Archive » February 2019 » Columns

Community Caregivers serves individuals who need help to stay independent at home and connected to their communities. Our model of service relies upon volunteers to carry out our mission of neighbor helping neighbor throughout communities in Albany County.

What does the mission look like on a daily basis?

It depends upon the need of the person requesting our services. For example, in one instance, we have assigned a volunteer to visit and reminisce with an elderly man whose only other company is the television.

In another case, a volunteer regularly shops for a woman who is homebound but wants her grocery list completed with care and personal attention to her preferences.

Yet another woman with multiple health challenges and no family, relies upon our volunteer drivers to get to regular medical appointments; she enjoys the time to chat and share stories along the way.

We have dozens of examples where simple acts make life better for those around us. Transportation represents about 60 percent of the services we provide throughout the year. Visits, calls, shopping, and other services make up the other 40 percent.

Our professional staff carefully matches our clients with vetted volunteers. We do not charge for the services we offer.

Now, why do you need to know this?

The Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. once stated, “Everybody can be great … because anybody can serve.” We agree; everyone can do something to help. We hope that there is a way that you might be inspired to help us help others. How?

— Volunteer. You can help by becoming a volunteer or spreading the word to someone you know would like to volunteer. Our volunteer sessions are held twice monthly; we offer many ways to volunteer. One is sure to be something you would enjoy;

— Ask us out! Please invite us to speak to your civic or faith group to talk about our mission and volunteer opportunities;

— Donate to our organization. We rely upon donations and grants and welcome donations throughout the year. We host popular fundraising events, including a golf tournament in June and a gala in November.

If you are a talented local artist, perhaps you would like to donate to our silent auction. Local businesses can help too.

Recently, we asked a longtime volunteer why she volunteers with Community Caregivers and she said, “It is very rewarding to help our neighbors. Our clients are very appreciative of our services and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed my years of volunteering with Community Caregivers.”

If you would like to reap the rewards of volunteering, please register for a New Volunteer Orientation. While anyone age 18 or older may attend and there is no obligation to sign up as a volunteer, we do ask that you register.

Our early spring schedule follows:

— Thursday, March 7, at 1 p.m.;

— Thursday, March 14, at 9 a.m.;

— Tuesday, March 26, at 1 p.m.; and

— Tuesday, April 2, at noon.

Sessions, except for March 14, will be in our Guilderland office at 2021 Western Ave., Suite 104. On March 14, our morning session will be over a cup of coffee in Delmar.

For more information and to register, please call 518-456-2898 or send a message to  volunteer@communitycaregivers.org.

Community Caregivers Inc. is a not-for-profit organization that provides non-medical services including transportation and caregiver support at no charge to residents of Guilderland, Bethlehem, Altamont, New Scotland, Berne, Knox, and the city of Albany through a strong volunteer pool of dedicated individuals with a desire to assist their neighbors.

Editor’s note: Linda Miller is the Outreach and Education coordinator for Community Caregivers.

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An artist from Broome, Jody MacBlane, left, presents the OMOTM with a steel cutout of the Old Man of the Mountain symbol of the state of New Hampshire. At the bottom are the words Timeless-Wisdom-Insight. Patty, right, will hang the artwork in her restaurant, Mrs. K’s Kitchen in Middleburgh.

The date of this little report is no longer relevant because this scribe has been the guest of St. Peter’s Hotel for awhile. A “simple” procedure done thousands of times went awry.

This procedure was supposed to be in and out the same day; in many cases, you drive yourself there, and drive yourself home. The following day should be a day of recuperation then things are pretty much set to go.

Eventually (three days later after a second “procedure”) the scribe was sent home with a catheter. The scribe’s wife is not a nurse and doesn’t pretend to be one. This was a tough time for two senior citizens.

However, with the kindness, compassion, help, and consideration of neighbors on the Hill, this scribe got through it. It certainly was an experience, and one the scribe doesn’t ever want to repeat, so he will wait patiently until March 21 before the doctor sees him.

He hopes at that time he is fit to go back to living his normal life. This means the scribe has 28 days of not lifting or pushing anything more than 10 pounds, and then the doctor’s appointment. The scribe thought he had planned it so he would not miss an Old Man of the Mountain breakfast.

Well! That didn’t work out — so much for careful planning.

Pondering the question of who feels the cold

The first breakfast this scribe missed was at the Middleburgh Diner in Middleburgh. One considerate OMOTM made a list of those who attended the breakfast in Middleburgh, and this scribe said he would make a report from some notes made in the scribe’s little black book that were not used in other columns.

One of the items not covered, but was discussed, was the fact that during the winter the OFs don’t know how some people can take the cold to the point of wearing shorts when it is 20 degrees outside and the wind is blowing at 20 miles per hour.

The OF, on the other hand, has on his insulated bib overalls over a pair of jeans, his layered top with long johns, flannel shirt, insulated Carhartt coat, and a “mad bomber” hat on his head.

One OF thought it was a mental condition, but another OF said there are enough people who dress quite lightly for cold weather that he thinks their body does not recognize cold. Some OFs said they have friends who don’t wear gloves most of the time in real cold weather and one OF said some of them are also OFs.

The OFs questioned the problem of wind chill and frostbite. The OFs wondered if frostbite affects the people who have the ability to withstand real cold weather.

Artwork honors The Old Men of the Mountain

At Mrs. K’s restaurant in Middleburgh a real-time report is very interesting and this scribe is bummed that he missed it. An artist from Broome named Jody MacBlane presented the OMOTM with a steel cutout of the OMOTM symbol of the state of New Hampshire that was used on the New Hampshire quarter.

Over the top of the cutout are the words OMOTM, and at the bottom are the words Timeless-Wisdom-Insight. (Obviously, this fellow doesn’t know us all that well). Patty, at Mrs. K’s, is going to hang this piece of art work in her establishment in Middleburgh.

The Old Men of the Mountain are much appreciative of such recognition by a reader of the column who would take the time and effort to create such a piece of art, and Patty for giving space to hang and display Mr. MacBlane’s artwork.

