During the 1960’s many of us surfed regularly at the break called County Line. Like the name implied, the beach was located on the border between Los Angeles and Ventura counties in Southern California. The break itself was nothing super special; it broke right and left but it was home to some large waves every once in awhile. It was also just an excellent place to hang out.
What made County Line unique was that it was often frequented by some of the biggest names in surfing. Miki Dora and many others were regulars there. It was also relatively uncrowded and it also featured a small restaurant across the street. That restaurant became Neptune’s Net years later and had live seafood selections from salt water tanks. Back then, it was a simple café where my friends and I often gobbled down some eggs in the morning before surfing.
I have many memories of County Line, most of them good memories: Soft summer days, surfing and the nightlife on the beach. However, one bad memory born of a particular morning stands out. I believe the year was 1965. We had already been in the water since dawn and finally we stumbled out around noon and headed across the street for a Coke and a sandwich. We were seated in a scruffy booth, staring across the road at the dwindling surf. There was nothing special about that day; it was just one in a long number of days that were spent there surfing and eating. There was a slight fog that was breaking and the day seemed destined to be a keeper.
Although I heard the crash, I did not actually see it. A Volkswagen Beetle travelling south on the Pacific Coast Highway had run squarely into the back of a surfer’s parked car. The driver’s speed was later estimated at 65 MPH. We all rushed outside and across the street to the scene of the accident, partly out of curiosity and partly out of an urge to help if possible. When we got to the VW we were treated to a gruesome sight. The driver, a young woman, had been crumpled under the dash board of the car due to the impact. She had been compressed to such a point by the enormous force that she appeared as a cube of bloody flesh. Obviously, there was nothing to be done. The coroner was called and our surfer crew sauntered back into the surf as though the water would wash away what we had just seen.
The image of that woman has stayed with me for well over a half a century. Years later when I passed the location by car, I would always instinctively slow down to look for a VW that had been gone for so many years. Even today, when I see a Volkswagen Beetle in traffic, my mind flashes back to that dreadful morning. I never learned the victim’s name or anything about her identity. I often muse that certainly she had a family, loved ones and friends who miss her still. The vacuum between these two realities is the main force that brings my mind back to County Line so regularly.
For a complete anthology of surfing short stories, read my book: Fifty Years Ago – A Surfing Trilogy: And Other Surfing Stories from the 1960’s
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This is part of my presentation of my Top Five favorite movies (in no particular order).
Last night, I watched one of my favorite movies and was reminded once again just how great a film Once Upon A Time In America really is.
Once Upon a Time in America (Italian: C’era una volta in America) is a 1984 epic crime drama film co-written and directed by Italian filmmaker Sergio Leone and starring Robert De Niro and James Woods. The film is an Italian–American venture produced by The Ladd Company, Embassy International Pictures, PSO Enterprises, and Rafran Cinematografica, and distributed by Warner Bros. Based on Harry Grey’s novel The Hoods, it chronicles the lives of best friends David “Noodles” Aaronson and Maximilian “Max” Bercovicz as they lead a group of Jewish ghetto youths who rise to prominence as Jewish gangsters in the world of organized crime in New York City. The film explores themes of childhood friendships, love, lust, greed, betrayal, loss, broken relationships, together with the rise of mobsters in American society.
Here is a summary of the plot (SUPER SPOILER ALERT):
Three thugs enter a Chinese wayang theater, looking for a marked man. The proprietors slip into a hidden opium den and warn a man named “Noodles”, but he pays no attention. In a flashback, Noodles observes police removing three disfigured corpses from a street. Although he kills one of the thugs pursuing him, Noodles learns they have murdered Eve, his girlfriend, and that his money has been stolen, so he leaves the city.
