Titanic's 100th Anniversary: My Grandfather Had a Ticket and a Dream

Article first published as Titanic's 100th Anniversary: My Grandfather Had a Ticket and a Dream on Blogcritics.

As the excitement and interest about the infamous ocean liner Titanic and the 100th anniversary of its sinking reaches a zenith this weekend, I have been thinking about my own family story about the great ship. All families have stories that are told and handed down, and one of my grandfather's great tales was about his ticket to sail on the Titanic, an opportunity which he felt would fulfill all his hopes and dreams. Pop was set to sail on the great ship on April 20, 1912, away from all he had ever known and toward what he felt would be a grand future. Of course, fate had other plans.

Growing up on the Lower East Side of Manhattan, Pop lived in a tenement apartment with his eight siblings and his parents. The youngest of four sons, Pop got to go to school while his older brothers never did; they had to work as soon as they could get out on the street and do something to earn money. Pop's decided advantage was learning to read and write, something that would give him an edge in the years to come.

Pop had a fascination with the sea in large part due to his father Anthony, who worked as a longshoreman on the city's docks. Pop would go and watch his father working, see the ships great and small, and wish for the day he could cross that ocean. While many of his family and friends spoke about the dream of coming to America, the grim reality that he saw all around him was nothing like the hopeful stories that had inspired them all to come to the USA in the first place.

Unfortunately, Anthony died at thirty-five years old while working on the docks. Pop said it was probably a heart attack, the work being so horrendously arduous and the hours incredibly long. So what little money was coming in from my great grandfather's salary was now gone; therefore, Pop's school days ended and he too hit the streets looking for work after having just completed third grade.

The gritty streets of Pop's New York in the late 1890s must have been an amalgam of every possible horror known about that period and a hell that cannot be imagined. From all the gruesome stories Pop told, his real New York made something like Martin Scorcese's film Gangs of New York seem like a church picnic. Pop saw all the cruelty, the poverty, the squalor, and the inequity that existed, registering it deep down but pushing forward because he had no other choice.

Flash forward to early 1912. Because Pop could read and write, he had secured a job as an assistant for a Doctor Martin who lived near Gramercy Park. Pop's duties included driving the doctor all over the city to various appointments, luncheons, and functions. He also took care of the doctor's papers and mail, and his salary of ten dollars a week enabled him to buy some nice clothes and help his mother.

Pop still dreamed of getting out, away from this fractured world just like his childhood friends actor Jimmy Durante and singer Eddie Cantor, who had escaped the neighborhood. Pop got his first shave at sixteen from Durante's father, and while in the barbershop that day Jimmy's brother Robert, a New York City cop, came in and impressed Pop in his uniform with the shiny buttons. Pop asked him why he became a cop, and Robert told him it was either that or become a crook. Knowing their neighborhood, Pop knew how true those words were.

As he was driving Martin everyday, they spoke about many things. One of the biggest topics in those early weeks of 1912 was Titanic. In an age before TV and radio, this ship's story still had somehow consumed the interest of people everywhere. Pop had been reading everything he could about the ship, and he would tell the doctor about the amenities that would be on board: the electric lights, the elevators, the lavish suites, the swimming pool, and the heated cabins. Martin wondered if he should get tickets for his wife and him, and Pop said that would be a grand idea. The doctor later revealed that he had inquired about the cost for the first class quarters he wanted, and four thousand dollars was too dear for him.

Of course, the well educated doctor and the poorly educated employee talked about the ship from their own perspectives. When Martin said something about, "The name alone is an incredible case of hubris," Pop was not sure what he meant. The doctor had said something about Greek mythology, and this inspired Pop to hit the library to look up "hubris" and read all about the Greek gods, especially the Titans. When he went back and spoke to the doctor about Cronus and company, his boss was impressed.