When the OMOTM quarter of the state of New Hampshire first came out, Mike Willsey, one of our early founders of the OMOTM, mounted clasps to the back of enough of the quarters for each of the OMOTM, and the OFs pinned these quarters to their OMOTM hats, shirts, or jackets and wore them proudly.

This scribe would also like to thank Lou Schenck of the OFs for recording their names mainly for self-preservation from any process servers, or law-enforcement officials, also for the information on the artist, and his cutout of the OMOTM.

Those OFs who were at Mrs. Ks in Middleburgh were: Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Marty Herzog, Bill Lichliter, Roger Shafer, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, John Rossmann, Mace Porter, Jack Norray, Jake Lederman, Wayne Gaul, Rev. Jay Francis, Lou Schenck, Jim Rissacher, Mike Willsey, Warren Willsey, Ken Parks, and not me.

Those OFs that made it to the Middleburgh Diner for basically the same reasons as noted above were: Robie Osterman, George Washburn, Mark Traver, Glenn Patterson, Chuck Aelesio, Richard Frank, Marty Herzog, Bill Lichliter, Roger Shafer, Otis Lawyer, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, John Rossmann, Mace Porter, Jack Norray, Gerry Irwin, Lou Schenck, John Dab, Joe Rack, Ken Parks, Elwood Vanderbilt, Richard Vanderbilt, Harold Grippen and not me.

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One week ago, the Honorable John Dingell Jr. died at his Michigan home in the Congressional district he’d served for 60 consecutive years. His 30 terms in the House of Representatives is a historic feat.

But there’s something unsettling about America’s longest-serving Congressman succeeding his father in the same office (Representative John Dingell Sr. had held the seat for the 22 years prior) only to be succeeded by his own wife (Representative Debbie Dingell was elected when her husband retired from office in 2015).

That a House seat has been in the control of a single family (from father to son to son’s wife) for over 85 years — more than a third the age of the House itself — is more awkward than praiseworthy. The Khan family didn’t even rule Mongolia for that long.

Similarly, consider the Congressional leaders well into their third decade in office. Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell was elected in 1984, while Speaker of the House of Representatives Nancy Pelosi was elected in 1987. Also in 1987, Donald Trump declared to Larry King on CNN, “I don’t want to be president,” and “Walk Like An Egyptian” by The Bangles was the year’s number-one song.

Clearly, times have changed a lot since 1987. Why haven’t the faces?

I propose an overdue 28th Amendment to the United States Constitution. Hereinafter referred to as the Federal Term Limit Amendment — “FTLA” to those in the know — the text of this proposed two-section Amendment (available upon request) limits members of Congress to 12 two-year terms in the House and four six-year terms in the Senate, and limits Judges to one 24-year term on the federal bench.

A mission to limit elective or appointed federal service to 24 years is ripe for criticism. As the proponent, I’m equipped to respond to all of it. I’ll now take your questions.

TOM: Isn’t this antidemocratic? What if I want a guy to represent me for 60 years?

Democracy unchecked subverts itself. Sure, you may want your Michigan Senator to represent you for 60 years, but his legislative votes also impact me in New York. Sometimes democracy has to be curbed to make things more democratic. Moreover, this is a federal limitation; locally, Albany Mayor Kathy Sheehan will still be free to make Erastus Corning’s 41 years in office look like child’s play.

Besides, there’s already a precedent for restricting a term of federal office; the 22nd Amendment to the Constitution formally established a two-term limit for the presidency. Are you really concerned that we’re becoming the Soviet Union because you couldn’t vote for President Obama a third time?

DICK: But why 24 years? That’s an odd number.

Actually, it’s an even number. And it’s also one conveniently divisible by both the two-year House terms and the six-year Senate terms. Additionally, there are 24 hours in a day, and “24” won Best Drama Series at the 2004 Golden Globe Awards. If you don’t like 24, take it up with either God or the Fox Network.

HARRY: But isn’t a 24-year tenure still too long for someone to remain in office?

Shush, Harry. The FTLA doesn’t guarantee 24 years in office, it just establishes an upper limit — you’d still be able to use the routine exercise of democracy (elections) to remove people from office. In most cases, the FTLA wouldn’t impact the terms of elected and/or appointed federal officials; the average length of service is about 10 years for both the House and Senate, and the average tenure of federal court judges is between 11 years (district) and 15 years (circuit).

The FTLA isn’t supposed to be a radical reformation of the system; it’s merely designed to spare us from those irremovable outliers who dominate the conversation as a function of their ubiquitous longevity.

Granted, there are benefits to a long Congressional career, given the institutional knowledge and talent for legislative procedure that accrues, plus the fact that committee leadership is based on seniority. Likewise, the stability in jurisprudence that results from long judicial terms ensures that the evolution of social norms proceeds smoothly, without sparking disruptive backlash.

But a term of office lasting nearly a quarter century achieves these advantages. After all, the FTLA accommodates nearly the entirety of Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s celebrated 26-year Supreme Court tenure.

Besides, a term limit on judgeships would encourage presidents to appoint more senior and experienced jurists; there’d no longer be incentive to nominate the youngest candidates solely to ensure the longest possible lifetime stamp on the federal judiciary.

Given the reality of longer life-expectancies on judicial tenures, it’ll eventually be absurd not to impose such limits. Like, how many octogenarians should be interpreting laws that impact every citizen in this country, really?

JANE: I’m an aspiring member of Congress. Won’t the Federal Term Limit Amendment prevent me from amassing wealth and consolidating power in a cynical and self-obsessed bid for economic socio-political dominance?

Nope, not at all, Jane! With a little strategic planning, the savvy politician could rely on the FTLA to stay in office for 80 total years. Eight-zero years!

Let’s do the math. Jane wants to run for a seat in the House of Representatives. Hooray! She wins, and then proceeds to do so again 11 more times for a total of 24 years. (Why not risk almost a dozen reelection campaigns? In 2016, only eight of 387 House incumbents were defeated in the general election — that’s an incumbency rate of nearly 98 percent, which was actually higher than the average incumbency success rate of 94 percent since 2000!)

