Doug Otto Writes

Summer Daze: One happy stage of life

2009-07-23T22:49:00.009-04:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
July 16, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

When sultry summer temperatures cause a haze to hang heavy in the night air, I am reminded of the best summer job I ever had. During my high school years of 1965 and 1966, I worked under the big red and white circus tent staked to the ground at the corner of Brace and Bortons Mill Roads in Cherry Hill. Better known as the Camden County Music Fair, this huge canvas edifice became my seasonal land of enchantment.

It was electrified with bright lights, circled me with live orchestra music and brought me face-to-face with nationally recognized talent previously visible only in movies, on television or on the covers of celebrity magazines. I was paid a paltry $1.50 a night, while learning that much of life is a costumed and made-up illusion. But I loved every minute of my theatrical, applause-filled experience.

The main stage was a theater-in-the-round, seating 2,000 patrons in a stadium-style bowl. There was no air conditioning, but with the tent flaps pinned back, an occasional evening breeze was captured, bringing with it the sounds of crickets, and allowing allowing actors' voices to escape into the surrounding countryside. This summer stock emporium was built in 1957 by Music Fair Enterprises Inc., which operated similar outdoor theaters in five other locations: Atlantic City; Valley Forge, Pa.; Westbury, NY.; Storrowton, MA.; and Shady Grove near Baltimore, MD.

Each theater featured established Broadway hits with veteran, and often legendary star performers. Liza Minelli got her start on the circuit, while her mother, Judy Garland, sang before the Camden County footlights.

My employment began each spring when the call came to help raise the towering five-story pavilion. There were myriad ropes, pulleys and guy wires, as well as the muscular, black-shirted crew who grunted their way through the two-day process of covering seats, runways and the stage with more canvas than a thousand Renoirs.

During performances, workers became jacks-of-all-trades. We parked cars, ushered patrons to seats, handed out Playbills, and even hawked merchandise during intermissions. My most memorable experiences were interactions with the stars. Some were planned, and others nearly caused me to be fired.

I met Lee Remick backstage, as she prepared to play the title role in "Annie Get Your Gun." I directed members of The Dave Clark Five as they parked their tour bus prior to a "British Invasion" rock concert. And, I tried unsuccessfully to introduce myself to every female member of the King Family Singers, those clean-cut, all-American entertainers from Utah, contemporaries of the famous Osmonds.

My most embarrassing on-the-job moment occurred when I became an unwitting participant in Jack Benny's act. The comedian had begun his performance, when a co-worker and I spied two empty seats, three rows from the stage. Sensing that the ticket-holders were "no-shows," we sneaked down the aisle and slipped into the vacant spots.

We were laughing hysterically at the stand-up routine when the couple, who had paid for the seats, arrived late and stood stoically at the end of our row. Sheepishly, we relinquished our purloined places, and proceeded up the long ramped aisle, to the back of the theater. Mr. Benny made light of the situation, calling after us good-naturedly. The audience roared as he yelled, "And don't come back until you can pay for your seats!"

When we reached the top of the theater ramp, we were greeted by the theater manager, with crossed arms and cross words for our actions. How could he demote us? We only made a $1.50 a night.

Our uniforms were khaki pants and button-down shirts with bold red and white vertical stripes. They matched the color and design of the Music Fair tent. One evening, during the weeklong engagement of The Kingston Trio, it dawned on my two buddies and me, that our uniforms resembled the look of the popular folk singers. We decided to seek attention from passing motorists on Brace Road by positioning ourselves beneath a large lettered marquee announcing the headlining group.

We posed and mugged, like three musical mannequins, and were rewarded for our efforts each time a driver passed with a perplexed facial look. This time the theater manager didn't see our weak attempt to enter show business, and our summer jobs were not jeopardized.

The Camden County Music Fair closed in 1969. Standing in its place is Cherry Hill's Challenge Grove Park. Today, throughout South Jersey, there are more technically sophisicated entertainment venues, such as the performing arts centers in Washington Township, Voorhees, and Marlton. But these modern palaces do not capture the uniqueness and charm of a live, outdoor performance on a circular stage under balmy summer skies.

Each time I drive past the former site of Cherry Hill's once-famous musical circus tent, I can't help but remember the luminaries I saw performing there, and wonder whether that's an old show tune I hear still reverberating through the treetops.

TV dads: Angels and demons of the small screen

2009-06-18T22:03:00.028-04:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
June 18, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

As Father's Day approaches, I'm reminded of the dozens of television dads I have invited into my living room since the '50s.

Yesteryear's television fathers, revered by their families, were undisputed heads of their households. These dads seemed to have all the answers, ranging from the value of the American work ethic to dating to training the family pet.

Today, many of these studio fathers are less than model citizens for children.

As an educator, I see firsthand that my students don't want a buffoon for a father, but rather one with a well-developed sense of humor. Not a despot, but a dad willing to admit he can sometimes be wrong.

Because today's media-savvy kids crave positive adult male images, I'd like to offer my nominees for TV's Paternal Hall of Fame and Hall of Shame.

Demon dads

Al Bundy:

"Married . . . with Children" (1987-97) -- Bundy was one of TV's grumpiest, most unsophisticated guys. He had a deplorable attitude toward his family, continually exhibited poor judgment, hated work and was careless about hygiene. He offered a lesson on how not to be a man.

Homer Simpson:

"The Simpsons" (1989-present) -- Lazy and slovenly, Homer stumbles through life with indifference. He is a prime example of TV's ubiquitous portrayal of the bumbling idiot dad. Rude and crude, Homer once said, "Kids, you tried your best and you failed miserably. The lesson is, never try."

Archie Bunker:

"All in the Family" (1971-79) -- This show, a critically acclaimed groundbreaking comedy, centered around caustic family debates, as well as the offensive behavior of Archie, who often replaced the cigar in his mouth with his foot. Has any character been more demeaning to his spouse? He often spouted racial epithets and called his son-in-law "meathead" and his wife "dingbat."

Peter Griffin:

"Family Guy" (1999, 2002-05, 2007-present) -- Peter heads a dysfunctional family with a penchant for controversy, irreverent humor and indecency. The Parents Television Council named the program the "worst prime-time shows for family viewing."

Ray and Frank Barone:

"Everybody Loves Raymond" (1996-2005) -- The apple doesn't fall far from the tree with this father-and-son combo. Ray is an incompetent manchild who works from home but doesn't spend much time with his wife and children. His irascible father sits in a recliner, unbuckles his pants and verbally excoriates his two sons.

Anchored angels

Hank Hill:

"King of the Hill" (1995-2009) -- He may be just a Texas propane salesman, but Hank teaches his son, Bobby, the meaning of hard work, dedication and loyalty. He has a healthy relationship with his wife and the rest of his family, and he's always there when Bobby needs him.

Cliff Huxtable:

"The Cosby Show" (1984-1992) -- Dr. Huxtable's advice to his children was always based on common sense, mixed with a wisecrack. He taught his children that personal responsibility was the key to success in life. The character's aura of classiness became a signature style, addressing a long history of negative minority portrayals on television.

Andy Taylor:

"The Andy Griffith Show" (1960-68) -- The sheriff may have appeared as a naive rural rube, but he represented family and community values. For an example of his noble interaction with his son, watch the episode titled "Opie the Birdman."