They continued to speak about the ship and its legacy and eventual curse: it was supposed to be virtually unsinkable. Since ships were the airplanes of that day, imagine if we were told by an airline that a plane was not capable of crashing? This captured Pop's imagination because sinking ships were a reality; he had seen the salvaged wrecks being towed into New York harbor as a boy when he stood alongside his father on the docks. Ships big and small had gone down, sending goods and people to watery graves. The possibility of an unsinkable ship was so alluring, so powerful, and that mystique hovered over Pop's every thought about the famous ship.

In late March of 1912, Pop had worked a straight twenty-four hours taking the doctor to all his emergency appointments during a heavy snowstorm. Martin had always admired his work ethic, but he felt this extra effort deserved some kind of reward. A week later the doctor got in the car and presented Pop a little gift for all the hard work he had been doing: a third class ticket for passage on the Titanic. "Maybe I can't go, Dave," he said with a hand on Pop's shoulder, "but nothing should stop you."

Pop said he was speechless, just staring at the ticket that he could never have afforded; to save $36 would have been impossible for him at that time. Martin knew Pop had a dream, and it was much bigger than being a chauffeur for him. Pop thanked him profusely, went home excitedly, and showed everyone the ticket. During the ensuing days, he prepared for the adventure that lay ahead of him by going to the library, reading all about London, and thinking about how his new life would unfold after he got off the great ship in England.

By the time Pop saw the infamous headline on the front page of The New York Times about the ship sinking, he was shaking as he stood at the newsstand with the paper in his hand. It was as if all of his dreams had hit that iceberg too, sinking deep to the bottom of the icy sea forevermore with the ship that had captured his imagination. How could an unsinkable ship sink? he wondered. Of course, people have been asking that question over and over ever since.

He made his way down to the docks where his father had worked and died, and he saw the eventual arrival of the Carpathia with the haunted surviving passengers, changed forever by the tragic loss they experienced out on that icy ocean. Pop took the ticket from his pocket, shed a few tears, and threw it into the water; he knew the dream was ostensibly over. Wealthy New Yorkers like Isidor Straus and John Jacob Astor had died on that ship, and now this poor New Yorker would never have the chance to set sail on it.

The next day Pop went back to the Durante's for a haircut, and he asked the barber if his son Robert could help him get a job. He became a New York City cop, and later that year he met my grandmother at a dance. They fell in love and were married three days later. Pop always said it was love at first sight, but Nana joked that looks were deceiving, yet they remained married until her death in May 1972, just a few months short of their 60th anniversary.

Pop moved out of the neighborhood, building his own house in Queens where my father and his brother would be raised. Pop lived a life he never imagined when living in the tenement. Never mind the Titanic; he had a place that he could call his own with a bathroom and yard. He must have thought, with apologies to Titanic director James Cameron, that he was indeed king of the world.

Many years later as an old man he would tell this story with dry eyes. He had come to terms with what happened long ago, and even felt in many ways that the sinking of the ship saved him from making a big mistake. His idea to sail to England and work his way down to Italy was not planned out, and he may never have made it. He could have ended up trading a New York slum for a London one, and what good would that have been? He seemed happy but also felt a great sadness for those lost because, as he said, "Most of them who died on that ship were poor just like me."

My grandfather had a dream to sail on Titanic, but it was never meant to be. His one regret after all those years was not keeping the ticket. I said that would have been worth something, but he said he would have never sold it. He would have framed it and hung it on the wall in order to always remember that fate had other plans for him.

Photo Credits: Discovery.com, NY Times

As Gang Green Turns: Tebow and Sanchez - Ryan Knows You Can Take Only One Girl to the Prom

First published on Blogcritics.