In her 12th and final term in the House, Jane then thinks to herself: “I rather like my morning D.C. commute. But I can’t serve in the House anymore because of that dang FTLA. Wait! I’ll just run for Senate!”

Excellent choice. Jane launches her first Senate campaign and — relying on the notoriety and donor networks forged during nearly a quarter-century in the House — handily wins.

Jane moves her belongings from the Rayburn House Office Building across the National Mall to the Russell Senate Office Building, where she makes herself at home over the course of three additional six-year terms. (The prospects of an incumbent’s reelection in the Senate is only a nail-bitingly dismal 93 percent, but somehow, Jane ekes out a few more wins.)

Don’t despair, Jane! Your Congressional career may be coming to an end by operation of the FTLA, but that doesn’t mean you can’t run for president on the back of your hefty legislative career!

In fact, if Jane can secure reelection to a second presidential term, she could go so far as to unabashedly appoint herself to that newly-vacant Supreme Court seat in the twilight of her presidency, and rely on her former Senate colleagues to confirm her to the coveted 24-year term on the Supreme Court.

Add it up: 24 years in the House, plus 24 years in the Senate, plus eight years as president, plus 24 years as a Supreme Court Justice. That’s an 80-year reign over the affairs of state. Not too shabby, Jane! (Or, rather, Honorable Justice Madam President!)

My proposed Federal Term Limit Amendment ensures that power will be less consolidated among entrenched elites, but not so much so that our covetously ravenous lawmakers can’t still endeavor to devour each and every iota of power. That, my friends, is a win-win.

In summary, as we witness the dueling conceits of a few inexhaustible yet graying politicians, consider that Ms. Pelosi and Mr. McConnell have been in office for longer than 47 percent of the United States population has been alive. (Yup: nearly half of all Americans were born after they were elected to Congress. With an incumbency rate of over 90 percent, that functionally is a lifetime appointment.)

Furthermore, consider that a president who didn’t win the popular vote will impact our country for decades to come via the two lifetime appointments he’s already made to the Supreme Court.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this: Tom Brady may be a phenom, but wouldn’t it be nice if he let someone else win football for a change? If you agree that a century of Dingells in office is probably enough, call your representative and tell them to support the FTLA. Remind them about Jane’s 80-year career if they’re hesitant.

Editor’s note: Captain Jesse Sommer is an active duty paratrooper stationed with the United States Army’s 7th Special Forces Group (Airborne) in Florida.

 

On Tuesday, Feb. 5, it was an unusual breakfast because it was out of order.

The breakfast was not unusual — the location was. The original restaurant had a scheduling change and would not be open on Tuesday.

This scribe did not know this and found out by accident, i.e., a quirk of faith, at least a few days ahead of time. So this scribe scrambled and contacted a few on the list who brought people, and called those who did not have email.

However, as is always the case, one driver did not get contacted and drove to the normally-scheduled restaurant and found it closed. With true dedication, the OMOTM drove back over two mountains to arrive almost in time at Pop’s Place in Preston Hollow where about a dozen OFs were still at the tables.

The OFs discussed taxes; it seems death and taxes are on the OFs’ minds lately. On taxes, the OFs discussed the state we are in and its truly outrageous taxes.

One OF said that those who live in New York have to support three sponges — New York City, Buffalo, and Rochester. Those places suck up all our money.

An OF countered with what he thinks — that New York city actually pays into the system more than it gets. None of the OFs are really sure if that is true, but a lot of our money is going someplace.

One OF said that he has a friend in Colorado Springs, and his taxes were $400 on his home (and it is a nice home) and that was it!  Imagine that — 400 bucks.

Another OF told a story regarding when he was working and a complete company was leaving New York (and this was years ago). The OF was given a pamphlet, which the company gave all employees, listing why they were leaving, and the pamphlet also gave all employees a chance to move with the company, and this company would pay their moving expenses.

The reasons for leaving were weather, taxes, and over-regulation. The pamphlet praised the employees. In two months, the company was gone.

As usual, tax season brings tax talk, and we all complain but when the OFs hear their friends talk about how little they pay in taxes, the OFs wonder: Where does all the money we pay in taxes go?

The OFs admit infrastructure is a big part, but Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Illinois all have the same problem.

We used to have the best education system going; when we were in school, a New York State high school education was almost a college degree compared to some other states. Not so much now. A degree from the Carolinas seems to be better than the same one from New York State. The OFs are just confused.

The OFs have said many times that, if it weren’t for the politics, New York has average weather, and beautiful scenery, and they all feel great when coming home, but it is the politics that bothers them the most, and of course, the taxes.

One OF said, “We don’t live in the other states,” but that OF said he bets they have their problems too, and those who live there get as disgusted with one thing or another just as we New Yorkers do.

For the birds

The OFs discussed how the wild animals take care of themselves during the winter months. Some of the OFs say it is really not necessary to feed the wild birds. They can take care of themselves very well and have for eons.

Feeding birds is for our enjoyment only it will not preserve the species. One OF said he thinks it actually weakens them.

Another OF who is an  outdoorsman mentioned how the deer take care during the winter with cold weather and deep snow. The OF said the deer huddle under the hemlocks in holes they have dug in the snow. The OF said the holes are deep so only their heads can peek over the top.

“They are as snug as a bug in a rug,” he said.

All the little critters get under the snow, and even underground where the real cold weather can’t get to them, and the extra fur they start growing in late fall is also a big help. The self-made naturalists in the group, at times, make for some interesting conversations.

These OFs are good in regular table talk. It’s like going to school when listening to some of their conversations.

Talk of Tier One

A collection of OFs were sitting in proximity of each other and they all started talking about retiring. Well, duh, that conversation would include all the OMOTM. (We might have a couple of exceptions, but not many.)