John Walton:

"The Waltons" (1972-81) -- John is a hard-working, industrious man running the family's small Appalachian sawmill during the Depression. He's normally very good-natured and wise, but fearless and ready to stand up to a challenge and tell it like it is.

Ward Cleaver:

"Leave It To Beaver" (1957-1963) -- Ward embodied the stereotypical 1950s dad. While his dramatic function was to impart a moral instruction to both of his errant sons, even when frustrated, the man hardly raised his voice. He remains my favorite TV dad because of his steadfastness and ability to admit his humanness to his sons.

Rather than view TV's best fictional fathers as archaic models, I choose to view them with a nostalgic fondness. While they could never replace our real dads, they remind us that when it comes to raising children, standards are appreciated and often desired.

They weren't always perfect. They were often stern. But a kid almost felt he was being addressed personally when Ward Cleaver said, "Wally, believe it or not, I was your age once."

Yard work? Not for this guy

2009-05-26T22:50:00.045-04:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
May 21, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

Some in my family think I'm a bit crazy, but I actually enjoy mowing the lawn.

I like taking an unwieldy, ragged patch of grass and transforming it into a neatly manicured, orderly environment. As I move back and forth across my domestic patch of sod, like a weaver's shuttle moving across some giant grassy loom, I feel I am partnering with nature.

When I was 13, I cut lawns to supplement my allowance, and found that I did my best thinking while trailing a lawn mower. Maybe it was the incessant humming of the Briggs & Stratton engine, or the concentration required to keep each row evenly cut with the last, but I found myself enveloped in an impenetrable bubble. I probably should have written a book: Zen and the Art of Lawn Mowing.

As a Boy Scout, I loved working outdoors on conservation projects. Once, I helped rebuild a wilderness road alongside a hidden lake. Each day when I returned to the site, I discovered that nature had delicately changed some aspect of the surroundings, challenging me to discover something new.

On more than one occasion, I have visited "Fairsted" in Brookline, Mass., the century-old home and office of Frederick Law Olmsted, recognized as the Father of American Landscape Architecture, and the designer of many U.S. parks. He designed New York City's Central Park, Boston's Emerald Necklace and portions of Philadelphia's Fairmount Park.

Some nearby projects falling under Olmsted's touch are the Wilmington, DE., parks, the grounds of The Lawrenceville School, Bryn Mawr College and the Morris Arboretum. Olmsted believed that a stroll through a pastoral park setting was an antidote to the stress and artificialness of urban life. He called them "pleasure grounds" and used thick plantings to screen out intrusions of daily life.

I remember walking an Olmsted-designed pathway at Fairsted that twisted and turned, rose upward and then fell away, revealing a variety of low-growing ground covers, medium-sized bushes and tall barked trees, all within less than a half-acre of space. He had created miniature vistas highlighting nature, delighting my spirit with every step taken.

Amid all today's talk of "going green," I hear very little mention of Olmsted's contributions to the movement. Yet he designed (and named) the "parkway" as a way to separate commercial vehicles from recreational ones, created the first park systems and greenways in the country, and launched experiments in scientific forestry. He is also credited with designing the first planned suburb.

One of my early career considerations was to become a landscape architect, like Olmsted. If it hadn't been for poor grades in required math courses, today I might be creating flowering settings instead of flowery words.

On trips to Pinehurst, NC (an Olmsted-designed town), to play golf, I've been known to slow down play on the course while I admire the landscaped fairways, the surrounding topography and the contours leading up to the greens.

It is only fitting that Olmsted's home in Brookline was purchased by the National Park Service and opened to the public as a museum. He designed many of America's most treasured landscapes including the U.S. Capitol and White House grounds, Great Smoky Mountains and Acadia National Parks, and the Yosemite Valley.

In 1870, he said: "We want a ground to which people may easily go when the day's work is done, andwhere they shall, in effect, find the city put far away from them."

I'd like the yard around my house to be like that. Is there anything as restorative as the smell of freshly cut grass? Or the splashy colors of azaleas and rhododendrons in bloom? How about the iridescence of early morning dew?

I can't help but think there's a certain psychological and mythical aspect to all this landscape gardening. Maybe it's the old myths about man and garden originally belonging together - - the Garden of Eden, the Arcadia of ancient Greece or the Elysian Fields.

This spring, I hired the boy across the street to cut my lawn. I watch him throough the window as he revs the engine, places his right foot forward, then his left, pivoting his machine at the end of each precisely cut row.

Vicariously I am with him, moving from front yard to the back yard; trimming, carving, gliding across the grassy surface that I once groomed and managed.
But now, I am content to apprteciate the scene from afar.

Maybe there are some tabletop bonsai trees in my baby boomer future that will at last qualify me as a junior Olmsted.

Camden Poetry: Following Whitman's Footsteps

2009-04-25T23:38:00.017-04:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
April 16, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

April is National Poetry Month across the U.S., but in Camden City, for more than 13 years, there has already been a monthly celebration of the literary form.

Camden -- the city of America's Good Grey Poet, Walt Whitman, and American haiku master, Nick Virgilio -- is also home to an intrepid band of poetry enthusiasts who religiously cross Cooper and Third Streets, just one-half block from the Rutgers University campus, to take seats in the backroom of a neighborhood pizza parlor, for the sake of poetry.

They don't go only for the food; they go to consume words: written, spoken and sung. Since 1995, one year before The American Academy of Poetry began its national festivities, Camden resident Rocky Wilson has been hosting poetry and pizza get-togethers for a crowd made up mostly of area baby boomers.

The impetus for this long-running event began at an Amherst, Massachusetts writing conference, where Wilson was working. After one of the sessions, he wandered around the New England town and stood in front of Emily Dickinson's house. "It's as if she spoke to me that day," he says.

When he returned to Camden, he was inspired to commemorate his muse by celebrating her December birthday with a gathering of kindred souls. The idea caught on, and now a different poet's birthday is honored each month. Two weeks ago, I attended an evening focused on Jack Kerouac. Mixed among the aromas of pizza, hoagies, salad oil and oregano were piles of Kerouac memorabilia, copies of "On the Road" and "Book of Blues." A Miles Davis CD played in the background as BYOB wine bottles were passed around, and someone was heard to say about Kerouac: "He was handsome, pickled and loved his mother."

It's an eclectic bunch of hipsters that congregate on the vinyl-covered wooden seats, and lean on the oblong tables of A Little Slice of New York Pizza Parlor sharing stream-of-consciousness conversations about art, music and politics. It's the perfect combination for the stuff of poetry.

This night there were about 30 attendees in a variety of styles: everything from jeans to khakis, sweaters to T-shirts, clogs to hiking boots, flowing peasant dresses to a man in semi-formal wear. At a table in the back, two Camden police officers on their dinner break ate wedges of pizza, listening to the recitations and smiling.

Everyone is encouraged to stand and read poems by the evening's featured writer, although many recite from memory. The first to step forward is Wilson, reading glasses at the ready, dressed in festive attire and accompanied by a hand puppet affectionately known to the audience as Bongo. (Tongue-in-cheek e-mails announcing the events are sent to nearly 100 South Jerseyans, usually signed by Bongo.)