One suspects that New York Jets head coach Rex Ryan is delighted as can be about the newest wrinkle in the Jets soap opera, with Tim Tebow crashing into the party. For if nothing else, Ryan loves to mix things up; he is definitely a "shaken not stirred" kind of guy. There were times last year that the Jets resembled the Titanic, and if anything Tebow represents the iceberg that hit the starboard side. Since we all know how the ship fared, one can only wonder how the S.S. Jets will stay afloat this season.
Perhaps in Ryan's mind there is no impediment, but that is the same thinking that the Titanic's Captain Smith took to his watery grave. Ryan, despite all his posturing and mouthing off, does know a thing or two about football. He is not some young schmuck who inadvertently asked two girls to go to the senior dance. Ryan knows you can take only one girl to the prom, and if he really wants to get to that Super Bowl and dance the final dance, he is going to have to choose a partner.

Make no mistake, this "love" triangle is something right out of Shakespeare, but if we don't want a tragedy on our hands (with almost everyone dead on the floor after the final sword fight), something has to give. Ryan knows it, Sanchez does too, and without a doubt young Mr. Tebow knows it. He came here of his own volition - choosing the Jets over Jacksonville Jaguars, despite knowing that Sanchez had just received a contract extension. Now isn't that just like the girl who says "Yes" when asked to the prom, even knowing the guy has asked out another gal already?

No one knows how this is going to play out this year, but you have to wonder what owner Woody Johnson and GM Mike Tannebaum were thinking. The obvious thing was to grab the headlines away from those NY Giants, but there is something even more insidious in the works here. Could they have given Sanchez the extension full well knowing that they had their eyes on Tebow? That's like asking if Judas gave up Jesus without thinking about those thirty pieces of silver.

I have been watching the soap opera I like to call As Gang Green Turns for most of my life, but I think these latest episodes are about the wildest I have ever seen (and training camp is still months away). So until the next drama unfolds; same Jet time, same Jet station, old chums.

Photo Credit: foxnews.com

Before Titanic There Was the General Slocum

Article first published as Before Titanic There Was the General Slocum on Blogcritics.

There is something about a ship sinking that truly frightens people. It is the equivalent of a plane crash or a disaster like 9/11. This is because mostly ordinary people know they don't want to be caught in an extraordinary situation, and due to things beyond their control they would be thrust into danger and confronted with the possibility of dying. Whether it is on an ocean liner sinking into the icy deep or a plane falling from the sky, most of us don't want to think about it, but when we do it is a thing of nightmares.

When I used to fly before 9/11 (which was frequently and now not at all), I still always worried about a plane crash. While other people brushed off the safety demonstrations by the flight attendants, I was pulling the card from my seat pocket and watching and listening carefully to the directions. I never took it for granted that the flight would be safe, though I know now that if the plane went down there would probably be little or no chance of surviving.

Still, people are lulled into a sense of security in these moments. The Titanic was touted as "virtually unsinkable," but we know how that turned out. Still, eight years before the famous ship sank a lesser known one took roughly a thousand people to a watery grave - that ship was the General Slocum.

The Slocum left lower Manhattan on a beautiful hot June day in 1904, bound for the pastoral shores of northern Long Island where a day long picnic was planned for a group from St. Mark's Lutheran Church in Greenwich Village (an area known as Little Germany at the time). Mostly women and children boarded the vessel which proceeded north along the East River where it caught fire in an area appropriately named Hell's Gate.

Things quickly spiraled out of control. Whatever life saving equipment was available was minimal, and the life vests were so old and useless that apparently people who wore them and jumped into the water actually sank faster than if they jumped in without them. Also, since so many children were aboard, mothers frantically tried to save the children from the fire by throwing them overboard, only to have them sink before they could jump in to save them. Unfortunately, another factor was that many of the people had no idea how to swim and drowned.

Today a lovely tribute exists in All Faiths Cemetery in Middle Village, Queens, where sixty-one unidentified victims are buried. I remember visiting the Slocum Memorial as a boy and being struck by the engraving of the doomed ship on the tombstone, as well as the idea that so many were lost so close to shore, especially children. That thought still makes me shiver as I think of those poor little ones floundering in the river.

Going back today to visit the memorial I was pleased that it was as I remembered it. The surrounding community was mostly of German descent back in the early 1900s, and those victims found a permanent resting place in the heart of the neighborhood where restaurants like Niederstein's and Zum Stammisch served the German inhabitants.