This group all worked for the state in one fashion or another and all retired under “Tier One.” That left many of the other OFs wondering what kind of code they were talking; apparently “Tier One” is a good thing.

They then started talking the ins and outs of “Tier One” and this scribe was able to deduce that it was quite a favorable pension program offered by the state way back when.

Today, with all the ads for this program and that program, Medicare, Medicaid, and who knows what all, even Alex Trebek is spending more time selling insurance than he is on Jeopardy. That makes it easy to understand how this insurance topic would come up.

Condolences

The Old Men of the Mountain would like to offer their deepest sympathies and condolences to the family of a devoted and loyal member of this gathering, Steve Kelly, who passed away on Feb. 7 and is now with all the other OMOTM who are having their breakfast somewhere on a cloud in heaven.

Those who made it to Pop’s Place in Preston Hollow, and the dedicated OMOTM who made it over hill and dale through an error on the scribe’s part, were: Marty Herzog, Robie Osterman, Harold Guest, Wally Guest, George Washburn, Roger Chapman, Roger Shafer, Bill Lichliter, John Rossmann, Bob Giebitz, Joe Rack, Mark Traver, Mace Porter, Jack Norray, Elwood Vanderbilt, Allen Defazzo, Mike Willsey, Warren Willsey, Harold Grippen, and me.

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— Archives of Ontario

In the same era that an illegal still was being run in Guilderland, Canadian police raided a still in Elk Lake Ontario in 1925, destroying 160 kegs. Canadian prohibition was enacted through laws passed by the provinces.

—  Orange County Archives

Sheriff’s deputies dump illegal alcohol during a raid in Orange County California in 1932 while a trio of dour women watch. Prohibition in the United States began in 1920 when the 18th Amendment went into effect and was repealed in 1933 with the ratification of the 21st Amendment.

— National Archives and Records Administration

Detroit police inspect equipment found in a clandestine brewery during the Prohibition era. Similar equipment was used in a Guilderland still.

Mug shot: The Philadelphia police took this picture of bootlegger Legs Diamond in 1929.

Feb. 1, 1927 found Robert and Joseph Battaglia in business as Battaglia Bros. Poultry Farm in a secluded spot on the portion of West Lydius Street between Carman Road and Church Road, in what is now the Fort Hunter area of Guilderland, raising chickens on acreage owned by a New York City in-law.

Approached that day by three men, one introducing himself as John Mitchell of Albany, and accompanied by a John Smith and a third man never identified, Robert Battaglia was offered a deal. Mitchell proposed to lease the farm’s unused 40-by-60-foot barn situated behind the chicken coops along with a small area of land around it, agreeing to pay a rental of $30 monthly.

The three men claimed to need a location where they would be “experimenting” to produce their product, which was to be “sauerkraut” (quotes in the original news story).

In the weeks ahead, under the cover of darkness, trucks drove in and out, with the doings in the barn cloaked in secrecy. Off limits to the Battaglias, the barn, where the doors were always barred, saw much activity.

John Mitchell and associates were actually creating an illegal, but very professional, high capacity still at great expense. Several huge copper vats, each capable of holding several hundred gallons of alcohol were carried in, in pieces, to be reassembled inside. A huge steam boiler was set up as part of the operation.

In the midst of the nation’s futile attempt at Prohibition, gangsters were producing huge quantities of illegal alcohol in stills frequently situated in isolated rural areas. The Battaglia farm was the perfect site off a rarely traveled dirt country road, yet easily accessible to Albany via Carman Road to Route 20 or to Schenectady via Church Road/Helderberg Avenue.

The gangsters of that era were ruthless (think Legs Diamond or Dutch Schultz and their hit men), and the men involved in setting up this still were definitely professional criminals. The Battaglias were probably well aware of what was unfolding on their farm, but wouldn’t have seen, heard, or known anything if they wanted to remain healthy.

Under the Volstead Act, the nation’s Prohibition statute passed by Congress in 1919, property could be confiscated if illegal alcohol was being made or sold there. Perhaps it was this knowledge that may have motivated Robert Battaglia to demand that John Mitchell buy the barn and four acres surrounding it.

After getting permission from his New York City relatives to sell the property, on Feb. 16 Mitchell paid Battaglia $500 down and agreed to a $2,500 mortgage held by Battaglia. Schenectady Attorney Hannibal Pardi handled the legal details. Mitchell then “disappeared.”

Explosion

Around noon on March 10, Joseph Battaglia was tossing feed to a flock of clucking hens. He later claimed that, due to the sounds of the chickens, he was barely aware of an explosion out back by the barn or the sounds of men calling out in excruciating pain. He claimed it was some time before he realized something was amiss.

Several yards behind the hen house, the explosion in the barn was shortly followed by a second blast and a fiery inferno. After the first blast, a man came staggering out of the barn, his clothes afire. As he threw himself into snow remaining on the ground, another man rushed to his aid, only to be knocked down, his clothes in flames from the second blast. A third man also suffered burns but not so extensively.

The two critically burned men were placed in a Chevrolet touring car, sped to Ellis Hospital, and dropped off at the dispensary door with no explanation to hospital staff. The driver hurried away before he could be questioned.

The third victim was supposedly driven to Kingston for treatment, but it was also possible he was taken to a Schenectady doctor on State Street. Accounts differed.

Conscious in spite of their terrible injuries, the two men, when questioned, refused to identify themselves, giving conflicting accounts of how they acquired such severe burns. When it became obvious that one was about to die, the coroner was called in an attempt to get information. Finally, the dying man admitted to being John Smith, rooming at 405 Union Street in Schenectady.

With difficulty, the undersheriff and accompanying newsmen found the location of the blast. Parked by the charred ruins was the dead man’s Chevrolet touring car.

Identities revealed

Tracing the license plate revealed John Smith was actually a bootlegger named Carmen Tuosto from Rome, New York, out on $5,000 bail after having been indicted by a federal grand jury in Rome in January. An experienced still operator, Tuosto ran a still near Rome worth $100,000, capable of producing $15,000 worth of liquor weekly.