Wilson has become an artistic folk hero in the environs of Camden's University District, and not just for his pizza parlor poetics. He often grows his beard and hair long, dons a floppy hat and work shirt, and portrays Walt Whitman. He wrote and starred in a Philadelphia Fringe Festival production called, "The River, the People and Walt Whitman."

Last December, Wilson traveled to California to perform a one-man show, "Whitman and the Universal Light," in an 80-acre redwood forest. He has appeared on stage at Camden's Gordon Theatre and the Walt Whitman Cultural Arts Center, and at Collingswood and Haddonfield poetry festivals, often riding his bicycle or the PATCO Hi-Speedline to events. Each spring, the group reads poetry in Harleigh Cemetery at graveside ceremonies for Whitman and Virgilio.

But Wilson seems most at home in the backroom of this inner-city pizza joint, suurounded by friends he's met along the way, making announcements of upcoming area literary events, art shows, readings and recitals. He doesn't need a national organization to declare National Poetry Month for him. He knows it in his heart.

The group often quotes Emily Dickinson's definition of poetry: "If I read a book and it makes my whole body so cold no fire can warm me, I know that is poetry. If I feel physically as if the top of my head were taken off, I know that is poetry. These are the only ways I know it. Is there any other way?"

I think Wilson and friends understand.

Time: It's all we really have

2009-03-20T21:22:00.006-04:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
March 19, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

Through the window, I watched the ground fall away beneath seat 24C as my Spirit Airlines jet thundered into the night sky.

I was on my way to Jupiter, Fla., to see my octogenarian parents and complete a three-event visit: celebrate my mom's 81st birthday, my parents' 61st wedding anniversary and buy them a new computer. The possibility of attending a spring training baseball game would be a bonus event.

If timing is everything, mine was perfect. No sooner did I reach my destination as a March nor'easter barreled up the coast, belting South Jersey with ice and a foot of snow. I found myself out of harm's way in the Sunshine State, where my parents have enjoyed a healthy and active lifestyle for the past 15-years.

Dad drove his new Mercury Marquis (the official car of Florida) to pick me up at Palm Beach Airport.

"I hope you're visiting to celebrate, and not just bug me about my 11-year-old computer," he said after we exchanged a hug in the crowded concourse. I kept that part of my mission quiet for now.

In 1993, Mom and Dad boxed up their Cherry Hill belongings and relocated to a condo overlooking the 17th green of Indian Creek Golf Club. Both had retired from long professional careers and were now ready to relax, having seen their three boys married, established and raising families of their own.

Relax is a relative word when speaking of my parents. Once settled in, they did anything but settle down. Both began playing golf three times a week. Dad was elected president of the condo board of directors and joined the Coast Guard Auxiliary. Mom became a Eucharistic minister in the local church and volunteered at the hospital.

Oh, did I mention they both work during spring training at Roger Dean Stadium, home of the St. Louis Cardinals and Florida Marlins?

"We've been working all our lives," Mom has told me many times. "It's what your father and I do best."

On my flight down, I was seated next to a health and physiology professor from Lock Haven University.

"Guess you have pretty good genes," she said, after I told her about my parents' regimen.

"I hope you're right," I said, giving a mental nod to the prospect of duplicating their longevity. "Just trying to keep up is a challenge."

When we weren't going out to dinner (no early-bird specials for these two), I was able to spend quality time with them on a one-to-one basis because on any given day, the other was working.

I brought Mom a copy of Anne Morrow Lindbergh's "A Gift from the Sea" to read on her visits to the nearby beach. For Dad, it was a bottle of Macallan's 10-year-old scotch for sipping before dinner. Both gifts served as conversation sparkers.

A defining moment occurred one evening when Dad played a DVD comprising old family movies. Little of the color had vanished from the films or from our memories. Images of my parents in their late 30s, and my brothers and me as adolescents, brought warmth -- and a reality into focus.

As each new face appeared on the screen -- children, relatives, neighbors, business associates -- a storyline evolved until we had constructed a life history of our family.

From time to time I heard my parents whisper: "Gone two years now. . . have missed him these last three years. . . has it been five years already. . ."

Whenever I visit my folks, I like to walk the coral-colored sands along the Jupiter beachfront. The barrier island's turquoise waters, bordered by dune trails of sea grapes and mangrove wetlands, are the perfect setting for thinking and sorting out things. It was during one of those hikes that I again realized just how fortunate I am to have both my parents as active participants in my life. Their independence is a blessing. Their good health at 80 is near-miraculous. Their good company is comforting.

It's funny how after all these years we easily slip into our old roles of parent and child. My folks still demonstrate the concerns of elders, while I seem to morph into the eternal 12-year-old. Even during this visit I heard:

"If you go for a walk on the beach, swim only where there are lifeguards."

"Let me pull out the bed for you. Do you have enough pillows?"

"What kind of sandwich should I make you for lunch today?"

I may not have appreciated hearing it in my younger days; I must confess, at this point in my life, it is music.

Before I left, I was successful in convincing Dad to upgrade both his computer and his dial-up Inter net service. After some initial reticence, Mom reports that: "Your father was on the computer for three hours today. He's loving it!"

As I flew back to New Jersey amid a sky-cabin chorus of screaming babies, I wondered how many of them would someday grow up and make this trip to visit their parents in Florida.

I wanted to tell them to cling as tightly as they could to the parents holding them. The present time is all we really have, and sometimes there's not as much of it as you think.

When we landed, even the mountains of snow that greeted me could not diminish my sense of renewal. My trip was a debt I owed my soul -- and two others.

Movieland Memories: And the winner is...

2009-02-21T23:03:00.026-05:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
February 19, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

The 81st Academy Awards are this Sunday, and I am running out of time. I have seen just three of this year's nominees for best picture: "Slumdog Millionaire," "Frost/Nixon," and "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button."

My urgency was magnified the other night during a cell phone call from my son: "Well, have you made your picks yet, Dad?" he questioned. "Time's running short. I think this is my year."

Since he started middle school 14 years ago, Matt and I have challenged each other annually as to who can pick the most winners from the 24 major categories nominated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences. Even during his college years in Boston, we kept up the tradition via e-mail and instant messaging.

We both carry a personal history steeped in the appreciation of film. I was weaned on 1950s and 1960s Walt Disney pictures such as "Davy Crocket - - King of the Wild Frontier," "Old Yeller" and "The Absent Minded Professor." In 1959, I saw "Ben Hur," winner of 11 Oscars, in its original CinemaScope release.

Shortly after moving to South Jersey in 1961, my father took my brothers and me to see "Babes in Toyland" in Philadelphia's classic Fox Theatre, where the single screen measured 54-feet wide by 23-feet high, and the great marble-decorated auditorium seated 2,423.

I fondly remember sitting in theater balconies, while uniformed ushers roved about with flashlights, checking to see that no foreign objects sailed over the railing toward the crowd below. My son smiles when I tell him about spending Saturday afternoons at the 50-cent "kiddie matinees" that included a stage act and a serial short film before the feature presentation. He silently wonders if all the movies' dinosaurs were as old as his father.

Even though Matt's filmography covers fewer years, he too, has logged numerous hours gazing at the silver screen. Any film emanating from the creative geniuses George Lucas, Tim Burton or Peter Jackson rank high with him. While he was in high school, Matt and his buddies formed a "first-nighters" movie club.