1904 is a long time ago, and those people lost and even those few (361) who survived are mostly long forgotten now, but as I stood there I wondered about the senseless loss of life. While it is legendary that the Titanic disaster caused major changes in sea travel, no one seemed to learn much from what happened on the Slocum. Perhaps had this disaster been taken seriously, something like the Titanic would have never happened. Unfortunately, it was seen as a local tragedy and its impact did little or nothing to change the way people traveled on ships. That would sadly come eight years later when a mythical ship struck an iceberg and became the stuff of legends.

If you are ever able to make a visit to All Faiths Cemetery, the memorial is a place to stop and think about the fragility of life and how mothers and children going to a picnic could have their worlds turned upside down forever. The memorial is a stark reminder of a sad moment but also a beautiful and lasting tribute to those lost and the people who cared enough to remember them.

Photo Credit: Slocum - archives.gov

Mets Mess: Miles to Go Before I Weep

Article first published as Mets Mess: Miles to Go Before I Weep on Blogcritics.

With apologies to the great poet Robert Frost, as a New York Mets fan I feel like I am in that snowy wood watching it fill up with snow. Of course, that is a metaphor for death, and this 2011 Mets' season seems like it has every reason to sleep with the fishes. Still, I keep telling myself, "I'm a Met fan; the Mets are born from losing." Yes, we are, but there has to be some point when we all give up, right? I'm not there yet, but it is truly a struggle these days.

Current manager Terry Collins went wild this week, ranting and raving to the team in a closed door meeting. We can imagine what was said about them being pathetic, finding every way to lose, looking worse than kids playing T-ball at the park. You get the idea. While I understand what made Collins rant, I question the logic of going that route. It seems like half the locker room must be called up from AAA Buffalo these days with all the injuries, and yelling at these kids may not be the best way to handle things.

I recall that my grandfather always called his old Brooklyn Dodgers "bums" (so did half of New York back in those days). I never saw the Brooklyn Dodgers play because they left town before I was born, but I am told that Pop used to sit in front of the TV and get upset as the Dodgers found another way to lose a game. "They're nothing but a bunch of bums!" he would holler, shaking his fist at the TV set. Now, as a Mets fan, I more than understand his feelings.

When the Mets were new in this town, they were always losing. With their Dodgers pedigree, I always say they were born from losing. That Dodger "blue" certainly manifested and maintained at Shea Stadium what had been wrought in Ebbets Field, and Dodgers fans became Mets fans even with old Casey Stengel (former manager of their arch enemies the New York Yankees) as their new skipper. I can only imagine how Pop and my uncles must have felt seeing Stengel in a Mets uniform, but they went with what they had and endured because they were National League fans and could never root for the team with the straight NY on the baseball cap.

Terry Collins should really become a student of Mets history, particularly of old Stengel. I think all the ranting and raving in the world will only get you so far, but why Stengel became beloved by Mets fans was because he never lost his temper or his sense of humor. Today if you visit the Mets museum in Citi Field, one of the highlights is the Casey Stengel statue. The image of the stooped and broken Stengel, looking almost like the statue of Winston Churchill in London overlooking the disintegrating British Empire, is a reminder that the Mets struggles in the past were made easier by the right guy at the helm. Collins needs to take a page from Stengel's book and fast.

As for many Mets fans, they are starting to lose patience with the 2011 Mets. Getting tickets to a Mets game (and I was only offered them the other day) is kind of like getting tickets to sail on the Titanic - after you already know it has hit an iceberg. Many people are going to decline the offer, but some of us might just slip on life jackets and take a chance. There is a good possibility (like in last night's game) that the team will find a way to lose, but it's hard to stay afloat with all that seawater rushing in.