Tuosto’s family refused to give authorities any additional information, only requesting that his body be shipped back for burial.

After examining the fire scene, Undersheriff Lopen estimated the Guilderland still’s potential capacity would have been 1,750 gallons with each vat holding 250 gallons. The value of the still itself would have been $20,000. Several five-gallon gasoline cans and a large steam engine were visible in the barn’s charred ruins.

The second severely burned man turned out to be Dominick Frederick, a contractor living at 107 Foster Avenue in Schenectady, who told authorities he visited the Battaglia farm several times weekly to buy a couple of dozen eggs.

He just happened to be there when the blast occurred, rushing over to help the unfortunate burn victim writhing in agony in the snow when he, too was set on fire by the second blast. His death at Ellis was reported three days after the blast and fire.

“THIRD MAN IN RUM STILL BLOWUP HELD” read a huge banner headline across the front page of the April 1 edition of the Schenectady Union-Star, while a slightly smaller two-column headline below informed readers, “Say Jack Rocco Owned Big Plant in Guilderland.”

Claiming that authorities were certain John Mitchell was an alias used by Jack Della Rocco, also known as Jack Della, the lengthy article added that Della Rocco had been arrested on a warrant from the Albany District Prohibition Office.

Two days later, he was arraigned before United States Commissioner Charles E. Parker and charged with the manufacture of illicit beverages, a violation of the Volstead Act. Della Rocco was released on $2,500 bail.

Della Rocco, who was less seriously burned in the March 10 still explosion, was rumored to have either been driven to Kingston for treatment or taken to a doctor in Schenectady after the other two were left at Ellis.

Certainly in April, he was in Schenectady under the care of Dr. Fred McDonald, who convinced authorities to delay arresting Della Rocco until his burns healed. Before the explosion, he had been rooming with a family on Ingersoll Avenue in Schenectady.

Only at this time did the identity of the mystery driver who had left the two fatally burned men at Ellis become known. He was Fred Adams, described as a neighbor of the Battaglias. Adams refused to make any further comments.

Courts and coverage

Police and Prohibition officers searched extensively for John Mitchell, finally coming to the conclusion Mitchell and Della Rocco were the same man. Unfortunately any witnesses who could verify the suspicion either were dead or weren’t talking.

Robert Battaglia denied that they were the same man, having begun a legal process to foreclose on Mitchell’s title to the four acres he had purchased in February.

An announcement made by the Albany District Prohibition chief stated the federal grand jury might consider the case of Jack Della Rocco. United States Commissioner Parker conducted a hearing, but reserved his decision.

Even if indicted, Della Rocco’s conviction would seem unlikely with key witnesses unwilling to testify against him. Government officials attempting to enforce the Volstead Act were rarely successful in obtaining guilty verdicts.Silence, evasion, inconsistencies, lies, witness tampering or threats; all of these prevented convictions during Prohibition years.

This Guilderland Prohibition tale was pieced together from the many articles in the Schenectady newspapers, both the Union-Star and the Gazette. Heavy coverage was likely because all three men were living in Schenectady and because in 1927 these papers seemed to be regularly carrying news from the area of western Guilderland including Altamont and Guilderland Center.

Even though the explosion occurred in Albany County, the Albany Times-Union didn’t cover it and the Knickerbocker Press’s coverage was minimal. Nothing about this incident appeared in The Altamont Enterprise.

A postscript to this tale appeared in a Nov. 15, 2015 Schenectady Gazette feature article “The Bootlegger’s Daughter.” Centenarian Agnes Frederick Tripolo, Dominic Frederick’s daughter, shared her memories of her Schenectady childhood in the 1920s.

Her father, born in Italy as Domenico Frederico, later anglicized his name to Dominick Frederick. Agnes remembered that he had a still in Guilderland, bringing home the distilled liquor to be stored in a secure place in the cellar of their Foster Avenue home. He then made deliveries to local taverns operating speakeasies. He drove one of his Studebakers, often taking his daughter or wife along to make it seem like a normal drive.

As she reminisced with reporter Karen Bjornland, Mrs. Tripolo said it wasn’t unusual for the mayor, policemen, and musicians to share a meal at their home. Dominick Frederic prospered until the explosion brought his successful bootlegging operation and his life to an end.

In an email to the Gazette reporter, Dominick Frederick’s grandson Joseph Tripolo offered his opinion: “My take on it all was his death and his operation, a million dollar still, was wanted out of the way by some unsavory types trying to control market share.” And that was very likely the real story.

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On Jan. 29, The Old Men of the Mountain traveled to the Chuck Wagon Diner in Princetown.

The OMOTM are getting glad to see January go. There was a short discussion about the end of January.  Is the end of January still in the beginning of winter? According to Wikipedia, the start of winter in 2019 is Dec. 21, and the beginning of spring is March 20, so this scribe thinks we are smack-dab in the middle of the astrological winter.

So far the woolly bear caterpillar has been wrong. This little creature is the OFs’ gauge of winter — darn it, so far this one woolly bear has missed it! Maybe the OF who found the all-black caterpillar had the right critter.

The OMOTMs core base is getting older and older, driving is becoming a chore, and some have given it up completely. Some have had their kids take the car keys away, and some can’t twist their necks around to see what is coming.

Macular degeneration is also a problem. So far, these OFs are still able to make the breakfast because of those that still have their faculties (and may be younger) and they enjoy the friendship and knowledge of the older OFs, so they gather them up and bring them to the breakfast.

Tech savvy

Because we are the OMOTM, does not mean the OFs cannot keep up with at least a good part of the current technology. In the age group of 80 to 90 year olds, the OFs have cell phones and know how to use them.

Those in these same age groups have computers and tablets and know how to use them too. This comes as a surprise to some of the younger people. The OFs don’t know if it is because the OFs are smarter than people give them credit for in the tech area, or these things are really not that complicated.