They scheduled months in advance to attend inaugural showings of the latest "Star Wars" or "Lord of the Rings" films. More than once, I found myself ducking out of work at lunchtime to stand in line at a local theater, so I could purchase a block of tickets to that evening's midnight show for the boys.

It was clearly understood that no school time was to be missed the next morning due to lack of sleep or bleary vision caused by the previous night's brush with movie magic. Days later, the guys were still buzzing about special effects, re-enacting key action scenes and reciting dramatic dialogue.

Posters of favorite movies always adorned Matt's bedroom wall, and he maintained a bucketful of ticket stubs bearing the names and dates of first-run movies he had seen. His secret wish was to work someday for Industrial Light and Magic, the special effects company founded by George Lucas.

My interactions with Hollywood have spanned everything from drive-in movies to theaters featuring stadium seating; from days when the sound was played through a little metal box attached to a rolled-down car window to ceiling-mounted speakers booming THX and Dolby Digital Sound.

Matt's experiences include using our great room television and surround sound system as a laboratory to test the urban myth that the 1939 movie "The Wizard of Oz" is synchronized with Pink Floyd's album, "The Dark Side of the Moon." I have to admit I was looking in on that one, as a dozen college kids watched and rocked in awe.

So, this Sunday, as the votes of the academy's roughly 6,000 members are revealed, and another parade of Oscar hopefuls walks the famed red carpet, my son and I will compare notes and tabulate our ballots, downloaded from www.oscars.org. We'll engage in another cinematic battle of wits, and won't need the auditing firm of PricewaterhouseCoopers to help with the tally.

Since Matt is now a theatrical sound designer, he tends to best me each year in the production and technical categories, such as sound editing, sound mixing, original score and song. My English degree usually gives me a leg-up with original screenplay, adapted screenplay and documentary.

We both realize that this contest is not about winning or losing; most years our results are folded-up and tucked into a desk drawer. But, like the ethereal feather that floats through "Forrest Gump," or the filial relationship woven into our favorite movie, "Big Fish," this game is a symbol of greater values.

It's a tradition. A special father-son connection. It's the type of storyline that Hollywood has been writing for generations.

Black History Month: Notable firsts

2009-02-21T18:22:00.014-05:00

MY TURN column

The Courier-Post
February 19, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

The election of Barack Obama as the first African-American president has been heralded as a landmark achievement in American history. It is appropriate, especially during the month of February, to be mindful of the many other notable "firsts" achieved by Black Americans.

Since 1976, Black History Month has marked not only the birthdays of Frederick Douglass and Abraham Lincoln, (men who greatly influenced both black and white Americans), but also the accomplishments by other personalities who have assumed an honored place in the history of our nation.

Here then is a compilation of historic proportions:

Government

On Feb. 3, 1870, the 15th Amendment to the U.S. Constitution was ratified, and three weeks later, Hiram Revels became the first black U.S. senator from Mississippi. Joseph Rainey assumed the position of Congressman from South Carolina that same year, and was re-elected to the House of Representatives four more times.

The first black female U.S. Representative was New York's Shirley Chisholm (1969-1983), followed by the first female U.S. senator, Carol Mosely Braun, who served Illinois between 1992-1998.

In recent years, high government positions have been held by Gen. Colin Powell, the 65th U.S. secretary of state (2001-2004) and the first black chairman of the U.S. Joint Chiefs of Staff (1989-1993). His successor as secretary of state was Dr. Condoleezza Rice (2005-2009), the first black woman to hold that cabinet office.

Carl Stokes was the first black American male to be elected mayor of a major U.S. city (Cleveland, 1967-1971), while Sharon Pratt Dixon Kelly became the first female mayor of Washington, DC (1991-1995). It wasn't until 1990 that Douglas Wilder of Virginia was elected the country's first black governor.

In 1967, President Lyndon Johnson appointed Thurgood Marshall a U.S. Supreme Court Justice, based largely on the more than 30 cases he successfully argued as a lawyer challenging racial segregation in higher education. Marshall's achieved his greatest impact with the landmark decision handed down in Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka (1954), and the "separate but equal" doctrine.

Andrew Young, a supporter and friend of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, became the first black U.S. Representative to the United Nations in 1977. Earlier this month, Washington lawyer Eric Holder became the nation's first African-American Attorney General.

Military

In both war and peace, black Americans have served the United States with distinction. For bravery exhibited during the Civil War, Sgt. William H. Carney was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor in 1900. Gen. Benjamin O. Davis Sr. became the first African-American general in the U.S. Army in 1940. His son, Benjamin O. Davis Jr. was the first black general in the U.S. Air Force, after leading the famed Tuskegee Airmen during World War II.

Education

Distinguished scholars have left their mark in the black community as well. In 1837, James McCune Smith was the first male to earn an M.D. degree, followed by Rebecca Lee Crumpler, who became the first black woman to receive an M.D. degree as a graduate of the New England Female Medical College in 1864.

Born in Philadelphia, Alain Locke graduated from Harvard University in 1907 and became the first black Rhodes Scholar. Following study at Oxford, he went on to receive a Ph.D. in philosophy from Harvard in 1918. Locke encouraged black artists and musicians in America to explore their African roots and he created the Harlem Renaissance movement.

The first black college president was Daniel A. Payne (Wilberforce University, Ohio, 1856), while the first president of an Ivy League University is Ruth Simmons, currently heading the ivy leagues's prestigious Brown University since 2001.

Literature

Ever since Phillis Wheatley became the first published American black poet in 1773, African-American writers have been capturing literary awards.

Gwendolyn Brooks' won the 1950 Pulitzer Prize for poetry, Charles Gordone was awarded the Pulitzer Prize in Drama in 1970, and Princeton professor Toni Morrison brought home the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1993.

Robert Hayden became the nation's first black Poet Laureate (1976-1978, and Rita Dove held the same honor for a woman between 1993-1995.

Popular culture

Many aspects of daily life have been touched by black pioneers. Thomas L. Jennings became the first African-American to hold a U.S. patent in 1821 for his invention of a dry-cleaning process. Sarah E. Goode, became the first African-American woman to receive a patent for her 1885 invention of a bed that folded up into a cabinet.

There is much speculation that the discovery of the North Pole in 1909 was actually accomplished by Matthew A. Henson, a black outdoorsman, who accompanied explorer Robert E. Peary, who was laying sick in an icy campsite. Another black American, George Gibbs, traveled with Richard Byrd when he claimed the South Pole for America on a trip from 1939-41.

For his work in mediating an Arab-Israeli truce, Ralph J. Bunche was the first African-American to win the Nobel Peace Prize in 1950. (The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. became the second in 1964.)

In 1983, Guion "Guy" Bluford Jr., a Philadelphian, became the first black astronaut to travel in space; Mae Jemison became the first black female astronaut in 1992. Frederick D. Gregory flew the space shuttle as its first African-American commander in 1998.

Miss America of 1984, Vanessa Williams, was the country's first black winner. When she was forced to resign, Suzette Charles of Mays Landing (the runner-up, and also an African-American) assumed the title.