I am not ready to give up on the Mets; in fact, I will never give up on the Mets. I will not - like many fans did in the mid-1990s - turn away from the team and become a Yankees fan. That mentality has nothing to do with being a fan but rather with being what Thomas Paine called a "summer soldier" or "sunshine patriot." Fans who gravitate to teams simply because they are winning do miss the whole concept of loyalty and fraternity, but that's another story.

So I am in no way giving up on the 2011 Mets, even if most of the time it seems they have given up on themselves. I will not shed any tears because that will not change anything; I will continue to watch the games and root for them because that's what real fans do. Sometimes it will be painful to watch, and I may switch the channels and watch golf, tennis, or even old episodes of M*A*S*H to give myself a break, but I'll go back and check on them soon enough.

Hang in there, true Mets fans, things will get better. Wright, Davis, and Santana are coming; yeah, I know, so is Christmas. I just hope we don't have to wait that long until they return.

Photo Credit: Collins-Daily News; Stengel- Sports Illustrated

One Hundredth Anniversary of The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire

Article first published as One Hundredth Anniversary of The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire on Blogcritics.

Time has a way of making people forget even the greatest disasters. As the years pass, there are fewer people remaining who actually remember events such as the attack on Pearl Harbor or the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. In terms of disasters, many times the memory is kept alive by survivors or their families and friends. For example, we will mark the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic next April. No survivors remain, but books and films have long contributed to the continuing of the flame of memory. Indeed, no survivors remain from what was known Triangle Shirtwaist Fire, and that terrible event happened one hundred years ago today in New York City.

At a time when the mayor and governor of New York State both seem to want to lessen the strength of unions (because of what they say are necessary budgetary considerations), the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire is a vivid reminder of why workplace laws and unions were strengthened in the first place. The need for labor laws became magnified by this event, and even the New York City Fire Department began seriously working on fire prevention as part of the necessary and compelling work that they do.

Those of us who remember September 11, 2001, will recall New Yorkers staring up at the sky and watching an incomprehensible event. Besides the fire and smoke pouring out the Twin Towers, many people dropped from the sky to the pavement far below that day. They chose to escape a horrific death from fire and smoke by jumping out windows. The many bystanders witnessed these falls from the sky, stunned by the swiftness of the bodies dropping and the sound of their crushing against the earth.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Fire was the 9/11 of that time, and the cause of the blaze has never been discovered. Many poor immigrants worked in this building in lower Manhattan. It was a Saturday, and the young Jewish and Italian girls working in the shop made female shirts in a business known as the Triangle Shirtwaist Company.

My grandfather who was born and grew up not far from where this fire took place, remembered the incident well. At the time he was driving a horse-drawn ice wagon, and he recalled the commotion and the smoke on the upper floors (actually the eighth, ninth, and tenth floors). Inside the male tailors were using fire buckets ineffectively against the blaze; outside the water from the fire hoses didn't make it up that high; neither did the ladders on the trucks.

Pop remembered many people jumping, their hair and clothes on fire, and he said that everyone on the ground seemed powerless to help those inside. The girls and other workers (200 or more of them) were trying to find a way out. One problem was that there were two small elevators that could only hold a few people at a time; the other was that the escape doors to stairwells were rushed but were either locked or jammed.

Certainly this story is about deplorable working conditions, people trapped on upper floors in tight quarters with no means of escape. Obviously, there were no sprinklers or fire doors or water hoses like we would find in buildings today. All of the things we expect to see in modern skyscrapers developed from the reaction to what happened on this terrible day in Manhattan.

My grandfather recalled having many deliveries to make, and the crowd became overwhelming as more people poured into the area on the heels of firefighters arriving to attempt to fight the blaze. In an effort to make up time and get out before he became trapped, he got his horse to go around the crowds of people and headed away from the scene of the disaster to make his deliveries. "I knew there was nothing I or anyone else could do for those poor people," he said, still seemingly moved by it when he told me many years later.