One OF in his nineties said his computer was old and some of the new programs would not work on it, so he decided to purchase a new one. The OF just wanted to do simple stuff so he found a computer that was not that expensive, but when the charges for this that and the other thing, including some newer programs were added to the price of the computer, the OF said to heck with it and didn’t make the purchase. He would deal with his old friend.

Another OF summed up the cellphone very appropriately. The OF said that the iPhone is not a phone. “It is a computer with a predisposed phone app as standard equipment,” he said.

The OF made this comment as he was showing a video taken on his phone of another OF. The OF he was showing it to was performing (he’s a singer) a few months ago and this OF recorded the act on his phone.

This scribe receives much information from the OFs via their iPhones on his computer, and vice-versa: Much of what this scribe sends out goes to the OFs’ phones.

There is a very large “however” to all this technology. This scribe feels the report of some of the OGs is that they feel social media, along with the internet, is the Antichrist because it seems to be loaded with the bad, as well as the good, and sometimes it is hard to sift out which is which.

New songs don’t register with OFs

This next topic might cause some tee-heeing among the younger crowd because it concerns music. Basically, the OFs were wondering when what they knew as music became just noise.

The OFs remember music having melody, rhythm, and a tune that was hum-able. Now it seems to be who can screech the loudest with just a hint of vibrato. That is the singer of choice.

One OF said that there are some nice songs being written today — but not many. Another OF asked, “Name one right off the bat,” but no one could. However, they could name the old classics.

Another OF asked, “How many songs written today do you think will be sung 50 years from now?”

A second OF said, “Maybe some of the tunes written for musical plays will be.”  Well, we will just have to wait and see.

Then another OF said he thought that as the OFs drive home from breakfast, they would remember songs, but he thought even those would be older songs.

Pricey wheels

Sunday, around noon, there was a TV show that showed some very high-priced vehicles brought up for auction. The OFs said there has to be a lot of money around only they don’t have any.

These vehicles were going for hundreds of thousand dollars, and even into the millions. The OFs started mentioning cars they had years ago and what they would be worth today if they had taken care of them and could see into the future.

Some of the OFs had Packards, Studebakers, Hudsons, even Jaguars, and especially model A’s, old Chevys, old Fords, and Plymouths — the list goes on and on.

But one OF said most of these cars were not old. This OF declared that, for him, once a vehicle entered the collectable stage, he would be afraid to drive it. Then what was he going to do — stay home and look at it? To him, it was a waste of money.

Those OFs who made it to the Chuck Wagon in Princetown in regular, standard cars and trucks and were just as happy, and they were: Bob Giebietz, Roger Chapman, George Washburn, Robie Osterman, Bill Lichliter, Roger Shafer, Chuck Aelesio, Ray Frank, John Rossmann, Wally Guest, Harold Guest, Otis Lawyer, Mark Traver, Glenn Patterson, Joe Rack, Mace Porter, Jack Norray, Gerry Irwin, Rev. Jay Francis, Elwood Vanderbilt, Allen DeFazzo, Harold Grippen, and me.

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The other day while I was out running, I saw the front lawn of a neighbor’s house all dug up to replace the main plumbing pipe to the street. There was a backhoe sitting on the lawn. Even in the dead of winter, that job had to be done and it got done by, who else, A Guy with a Backhoe.

Yes, A Guy with a Backhoe is the man to call when tough stuff needs to be done. You know how hard the frozen ground is in winter? It’s like stone. Yet A Guy with a Backhoe handled it with aplomb. I wish all professionals were as capable as A Guy with a Backhoe.

We all know A Guy with a Backhoe can do all the tough jobs, but he can do so much more. Say you have a problem with your ex who is trashing you on Facebook. Just call A Guy with a Backhoe. In no time flat, A Guy with a Backhoe can rip up your ex’s perennial garden so it’ll look like there never was a garden in the first place. Your ex will think twice about dissing you online after that!

Or say you have a very high tax assessment and you don’t know what to do. You’ve submitted papers before but nothing happened. The thing is, you didn’t use A Guy with a Backhoe.

Just give your reassessment papers to A Guy with a Backhoe and watch what happens. There’s nothing civil servants fear more than A Guy with a Backhoe heading straight toward Town Hall. By the time he’s 50 feet away from the building, someone will come out and, just like that, your reassessment application will be at the top of the stack.

That’s how powerful A Guy with a Backhoe is. It sure pays to be friendly with A Guy with a Backhoe!

Don’t think A Guy with a Backhoe is all about serious business, though. You can be sure he likes to have some fun, too.

Next time your kid has a birthday, consider hiring A Guy with a Backhoe to provide the entertainment. He’ll stick your kid and all the rest of the party-goers right in the bucket and ride them all ’round and ’round the backyard.

Now that’s what I call good, clean fun. Talk about “dumping” the kids after school; well, now you really can. Thank you, A Guy with a Backhoe!

Now you might be wondering how much it costs to hire A Guy with a Backhoe. Well, like anything quality investment, A Guy with a Backhoe doesn’t come cheap.

They say you should allocate two months’ salary when you buy a wedding ring. Hiring A Guy with a Backhoe can cost almost that much, but hey, just like when you need a root canal, you need a root canal, when you need A Guy with a Backhoe, you need A Guy with a Backhoe, cost be damned.

So just pay up and be happy that A Guy with a Backhoe is there for you when you need him. Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll throw in a bright yellow hard hat as well.

So hiring A Guy with a Backhoe can be a little costly, I’ll admit that. But who says you can’t negotiate with A Guy with a Backhoe?

Negotiation is A Guy with a Backhoe’s middle name. Start with offering him some Bud Lite and some gooey, cheesy nachos. A Guy with a Backhoe may not be a huge fan of immigration, legal or otherwise, but he sure does loves Mexican food. Arriba!

There’s one thing you always want to avoid when dealing with A Guy with a Backhoe. He of course likes a good drink now and then, but don’t give him anything to drink while he’s working.