The arts

Whether in the fine arts or Hollywood, black Americans have always excelled. Marian Anderson became the first black representative in the Metropolitan Opera Company in 1955, and Arthur Mitchell the first principal dancer in the New York City Ballet in 1959. Mitchell later developed the Dance Theatre of Harlem, the first African-American classical ballet company.

Both Count Basie and Ella Fitzgerald were the first black recipients of Grammy Awards in 1958, while Gordon Parks became the first black director for a major Hollywood studio in 1969.

Oscars were first given to black actors when Hattie McDaniels won the supporting actress award in 1940 for her role in "Gone with the Wind." In 1963, Sidney Poitier won best actor for "Lilies of the Field."

Television

Network television also proved to be a breakthrough arena. In 1956, singer Nat King Cole became the first black to become host of a weekly network television show. Oprah Winfrey became the first black woman television host in 1986.

Philadelphia comedian Bill Cosby was the first African-American star of a weekly television drama with 1965's "I Spy." The Cosby Show (1984-92), became the most popular program on American television during the late 1980s.

Sports

Black athletes have dominated the American sports scene for years. Everyone knows about Jackie Robinson's 1947 introduction into the National Baseball League with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Fewer may recall that New Jersey's Larry Doby was the first black player in the American League's Cleveland Indians three months later that same year. Both men are enshrined in baseball's Hall of Fame.

Management positions in baseball soon opened up. The first African-American manager in the major leagues was Frank Robinson with the Cleveland Indians (1975-1977). Robinson was named Manager of the Year in 1982 and 1989.

Former Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Bill White became the highest ranking black executive in sports from 1989-94 when he served as president of the National League.

The aptly named Willie Thrower was the first black NFL quarterback in 1953 for the Chicago Bears. The first black professional football coach was Fritz Pollard. He was also first black to play in the Rose Bowl.

Other well-known athletic firsts:

Marshall W. Taylor (1899 World Cycling Champion)

Jack Johnson (1908 Heavyweight Boxing Champion)

Earl Floyd (1950 National Basketball Association player, Washington Capitols)

Althea Gibson (1957, 1958 Wimbledon Tennis Champion)

Willie O'Ree (1958, National Hockey League player, Boston Bruins)

Arthur Ashe (1968 Wimbledon Champion)

Tiger Woods (1997 Masters Champion)

It's amazing to think that in 1901, President Theodore Roosevelt caused a national uproar when he invited educator Booker T. Washington to be a dinner guest at the White House. Today, the first African-American president and his entire family have moved into that very same residence.

Been there, done that: Recession advice

2009-02-12T20:42:00.025-05:00

MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
January 15, 2009

by DOUG OTTO

As I wound my way between parties and family gatherings during the just-concluded holiday season, the topic of conversation invariably settled on the state of the economy. The tales of woe I overheard included home foreclosures, volatile oil prices, bailout loans to investment banks, falling stock prices and unemployment numbers.

By far, the most bewildered and forlorn looks came from the children of baby boomers, many of whom are still in college or have recently entered the job market. Even my 25-year-old son, who prides himself for having an independent streak, bent an ear toward his father's discussions.

For most of our children the current economic landscape is new territory. They do not know the word recession. This year, in their presence, I found myself offering an economic cautionary tale involving three generations: The Greatest, the Boomers and Generation X.

"History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme," Mark Twain once said.

Boomers know the truth in this statement, because we have experienced seven economic downturns between 1953 and 1991. The bust of the dotcom bubble in the early 2000s might even count as another. Our children, on the other hand, have experienced the longest period of continuous prosperity since the 10 years of the Great Depression from 1929-1939. Former Federal Reserve Board Chairman Alan Greenspan warned as early as 1996 about an economy filled with "irrational exuberance," but in many cases, American greed and excess rolled unchecked into the new millennium.

We are all guilty to some extent of living the good life without fully considering the consequences. Our parents, progeny of the Depression, taught us the values of hard work, saving for a rainy day and living within our means. Sage advice for us to pass along to the following generations.

Amid all the doom and gloom presented by the media, I remain optimistic about the country's future. Sure some belt tightening will be required, but this may be the perfect time to resurrect Teddy Roosevelt's spirit of rugged individualism before we totally surrender to the big-government style of Franklin Roosevelt.

A look at American history suggests we have the most resilient economy in the world. Sure we go through rough patches, but because we are flexible and adaptable, we find ways to get out of these messes. Remember how we rebounded from the national economic and spiritual malaise that followed 9/11? We have an abundance of untapped natural and human resources, an educated population inhabiting a free society, and a superior standard of living, the envy of European and Third World countries.

Here, then, are some generational tips for weathering the current storm:

You can't spend what you don't have, so do what my parents suggested by putting a little away for a rainy day. You may have noticed it's drizzling outside.

Give your credit cards a vacation. Try that green stuff called cash instead.

Don't buy that new book or DVD, visit your local library and borrow one for free.

Check out local colleges offering free lectures, concerts and art exhibits.

Use the many free online courses and teach yourself something new.

Visit area tourist sites or stroll through the neighborhood park for no-cost exercise.

Save money by eating dinner at home and then go out for just coffee and dessert.

If something breaks, try to fix it yourself to beat repair costs or purchasing new.

Search online and in newspapers for coupons, which are plentiful now.

Rediscover your local small town and give an economic boost to mom-and-pop businesses.

Buy items that offer quality and a long lifespan rather than faddish style.

Demonstrate your value at work -- arrive early, work late and become indispensable.

Maybe it's time to make conservation chic again. We need to re-order our priorities and get back in touch with realistic expectations. It is the boomers' duty to show future generations the same stability and leadership that our parents demonstrated upon emerging from the Great Depression.

I take heart in the upbeat message delivered by commentator Ben Stein on a recent CBS Sunday Morning program:

"The worst thing about recessions is what they do to people's minds, hearts and souls. The whole world is facing financial fear, me included. I offer two hopeful thoughts on this. No slowdown lasts forever. This one will end, too. A new team will take over in Washington, and they will almost surely avoid the mistakes of the old one.

"Already a faint, pink light is beginning to dawn at the end of the tunnel. Daybreak will come. But far more important, I beg you to know, you are not your balance sheet. You are not how big a home you have, or what kind of car you drive, or whether your kids go to a prestige school.

"You are a human being with a soul. You are how you behave, how you help those in need, how you act toward family, community and animals. You are not a bank; you are a living person. It is high time to judge yourself by the content of your character, not the color of your money."

A song for all seasons: "My Favorite Things"

2008-12-08T22:02:00.013-05:00

MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
December 4, 2008

by DOUG OTTO

Forty years ago, Mary Martin introduced it on Broadway. A year later, John Coltrane reworked it into a complex, soprano sax harmonic. Julie Andrews sang it into popularity in a film adaptation.

I've always tried to figure out how "My Favorite Things" became a perennial Christmas song. This cheerful Richard Rodgers/Oscar Hammerstein showtune first appeared in the 1959 Broadway musical, "The Sound of Music." The lyrics are a reference to things the main character, Maria, selects to remember when times turn bad.

Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens

Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens

Brown paper packages tied up with strings

The original musical scripts the song just before Maria leaves the convent to serve as governess to the seven Von Trapp children. In the film, however, the song is repositioned so that Maria sings it with the children during an unsettling thunderstorm scene. The melody conveys terror, sung by a young woman eager to face new responsibilities. In both settings, the words of the song act as a confidence builder.