One hundred forty-six people died that day. The building was supposed to be fireproof (according to the standards of the day) but, just as the Titanic was supposed to be unsinkable, it didn't stop either from becoming a deathtrap. Families of the victims sued the owners of the company, getting little but small monetary satisfaction. Just as the Titanic disaster forced safety changes on cruise ships (like having enough lifeboats for everyone on board), this fire did the same thing for factories. Because of what happened, New York State did enact laws to protect workers in sweatshops like this, and the event would strengthen the push for unions to protect workers and get them health coverage.

The building is still there and is used by New York University today. The Titanic rots away on the bottom of the ocean floor. Both were major events early in the 20th century and were cases of people dying unnecessarily because of poor or nonexistent safety measures. They are also inexorably linked to New York City; one happened right in its heart; the other was bound for our waters but never made it here.

One hundred years have gone by since that day, and hopefully we continue to learn from disasters like these. Still, with a mayor and governor who are looking to cut the strength of unions in this city and state, we have to wonder if this solemn anniversary is in some way not a reminder of a dark past but a grim warning about things we thought would never come again.

Photo Credits: Cornell.edu

Mets Mess: Luis Castillo Released - Perez Still Pitching In

Article first published as Mets Mess: Luis Castillo Released - Perez Still Pitching In on Blogcritics.

I picture Luis Castillo during this spring training as a guy with a bucket on the Titanic. He kept trying to get the water off the deck, but you know how this story ends. So now Luis is gone; either he jumped overboard or got into a lifeboat. Either way, the ship is still sinking.

Castillo always seemed to be the target of the fans. Not only did his hitting leave something to be desired, but so did his fielding. When I think of him I see dropped pop-ups and remember the booing of the crowd. Not a very pleasant memory at all. By all accounts his teammates liked him, but the main reason he is gone is because the fans demanded it.

While the Mets parted ways with second baseman Castillo, troubled pitcher Oliver Perez is still hanging in there. He pitched one scoreless inning yesterday, even striking out Jason Heyward of the Atlanta Braves. Does this mean Ollie might get a shot at being in the bullpen? I'd say grab a bucket, Ollie. Someone has to take up where Castillo left off.

There are also alternating reports of Carlos Beltran feeling better and his knee bothering him. Take your pick, Mets fans, because this is not the player the Mets were supposed to get. He should have been their star center fielder, ostensibly their centerpiece to the puzzle, a super star around whom to build a team. We see how well that has worked out, right?

Alas, the old regime of GM Omar Minaya (and Steve Phillips before him) shelled out lots of money to players who have gone bust. Just take a look at the short list: Beltran, Perez, Castillo, and Johan Santana. Millions and millions of dollars wasted as well as time and at the expense of the team and the fans. People can talk all they want about the money the team lost investing with Bernie Madoff, but the worst investment the Mets ever made was in these players who gave them no return.

Now maybe the Mets can get back to what they used to do well: establish a strong farm system that develops great players like it once did. Clearly, guys like Ike Davis, David Wright, and Jose Reyes give us a glimmer of hope of what can come from that kind of cultivation. We have to hope that GM Sandy Alderson has the vision to do this for the long haul because free agents are just not working out for the Mets. It seems they never have (can anyone forget Bobby Bonilla?).

There isn't much to look forward to this season, but we have to remember the band kept playing on the Titanic even as it was sinking. So grab a bucket, Ollie, but don't think it's going to save the ship before the fat lady sings.

Photo Credits:
Castillo - Daily News
Wright - espn.com

Blizzard of 2010: Mayor Visits Unplowed Areas, But People Still Are Stuck in Homes

Article first published as Blizzard of 2010: Mayor Visits Unplowed Areas, But People Still Are Stuck in Homes on Blogcritics.

As this is New Year's Eve, my first and easiest resolution is to note that this will be my final article on the subject of the blizzard of 2010. While the analysis of the city's handling of the major weather event will go on for some time, those of us who have lived through it don't need the Sanitation Commissioner John Doherty to do his "research." We know what went wrong and apologies at this point are meaningless.