If you do, you might just see A Guy with a Backhoe driving down Main Street with an American flag bungeed to the seat, wearing his Dallas Cowboys hat, his “Dale Jr.” NASCAR T-shirt, and drinking a Bud Lite. A Guy with a Backhoe is nothing but patriotic, so be sure to only start the party after he’s finished working for the day.

Let’s say you’re out snow-blowing the driveway. You’ve just finished an hour of back-breaking work, you’re bushed, and ready to call it a day. Then the town plow comes by and plows you right back in.

Instead of going into a red-faced rage, consider: A lot of the town plow drivers actually drive backhoes when it’s not winter. So don’t get mad, just give a friendly wave, because that plow driver might actually be A Guy with a Backhoe.

Suppose you’ve been married for decades like me and you literally have run out of ideas for Christmas presents. Is there any chance your spouse would like a new pool? If there is, consider hiring A Guy with a Backhoe to dig that hole for you. You’ll get a great rate because it’s off season, and you’ll finally have the perfect Christmas present. Ho-ho-ho from A Guy with a backhoe!

As you by now no doubt realize, A Guy with a Backhoe is really important to have around. In fact, if you’ve just gotten married, I say you should take A Guy with a Backhoe with you on your honeymoon.

“But Frank,” you ask, “on a honeymoon two’s company and three’s a crowd, right?”

True, and that’s why you should not only bring A Guy with a Backhoe along with you on your honeymoon, but bring along his wife as well, A Woman Who Sells Amway. Between A Guy with a Backhoe and A Woman Who Sells Amway, your new marriage will be off to a great start, as just about all your needs for years and years to come will be covered. Woohoo!

So where can you find A Guy with a Backhoe when you need him? Plenty of places: at the bar after work, at the bowling alley on Thursday nights, playing poker on Friday nights, out fishing on Saturday, and at church on Sunday. A Guy with a Backhoe is always ready and waiting for your call. So don’t wait, call A Guy with a Backhoe today. Tell him I sent you.

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As you might have noticed, the news pretty much sucks these days. Hatred, thievery, corruption, anger, division, and puppy-kicking dominate the airwaves and smartphones of early 2019.

So, what’s a humor writer to do? When my editor recently suggested she’d like me to write more often, I admitted I was having trouble coming up with much humor.

I mean I’m happy to laugh at the sheer absurdity of the antics in Washington and Albany these days but that’s more black humor and cynicism than anything. And then I realized something.

I knew a happy person. We’re talking seriously thrilled here. Just blissfully happy about even the smallest things. And so, I decided to ask her what the secret is.

My little happy person is Audrianna Rae or Audri. She’s 11 months old and our newest granddaughter. Audri likes everything pretty much. When you say hi, her eyes go wide, and she grins and wiggles.

When you set her on the floor, she immediately starts crawling in pretty much every direction, exploring the carpet texture; the toys we set out for her; the cats, who give her a very wide berth; and the little solar critters we have around the house.

Nothing makes Audri happier than the solar hula dancer and flamingo on the kitchen windowsill. She stares, in rapt baby attention, at the wiggling hips and flapping wings as if they are the coolest things she has ever seen. And to her, they are.

They’re colorful and move for no apparent reason and just make quiet little clicking noises, and that’s all they do. And for Audri, that’s good enough. That’s great, in fact.

When I stare at them, I like the movement too and the sheer silliness of a pink flamingo and tiny hula dancer just wiggling away. They’re kitschy and silly and have no real purpose except to entertain small humans and anxious writers. And it works.

Have you noticed that the world is filled with textures? Audri has.

She loves to rub and grip and grab at carpets, couches, my beard, blankets, cane chairs, and pretty much everything else. Her tiny fingers explore and feel, and she stares intently, trying to figure out what it is she’s touching. Try that sometime.

Food is huge these days. Audri loves to eat. But she most definitely has her own tastes.

When she sees a full bottle, she is ready to rock. She reaches for it, squeals happily, and sucks at that puppy like it’s the center of the universe. Of course, I see similar reactions from adults when confronted with a cold beer, a glass of wine, or those amber-colored rust inhibitors (hard liquors) people like to rave about too. So even some grownups kind of get this.

After a bottle, the real fun begins. Audri likes crunchy puffs, applesauce, and various multi-colored baby-food concoctions. She no sooner gets a spoonful in her mouth than she’s looking for the next one. This kid eats with purpose and dedication, grinning all the way through and making happy noises.

She’s like a baby foody in a gourmet eatery as the waiter brings out each exquisite course. When was the last time you enjoyed a meal that much? You could. You just have to slow it down and savor. Just focus.

Ignore calories. Just be there, and savor and munch and slurp and become one with the meal. Get all Zen on it! The marketers would crow about mindfulness at this point. Audri doesn’t do marketing, she just lives it.

And there, I think, is the real secret. Audri doesn’t multi-task. She doesn’t anticipate or worry and hold grudges or analyze.

She is right there in the moment at all times, laser focused on whatever it is that’s in front of her. Well, at least for 15 seconds or so. I mean, when was the last time you were in the moment like that? Totally focused. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing, just actually try and be there.

At the moment, I’m typing. I feel the keys under my fingers, hear the sound of the keyboard, and see the words appear as black shapes on a white field. I’m trying to get something from my brain onto the screen and eventually into print.

I’m just writing. I’m here. Where are you? What are you doing? Are you actually there?

So, do you want to be happy in 2019? Take a tip from a baby. See the world through new eyes. Laugh at it; it’s pretty damn silly. Savor it all. Stay present.

And the news? The hell with it. It’s all fleeting anyway. Are you furious over some moron move in Washington? Some horror overseas? The economy? Expanded rights for some group or other?

Sure, many of these stories and issues are important. But, can you fix them by being angry? Maybe spend a little more time trying to understand what’s getting you riled and maybe see about doing something concrete.

And then, go enjoy your favorite snack. Really get into it. Take a walk and look at the color of the sky. That is some serious blue some days.

Sit and read a really good book or story and lose yourself in the words and images. And if you can, read to a baby or a child or someone else and share the moment. You only get a certain number.