Cream colored ponies and crisp apple strudels

Doorbells and sleigh bells and schnitzel with noodles

Wild geese that fly with the moon on their wings

Coltrane transformed the song into a hypnotic, free jazz interpretation. His recording was a hit, becoming his most requested tune, a bridge to broad public acceptance of his move from bebop style. Perhaps its dark mood was a foreshadowing ode to troubled times.

When the dog bites

When the bee stings

When I'm feeling sad

In both the show and the movie, this song is sung during the summer. I guess the winter imagery of some of the lyrics makes it appropriate to sing during the holiday season; it often appears on Christmas-themed albums.

Girls in white dresses with blue satin sashes

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Silver white winters that melt into springs

At this time of year, we have a fondness for making gift lists (and checking them twice). My wife says it makes us more efficient and helps aging baby boomers remember things. So, during this season of thankfulness and memory, I'd like to offer some of my favorite things. (Singing is optional):

Sipping a glass of cabernet sauvignon while nibbling dark chocolate

A chirping backyard chorus of late summer crickets

Peeling back the cover of a new, unread book

Sitting behind a large window, feeling the sun's rays in midwinter

That rattling sound my golf ball makes when it finally hits the bottom of the cup

The way my son ends every phone conversation and e-mail with "Love You, Dad"

Any concerto by Vivaldi

Wood smoke on a damp fall afternoon

The pit-of-the-stomach thrill delivered by amusement park rides

The words "thank you"

Walking on an empty beach, day or night, anytime of year

Fresh fallen snow, resting fluffy and white on every tree branch

A laugh so hearty it brings tears to the eyes

The interplay of light and shadow in an Edward Hopper painting

These small affirmations can become powerful grounding tools for the psyche. Calling on them often brings an appreciation and peacefulness to hectic modern lifestyles. When the weather outside is frightful (literally, figuratively and economically), it may be restorative to consider your personal favorite things. Because, as the song tells us:

I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don't feel so bad

Now, tell me, what's on your list of favorite things this holiday season?

Friendship: A must for this food group

2008-11-21T23:09:00.011-05:00

MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
November 6, 2008

by DOUG OTTO

My wife and I moved from the farms and pinelands of rural Shamong to historic Haddonfield 25 years ago. We didn't know a soul. To get acquainted, we joined the Newcomers Club, a social organization that held monthly get-togethers including a townwide scavenger hunt and an annual holiday progressive dinner.

An offshoot activity was a gourmet group. Four or five couples would meet at members' homes for dinner every six weeks or so, with each couple bringing a part of the meal. The hosts selected the evening's cuisine and supplied the entree and beverages.

Our present dinner group has been intact since 1988, but we jokingly refer to ourselves as the "anything-but-gourmet group." While we have often ventured into the world of exotic and cultural epicurean fare, more often we can be found gathering for a chili cook-off, a hotdog at a Phillies game or a picnic on the beach.

During our two decades together, we have dined at Philadelphia's Restaurant School, invited a sommelier to an in-home wine tasting, and traveled to Gettysburg National Battlefield for a ranger-led guided tour and local food. The "gourmet" fathers and sons have camped on the Eastern Shore of Maryland and along the Delaware River, testing their outdoor campfire cooking skills. The ladies have trekked to New York City for Broadway shows, with mandatory Great White Way lunches and dinners.

Last month's gathering proved to be something extra special, however, as the group met at a member's second home in the Poconos, amid perfect blu- sky weather and a visual symphony of brilliant fall foliage. We hiked, canoed, photographed the scenery and read books on the deck overlooking the lake before sitting down to an evening of cocktails, conversation and a family-style meal.

The 12 of us sat around the table reminiscing first about our children, 15 in all. They had grown-up together, played sports or engaged in school activities with one another and were now all living on their own. We told stories about how we all first met, about our early careers and how it felt to be middle-aged empty-nesters heading into the next phase of our lives.

Here were a physician, an engineer, two lawyers, a biologist, a psychologist and chairs full of educators getting all mushy and sentimental. And we didn't care one bit.

What our little dinner group has really been dishing out all these years is a large helping of friendship, support and love. We've developed a special synergy, an easiness with being open with one another, borne of nights, days and weekends spent in the company of what has become an extended family. There have been informal walks around town, drop-in visits to each other's homes and phone calls just to keep in touch.

Together we've celebrated joyful moments: graduations, weddings, athletic events and the impending birth of a first grandchild. And we've supported each other in times of need: the death of a spouse, the loss of a job, a heart attack and surgery. Even the guys have been known to share unguarded occasions, when true feelings are expressed and souls are bared.

"Good interpersonal relationships act as a buffer against stress," says Micah Sadigh, an associate professor of psychology at Cedar Crest College in Allentown, Pa. "Knowing you have people who support you keeps you healthy, mentally and physically. You need friends you can talk to without being judged or criticized," he says.

After dinner on our Poconos trip, the group moved to the rustic living room to sit around the stone fireplace for dessert and wine. In the background, James Taylor, Boz Scaggs and Motown music played, and someone said the experience was starting to remind her of the movie "The Big Chill."

After a rousing word game resembling charades, the evening's conversation turned to thoughts of thankfulness. We all agreed that we were fortunate to live in a wonderful small town, to have found work we regard as rewarding, but especially to have met one another. Maybe it was the crisp mountain air or the day spent outside doing physical activity, but sleep that night was deep and renewing.

On Sunday morning, following a hearty breakfast of eggs and bacon, we all packed up, said our goodbyes and prepared for a three-hour ride through the Delaware Water Gap on the way back to South Jersey.

As our car rolled past cornfields browning in the late fall sun, my wife and I were mostly silent. I kept thinking about the weekend's events, our relationship with our friends and the neighborhood where we live. For some reason, Thornton Wilder's play "Our Town" crept into my thoughts. Maybe it was the theme of people appreciating life while they are still living it.

At home, I Googled "The Big Chill," and discovered the movie's tagline was "In a cold world, you need your friends to keep you warm." When I showed my wife, we both looked at each other and just smiled.

Civility: The lost art of caring

2008-11-18T23:41:00.004-05:00

MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
October 5, 2008

by DOUG OTTO

Burnt Mill Road in Cherry Hill quickly merges from two lanes to one at the entrance to the EDS corporate building near Woodcrest Road. That's where I came face to face with another example of how the modern world is slipping further and further away from manners and civility.

One recent morning, I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw a sleek, red sports car gaining speed behind me in the right lane, as we approached the narrowing roadway. Without regard for safety or courtesy, the young woman driver sped past me, and jerked her steering wheel to the left, cutting me off. She never slowed down or signaled her intention to slide her car in front of mine.

When I indicated my displeasure by testing the decibel level of my car horn, the little princess thrust her left hand out the window, and, by using her middle finger, gestured that I was "No. 1."
"That's not happiness to see me, is it?" I thought, remembering a line from the 1998 movie, "A Perfect Murder," starring Michael Douglas and Gwyneth Paltrow. The title held a double meaning at that point in my day.

Less than 500 yards later, she turned right into an apartment complex, ending her journey, but raising my blood pressure for the remainder of mine. What was her dire need to pass me with such determination? Would it have been a sign of frailty to acquiesce this once, and follow me for the short ride to her destination?