One thing I have wanted to say all along is that we New Yorkers do not blame sanitation workers - New York's Strongest - for what happened. Many of these guys have been working twelve-hour shifts all week long, fighting a losing battle, and knowing that people are angry. These guys are fellow New Yorkers (for the most part), and they feel our pain.

It is the head of the department and his minions who are to blame, along with the Mayor and his cadre of nitwits who failed to declare an emergency on time. A declaration would have taken buses off the streets, not making them massive obstacles stuck in the snow and in the way of sanitation plows. It would have also taken many cars off streets where they were eventually abandoned and also in the path of workers.

Mayor Bloomberg traveled to the hardest hit areas yesterday, but to many this was four days too late. One might have expected him to be pelted with snowballs as he stood among complaining homeowners, but a bucket of water would have been better, only for us to have his "I'm melting" moment as his feet would sink beneath him into the Brooklyn street that he neglected to have plowed.

There is no way to know what will happen in the weeks ahead. Will we eventually learn if the story about a "slowdown" called by outer borough sanitation bosses is true? Will we ever know why Manhattan bike lanes were plowed before Queens and Brooklyn streets? Will someone answer for the deaths caused by those unplowed streets preventing EMS workers to get to these people?

All I know is that Mayor Bloomberg and John Doherty seem an awful lot like Bruce Ismay and Captain EJ Smith of Titanic fame. As Smith's boss, Ismay ordered the captain to speed through waters known for icebergs to get to New York ahead of time. We know how well that turned out: lots of people died and Smith went down with his ship. Problem here is Doherty is still standing, and Mayor Bloomberg has thrown him a life preserver and is behind him all the way.

New Yorkers are a resilient bunch. As most of the world now knows after 9/11, we can take a few tough punches, even go down for the count, but then we get up and are ready to go twelve rounds. This blizzard packed a wallop, and we are down but not out. The problem is that we have the wrong guy in our corner, so when the bell rings, we want to turn around and sock him instead of our opponent.

The snow in our streets will eventually melt, the rivulets of its residue will go down our city sewers and eventually out to sea. Time will move on, but this is one storm that will not be forgotten nor will our Mayor's response to it.

I have one comforting thought: on a cold winter's night In the weeks ahead Bloomberg is going to hear a voice in his room in the palace that overlooks New York City. He will rub his eyes and look up to see the Ghost of Blizzards Past John Lindsay hovering over his bed. Lindsay will say, "Welcome to the club, Mike." Then he will go "poof" and disappear. How do you go back to sleep after that, Mr. Mayor?

Photo Credit: Maisel/NY Daily News

Mets Mess: New Manager Introduced: And the Crowd Yawns

Article first published as Mets Mess: New Manager Introduced: And the Crowd Yawns on Blogcritics.


The news that the Mets hired Terry Collins as their new manager did little to inspire dancing in the streets here in New York City. NY Mets fans like myself are sick and tired of an organization treating us with less respect than the late comedian Rodney Dangerfield ever got.


Mets fans wanted a big fish. We wanted Joe Torre, despite all the stuff that went on between him and Jerry Manuel. Who cares about that? We wanted someone like Wally Backman, who maybe didn't ever manage in the majors but was surely a spitfire as a player. We would have even accepted the second coming of Bobby Valentine; at least he had a pulse and caused people to get excited about the game.



Instead, we get Terry Collins, who hasn't managed a baseball game since 1999. Uh, what the heck was Sandy Alderson and that Mets brain trust thinking when they made this choice? This is about as exciting as naming Pee Wee Herman as our starting second baseman for next season. Come to think of it, he'd probably do a better job than Luis Castillo.

Anyway, this Collins guy has an awe inspiring 444-434 record as a major league manager. We wanted a superstar and instead we got the understudy. Mets fans have been so poorly treated in recent years, one has to wonder what objective this franchise is playing for next year. Is this yet another "transition" year? Is this yet another year when we have to suffer with the likes of Castillo and Oliver Perez on the payroll?

