling and explains that his hairpiece won’t come off even swimming under water. Looking into the camera, he adds, “I’d never lie to you. I’m the president of the company.”

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Watch Anya Live on Cam

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.

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Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

Think Fast

There’s something about people who think on their feet, come up with a great comeback and give an adversary a good comeuppance. Two of the best were George Bernard Shaw and Winston Churchill who had the following famous exchange via telegram:

Shaw: AM ENCLOSING TWO TICKETS TO THE FIRST NIGHT OF MY NEW PLAY. BRING A FRIEND… IF YOU HAVE ONE.

Churchill: CANNOT POSSIBLY ATTEND FIRST NIGHT. WILL ATTEND SECOND …IF YOU HAVE ONE.”

Donald Neal Laskin’s Uncalled for Commentary on Just About Anything That’s Often None of His Business

Calamari or Why Waiters Get Lousy Tips

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