I guess we can thank technology for distorting our modern concept of time. We become impatient if the copier doesn't spit out our work faster than we can snap our fingers or if our computer doesn't upload Web pages faster than we can take a breath. In our attempts to accomplish more, with blinding speed, we just might be blurring the lines of courtesy and good manners. Efficiency may be trumping respect, and we all are made less human in the process.

Back in the 18th century, a 16-year-old schoolboy by the name of George Washington took his first steps toward greatness by hand-lettering a list of 110 "Rules of Civility and Decent Behavior" for young gentlemen.
Maybe they could work today in a society and a world that appears to have lost its way.

For example:
"Every action done in company, ought to be with some sign of respect to those that are present."
Like ringing cell phones that disrupt meetings? And Bluetooth-talkers wandering in stores?

"Put not off your clothes in the presence of others, nor go out your chamber half dressed."
Britney, Paris and Lindsay take note; Janet's equipment malfunction doesn't cut it either.

"Use no reproachable language against anyone; neither curse nor revile."
There go the MPAA movie ratings and the Parental Advisory stickers on music CDs.

"Let not your morsels be too big for the jowls."
What? No super-sized fries?

"Associate yourself with men of good quality if you esteem your own reputation; for it is better to be alone than in bad company."
How about corrupt politicians and greedy CEOs?

"Show nothing to your friend that may affright him."
Does that include rising DRPA bridge tolls, $4 per gallon gas, and the housing market?

Washington was not a Democrat or a Republican -- actually, he was a Federalist. But I'm certain his rules would soften the harsh approaches being used by Barack, John, Joe and Sarah to attack each other in the presidential campaign.

And just maybe they would realign the conscience of a certain young lady with a penchant for recklessly driving her red sports car on narrow roads and endangering others.

But, I still wonder if even Washington's rules could teach her to say: "Pardon me."

Doug Otto is a private-school superintendent living in Haddonfield. He teaches writing workshops and can be reached at DougOttoWrites@gmail.com

Buzzer Beaters: Creativity in the Second Half of Life

2008-04-03T21:59:00.007-04:00

MY TURN column
The Courier-Post
March 5, 2008

by DOUG OTTO

On a frigid Saturday night recently, my wife and I found ourselves in Washington, D.C., attending the opening night of a play as the guests of my son, the show's sound designer.

During the cast party, Matt, 24, introduced us to the creative team: the playwright, director, lead actress, costumer, lighting designer, and stage manager. I stood back and observed the child I raised interacting with his artistic collaborators, inspired individuals who transported theatergoers into a magic world of light, sound and illusion.

I was awed by the collective talent, and wondered about the creative process.

How is it that some are divinely charged with the ability to shape familiar materials into new or unusual effects? Is creativity innate, or can it be learned and nurtured? Is being creative the domain of the young or can we become more creative as we age?

As an educator, I see the result of allowing children to creatively explore and interact with their environment. At the day-care center I oversee in Camden, more than 100 pre-schoolers bounce between the water table, sand area, and the dress-up corner, trying out, without criticism from peers or adults, the roles and relationships they will carry into their future.

With their children grown, today's baby boomers are rediscovering their creative pursuits, replacing child-centered activities with personal inspirations found in places like book groups, gourmet cooking clubs, and museum lectures.

John Krout, professor of gerontology and director of Ithaca College's Gerontology Institute in New York, writes, "There is a growing recognition among those who study aging that involvement in creative activities such as the arts can contribute significantly to well-being across a person's life span. The fact is, an older person doesn't have to be Picasso to embark on new creative pursuits or to continue lifelong creative endeavors."

My wife and her female friends have taken to monthly knitting and conversation get-togethers, and many in the group are also active watercolor painters.

Some believe that the approach of one's later life actually stimulates creativity with increased urgency, intensity and energy. Writer Ray Bradbury said, "We are all cups, constantly and quietly being filled. The trick is knowing how to tip ourselves over and let the beautiful stuff out."

To the ancient Greeks, the word inspiration literally meant being "breathed upon" by the gods, with creative thoughts being the result.

"Many people are now living into their 80s and 90s with reasonably good health," says Ithaca's Krout. "Because of this new demographic, we have a cultural imperative to explore and better understand how older people can continue to flourish creatively and remain engaged in and contribute to their communities."

I am encouraged to think that Goethe completed "Faust" at 80; Edison was busy in his laboratory at 84; Toscanini was conducting at 85; and poet Stanley Kunitz was writing meaningful verse at 100.

In his book, "The Creative Age: Awakening Human Potential in the Second Half of Life," Gene D. Cohen, M.D., Ph.D., points to four important factors for boomers. Creativity strengthens our morale in later life; contributes to physical health as we age; enriches relationships, and is our greatest legacy.

The Japanese have a proverb that reads, "I will master something, and then the creativity will come." Boomers have mastered many great life skills, developed many great talents. They have learned to recognize inspiration when they see or hear it, and now they are finding time to respond to it.

I've come to realize that creativity is not limited to the fine arts. I have seen creativity manifested in the teacher who creates a knowledge breakthrough with a struggling student, as well as in the salesman who creates opportunities for customer satisfaction. Everyday, in every workplace, we are called upon to use creative powers to advance assigned tasks, or at a minimum to try and move the clock on the wall faster toward 5 o'clock.

It doesn't much matter whether you get your creativity as an ardent participator, or as an arms-length observer/appreciator. When you invite your Muse to stand close by and shower you with the necessary inspiration, the spirit inside of you comes out to play, and create.

Doug Otto is a private school superintendent living in Haddonfield. He leads writing and poetry workshops and can be contacted at DougOttoWrites@gmail.com

Lifelong secret: Leave me alone and we'll grow together

2007-11-14T00:30:00.000-05:00

MY TURN column published in
The Courier-Post
November 11, 2007

by Doug Otto

As boomer couples approach retirement, many are finding that how they spend their time is being re-shaped, especially their time together and their time apart.

My wife and I have been married for 32 years. One of the bedrocks of our relationship has been our recognition that we need to continue to grow individually and as a couple. Because we have always worked, we have been required to stay current on the trends in our careers, and also to interact with a wide range of people.

This is nothing new to either of us, since both our fathers were corporate managers who traveled frequently, and our mothers worked outside the home. Consequently, we grew up a bit independent and self-sufficient.

Our approach has been to encourage each other's individual growth, not smother it. I liken our connection to that of epoxy glue, where the distinctive components of both tubes are mixed together to form a stronger bond.

In a new book, "Alone Together: How Marriage in America Is Changing" (Harvard University Press), Penn State professor Paul R. Amato and his research team discovered that husbands and wives today are increasingly developing their own networks of friends, joining different community organizations, pursuing separate hobbies and often going on separate vacations.

Despite what is often reported in the media, the studies in this book found the divorce rate per 1,000 people in the U. S. peaked in 1981 and there seems to be a new importance placed on the marriage vow of "til death do us part."

By these standards, my wife and I must be cutting edge. For years we have encouraged one another to take advantage of singular, high-interest activities that would add new perspectives to our personal lives and, in turn, our marriage.