Maybe I am wrong and this guy Collins will come in here and make things right again, but during the press conference at Citi Field today it sounded all wrong to me. Collins, who quit as manager of the California Angels in September 1999 due to problems with the team, readily admitted, "I did a bad job managing the clubhouse, no question about it." Way to go, Sandy Alderson, just what we need.

This sounds like another Art Howe kind of guy. Come on, even the Pittsburg Pirates were smarter than this when they hired Clint Hurdle right out from under your nose. If this is the way Alderson plays chess, Mets fans are going to be hearing "Checkmate" before the All Star Break and, if that is the case, the seats are going to be so empty in Citi Field next summer the bored ushers and vendors will be hearing lots of pins drop.

During this same press conference, Collins stated that he felt the Mets had a chance to contend in 2011. Well, right now that sounds to me like the builders of the Titanic saying it was unsinkable. We know how well that turned out.

I wish I could look at this as a good move, but the truth is that I think Mets fans have once again been given damaged goods. Terry Collins? Well folks, I think you all better have a Tom Collins or beverage of your choice and sit back and get ready for what looks like another year of no joy in Metsville.

New York Mets Sinking Like the Titanic

This article first appeared as New York Mets Sinking Like the Titanic on Blogcritics.

The once venerable ship known as the New York Mets has hit a figurative and literal iceberg this season, making it ready to sink like a stone to the bottom of the Major League waters it has navigated tenuously all season. If you will bear with this extended metaphor for a bit, you will come to understand that I foretold this sinking of the ship early in the season, but those supposedly water-tight doors took a while to give way. Now the fall to the bottom of the sea is seemingly inevitable.



Jerry Probably Wishes that Finger Was Loaded

At the helm is Captain Jerry Manuel, who looks no more confident than Captain E.J. Smith did when he stared over the starboard side of his ship (captured forever by an amateur photographer) and was probably wondering, "Why don't we have more lifeboats?" Manuel may have well done the same thing in spring training, staring at his porous lineup and rickety vessel thinking he was never going to make the crossing of the season's waters intact.



Captain Smith Looking for Lifeboats

Like Smith who was prodded by his superior Bruce Ismay into pushing his ship beyond its capabilities, Omar Minaya seems to have done the same thing here. He spent little capital in getting the team sea worthy and brought in guys like R.A. Dickey and Hisanori Takahashi without ever going for a front-end starter. He knew Frankie Rodriguez was combustible as the Titanic engines with all that coal causing a big fire down below, making the steel soft and just ripe for that iceberg.

Now that the Mets have hit the inevitability of the iceberg known as the West coast road trip, we see the sinking ship for what it really is: the pitchers can't swim, the bullpen can't find the binoculars in the crow's nest, and the hitters are struggling with the ropes on the lifeboats. Manuel may be running to the rail and thinking, "Man overboard," but he has to be reminded that like Captain Smith he has to go down with the ship.

All of my fellow Mets fans have to face the facts here. This vessel was never unsinkable and never pronounced to be. In fact, it was so obvious in spring training, that it seemed like putting out to sea in a submarine with screen doors. Still, we were wooed by the surge at the end of April, convinced by the trickery of knuckleballer Dickey and that some sort of second coming of Jerry Koosman could be found in Takahashi, but the problem was that there just are not enough water-tight doors to keep this ship afloat.

Since the return of golden boy Carlos Beltran, the Mets are 2-8 with Beltran hitting an abysmal .188. The rest of the team is not doing much better, so they would do well to jump into the lifeboats, but if they can manage to handle the oars as well as they do bats, they probably wouldn't do enough to get away from the wake of the stinking ship (oh, I meant sinking ship).

Mets fans have to look at the reality of 2010 as it is: another lost season. Put on the life vests, get into the lifeboats, and row fast as you can toward the H.M.S. Carpathia of 2011. As with the survivors of the Titanic, that is the only hope we have and we will have to make the best of it.