Editor’s note: Michael Seinberg says he is doing his best to take his own advice. Mostly. Audri says he needs work.

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— The Victoria and Albert Museum

William Morris designed this embroidery of birds choosing mates.

— Photo by Georgia Gray

Two birds perch on a windowsill at Indian Ladder Farms in New Scotland.

The first entry in the second edition of Butler’s Lives of the Saints for February 14 reads: ST VALENTINE, Martyr (c. A.D. 269).

On Ancestry.com, you can trace your roses and heart-shaped chocolates all the way back to him.

Not exactly. St. Valentine wouldn’t know Valentine’s Day from a baseball game.

For a long time, it was believed there were two Valentines: a priest buried on the Via Flaminia (the road from Rome to Rimini) and a bishop from Terni, also a martyr.

But scholars who’ve looked into this say there was only one Valentine, that the people of Terni appropriated Rome’s version out of small-town chauvinism.

It was also believed the “romance” of Valentine’s Day came from the ancient Roman observance of Lupercalia, a mid-February festival of purification when citizens performed rites to rid themselves of impurities that threatened their future.

Young men ran about the city in a loin cloth — the historian Plutarch says — flailing away with strips of leather cut from the hides of goats sacrificed at the Lupercal altar.

The scourging was said to drive out spirits that brought disease and sterility. Women welcomed the straps across their backs believing the flagellation would bring babies.

But the running naked was halted in 495 when Pope Gelasius transformed the pagan rite by making St. Valentine the new protagonist. People could celebrate the 14th with clothes on.

There was no sense then that St. Valentine was a Cupid whose golden arrow stirred desire in witless “victims.”

That connection came in the 14th Century when England’s great poet Geoffrey Chaucer (1343-1400), the Father of English Literature, included love-driven birds in a poem.

Lines 309-310 of his “Parlement of Foules” say: “For this was on seynt Volantynys day/ Whan euery bryd comyth there to chese his make.”

In modern English that’s: “For this was on St. Valentine’s Day/ When every bird cometh there to choose his mate.”

Thus Valentine’s Day became the celebration of coupling as folks set their sights on the object of their desire.

“At the time of Chaucer’s death in 1400,” as scholar Jack Oruch points out in, “St. Valentine, Chaucer, and Spring in February,” “the transformation of Valentine into an auxiliary or parallel to Cupid as sponsor of lovers was well under way.”

Two of Chaucer’s contemporaries also wrote Valentine poems and, right after his death, poet Jean de Garencière’s shared his Hallmarkian thought: “Au jour d’uy qu’homme doit dame choisir Je vous choisy … ”

This loosely means, “Since Valentine’s Day is a time to choose a love, won’t you be my Valentine?”

As we know, in the United States today, the “choisy” stuff is a $20 billion business as corporations run line after line on consumers that love can be shown through purchase.

In her article “How Your Small Business Can Find Customer Love This Valentine’s Day” on the Internet’s Constant Contact, Ashley Perssico tells small-business decision-makers to “aim your arrow at male shoppers.”

Pourquoi? In 2015, men spent an average of $191 on their petite choisy and women countered with $97.

And “while jewelry, going out, and flowers” accounted for most of the love-day dollars, 20 percent of folks, Perssico says, planned to get something for their pet. Spot and Tabby are now in the loop.

Thus, as St. Valentine has nothing to do with Valentine’s Day, so neither does love except in a schmaltzy maltzy way. St. Valentine’s Day, just like Christmas, Halloween, and Mother’s Day, is a time for people to buy into the corporate sales pitch that feelings of love and community are enhanced when packaged products are bought for others.

I wonder what would happen if, instead of a Victoria’s Secret garter belt and heart-shaped box of chocolates, some poor soul offered his lover on the 14th a copy of Erich Fromm’s classic “The Art of Loving.” How would that play in Peoria?

Fromm says of course “giving” is a part of love but so are traits like care, responsibility, and respect. I like the last chapter, “The Practice of Love,” when Fromm hints at a few mandates.

He says the person who wishes to be a true lover — in addition to needing patience and discipline — must achieve a level of concentration that comes only from being “alone with oneself,” which entails disconnecting oneself from the spin of religion, the market, and state.

The logic is: Until a person finds out who he really is, he has no self to share with, or give to, another. The good news is that those who find their true selves are moved to listen to others, to take what they say seriously. Their philosophy is needs-based.

Fromm also says lovers who practice the art of love don’t waste time in empty chatter. They avoid “possible, trivial conversation, that is, conversation which is not genuine.” Their shared life-plan allows them to relate on a deeper level.

Fromm ends by offering some old-fashioned advice: Stay away from “bad company.” You want to be a good lover? Stay away from those (persons and things) who turn you away from yourself.

In 2019, bad company translates to corporations that bombard the populace, through advertising and social media, with an image of personhood that says: When you purchase packaged goods and services — and pawn them off on others — you’re showing fidelity and commitment.

A subtle but insidious part of the pitch is that it includes a roster of what a person’s needs are, followed by details about how and where need-satisfaction can be purchased. Of course there’s always a freedom discount on the Fourth of July!

Would anyone dare give a copy of “The Art of Loving” to his or her love-bird on the 14th with an offer to read along and then discuss what was read? Would such a gift be greeted with guffaws?

The development of the Valentinian concentration mentioned above requires deep doses of solitude to discern what one really needs and then to measure those needs against the formulae the corporate world sells as love-affirming.

I also know that, when a person feels at home in his own skin, he (or she) is more inclined to accept diversity in others — and without resentment. That’s when Cupid’s shaft has altered the political economy of one’s being.

When I first read “The Art of Loving,” I created a catechism of my own. I made up all the questions about love I could think of and then added the answers as they arose. That wasn’t the case in grammar school when they told me what to say.

The catechism was a Valentine’s gift to me equal to a hundred dozen roses and the largest box of heart-filled chocolates ever seen, enough for any St. Valentine to die for.

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