Annually, Nadine travels to Greensboro, N.C., where she meets her former college roommate to attend the finals of the women's NCAA basketball tournament. Each November, she and a group of retired lady teachers choose a spot in the United States where they hold their own social version of the NJEA Convention. She has traveled to a health spa in Georgia and to Hawaii on spouse-less vacations, as well as to sisters-only gatherings along the Maryland shore.

I can't complain about being left behind. I attend the Writers at the Beach Conference in Rehoboth Beach, Del., each March, the biennial Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival in Stanhope, Sussex County, regularly host my buddies for golf weekends at the Jersey shore, and for years I broke away for father-and-son weekends of camping, canoeing and hiking.

"When the relationship is intact, occasional separate vacations can add a terrific dimension to your marriage," says clinical psychologist, Dr. Ruth Peters, a contributor to NBC's Today show. "A committed monogamous relationship shouldn't mean giving up who you are or your independent activities: career, friends, interests or all previous traditions (ski trip with the guys, shopping in the city with the ladies)."

Dr. Allen Carter, a psychologist and professor at Morehouse College in Atlanta, agrees.

"I don't care how close you are to each other, sometimes you need that distance. It's part of any relationship, the need for closeness and the need for distance," Carter said.

There is certainly a powerful marital energy that results from working together to accomplish a project, whether it is raising a child, establishing a home or planning for those retirement years. But we also realize that there are times when both of us benefit from some quiet time alone. Early in our marriage, we established the acronym LMAT. It stands for Leave Me Alone Time.

There are many activities and interests that my wife and I continue to share. We are members of two dinner groups, we regularly go on "dates" to the movies or to the theater and we play golf together. Currently we are finalizing plans to attend the Edward Hopper Exhibit at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, combining a visit with our son.

In short, a good marriage necessitates communication, caring and compromise -- the three C's. If we married our clone, there would be little room for growth.

We choose to celebrate our dynamic differences in interests. But, if you happen to see us walking hand-in-hand down the Ocean City Boardwalk, you might just see our figures blend into one, as we continue walking straight ahead to our happily married futures.

Doug Otto is a private school superintendent living in Haddonfield, NJ. He writes feature articles for magazines and newspapers, and also leads writing and poetry workshops. He can be reached at DougOttoWrites@gmail.com

Published: November 13. 2007 3:10AM

The First Boomer Was A Jersey Girl

2007-08-12T13:50:00.000-04:00

MY TURN column published in
The Courier Post
(August 28, 2007)

By Doug Otto

One of the more challenging aspects of writing a monthly column like this one, is generating a fresh topic. Sometimes it requires research and digging up facts; other times it jumps up and stares you in the face.

“Why don’t you write about the first baby boomer,” my executive assistant suggested.

“Great idea,” I responded. “If I only knew where to find him.”

“You mean ‘her’,” she said. “And all you had to do was ask me. We used to be neighbors, right here in South Jersey. Would you like her phone number?”

Always one to answer the door when opportunity comes knocking, I picked-up the phone and was soon speaking with Kathy Casey-Kirschling, identified as America’s honest-to-goodness official first “baby boomer,” born one second after midnight on Jan. 1, 1946 in Philadelphia’s St.Agnes Hospital. She grew-up in Pennsauken, attended Camden Catholic High School (directly across Cuthbert Boulevard from the Courier-Post), lived in Cherry Hill, and presently resides in Maryland, where she keeps a boat aptly christened: “First Boomer.”

While Casey-Kirschling doesn’t necessarily regard herself as the spokesperson for her generation, she has been depicted as the manifestation of a social phenomenon. She has experienced all the joy and pain that comes with notoriety: career, marriage, children, divorce, remarriage, grandchildren, and retirement.

I posed seven questions to her, gaining insight into our area’s brush with boomer history.

Q: When did you discover you were the “first boomer” ?

A: I was 34 years old in 1980, when I was contacted by Landon Jones, the editor of Money Magazine, who was writing a book, “Great Expectations: America and the Baby Boom Generation.” Through his research, he discovered that I was born one-second after midnight on January 1, 1946 in Philadelphia, and that I was considered the first boomer in the country. His book popularized the term, “baby boomer.” Since then, I’ve been contacted at all the important turning points, like when I turned 40, 50 and again when I turned 60.”

Q: How has the distinction of being “first” affected your life?

A: Well, everyone in the United States knows my age. It’s a good thing I’m not vain. Since my story has been told in many magazines and on television, I’ve been able to reflect on all the good and bad that has happened to us.

I don’t think I totally understood what being a boomer meant, even though I’m living through it. I’ve learned a lot more about all the influence we’ve had as a generation. Our generation did many great things, and there are a lot of great people in our generation. They also did a lot of very negative and selfish things. We were pretty self-absorbed at times. We wanted to change the world. We thought we could do anything.

Q: How has the media played a part in your life?

A: I’ve appeared on NBC's Today show, the CBS Evening News, and on CNN on New Year's Day. I’ve had articles written in Money Magazine and Smithsonian. In fact, I’m scheduled to be on a show later this month, broadcast from Washington, D.C., called the Daily Café. The topic, of course, is baby boomers.

I’ve co-authored a book, “More than a Bathroom Guide to Baby Boomers: A historically accurate guide to the past 60 years of the Baby Boomer Generation.” It is currently being restructured and reprinted, all 500-pages of it.

Q: What life/career path have you taken so far?

A: I was a late bloomer out of Camden Catholic High School. After some years as an x-ray technician, and getting married, I earned my Bachelor’s Degree in Nutrition. Then I attended St. Joseph’s University, and received a Masters Degree in Health Education. I taught middle school for 14-years: one year at the private Archway School in Atco, and then at Pennsauken Middle School, before retiring.

I went down to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina as a disaster instructor; thousands of baby boomers came down to help. We want to stay useful. We have a drive to stay healthy and try to keep the energy up.

Q: What boomer milestones remain with you today?

A: There are three. The JFK assassination in Dallas tormented me. I remember vividly watching the funeral procession while in high school. Then there was the Viet Nam War. My first husband was a military doctor who was shipped-out one month after our wedding in1966. The third was the importance of the Civil Rights Movement during our time.

Q: What South Jersey memories do you have?

A: Oh, my years in high school were just the best years; they were fun and wonderful. I had great friends growing up in Pennsauken and lived in a great neighborhood. We would walk to Camden Catholic all the way from the other side of Route 130 and Browning Road.

I was in the glee club and all the plays, and I’m now on the school’s Reunion Committee. I danced on Dick Clark’s American Bandstand in Philly, and I was a semi-regular at Dancette in Oaklyn.

Q: What do you see ahead for the Boomer Generation, as we enter our retirement years?

A: Many of us are starting to deal with health issues like heart problems and diabetes. We never thought this would happen to us; we were never going to get old. Today many more of us are aware and have been educated; it’s still scary and kind of threatening.

From a professional standpoint, boomers are great workers who may not want to retire completely. We don’t want to give-up that control. We’ll have to make adjustments, as we look forward to many good, enjoyable years that don’t include sitting around in a rocking chair.

Doug Otto is a private-school superintendent living in Haddonfield, NJ, He writes feature articles for magazines and newspapers, and also leads writing and poetry workshops. He can be reached at: DougOttoWrites@gmail.com