David “Noodles” Aaronson struggles as a street kid in a neighborhood on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in 1918. He and his friends Patrick “Patsy” Goldberg, Philip “Cockeye” Stein and Dominic commit petty crimes under the supervision of local boss, Bugsy. Planning to rob a drunk as a truck hides them from a police officer, they’re foiled by the slightly older Maximillian “Max” Bercovicz, who jumps off the truck to rob the man himself. Noodles confronts Max, but a crooked police officer steals the watch that they are fighting over. Later, Max blackmails the police officer, who is having sex with Peggy, a teenage girl and Noodles’ neighbor. Max, Noodles, Patsy, Dominic and Cockeye start their own gang, independent of Bugsy, who had previously enjoyed the police officer’s protection.
The boys stash half their money in a suitcase, which they hide in a locker at the railway station, giving the key to Fat Moe, a reliable friend who is not part of the operation. Noodles is in love with Fat Moe’s sister, Deborah, who aspires to be a dancer and actress. After the gang has some success, Bugsy ambushes the boys and shoots Dominic, who dies in Noodles’ arms. In a rage, Noodles stabs Bugsy and severely injures a police officer. He is arrested and sentenced to prison.
Noodles is released from jail in 1930 and is reunited with his old gang, who are now major bootleggers during Prohibition. Noodles also reunites with Deborah, seeking to rekindle their relationship. During a robbery, the gang meet Carol, who later on becomes Max’s girlfriend. The gang prospers from bootlegging, while also providing muscle for union boss Jimmy Conway O’Donnell.
Noodles tries to impress Deborah on an extravagant date, but then rapes her after she declines his marriage proposal, as she intends to pursue a career in Hollywood. Noodles goes to the train station looking for Deborah, but when she spots him from her train seat, she simply closes the blind.
The gang’s financial success ends with the 1933 repeal of Prohibition. Max suggests joining the Teamsters’ union, as muscle, but Noodles refuses. Max acquiesces and they go to Florida, with Carol and Eve, for a vacation. While there, Max suggests robbing the New York Federal Reserve Bank, but Noodles regards it as a suicide mission.
Carol, who also fears for Max’s life, convinces Noodles to inform the police about a lesser offense, so the four friends will safely serve a brief (“probably one year”) jail sentence. Minutes after calling the police, Max knocks Noodles unconscious during an argument. Regaining consciousness, Noodles finds out that Max, Patsy, and Cockeye have been killed by the police, and is consumed with guilt over making the phone call. Noodles then boards the first bus leaving New York, going to Buffalo, to live under a false identity, Robert Williams.
In 1968, Noodles receives a letter informing him that the cemetery where his friends are buried is being redeveloped, asking him to make arrangements for their reburial. Realizing that someone has deduced his identity, Noodles returns to Manhattan, and stays with Fat Moe above his restaurant. While visiting the cemetery, Noodles finds a key to the railway locker once kept by the gang, and notes the license plate of a car following him. Opening the locker, he finds a suitcase full of money but with a note stating that the cash is a down-payment on his next job.
Noodles hears about a corruption scandal and assassination attempt on U.S. Secretary of Commerce Christopher Bailey, an embattled political figure, mentioned in a news report.
Noodles visits Carol, who lives at a retirement home run by the Bailey Foundation. She tells him that Max planted the idea of Carol and Noodles tipping him off to the police, because he wanted to die rather than go insane like his father, who died in an asylum; Max opened fire on the police to ensure his own death.
While at the retirement home, Noodles sees a photo of Deborah at the institution’s dedication. Noodles tracks down Deborah, still an actress. He questions her about Secretary Bailey, telling her about his invitation to a party at Bailey’s mansion. Deborah claims not to know who Bailey is and begs Noodles to leave via the back exit, as Bailey’s son is waiting for her at the main door. Ignoring Deborah’s advice, Noodles sees Bailey’s son David, who is named after Noodles and bears a strong resemblance to Max as a young man. Thus, Noodles realizes that Max is alive and living as Bailey.
Noodles meets with Max in his private study during the party. Max explains that corrupt police officers helped him fake his own death, so that he could steal the gang’s money and Noodles’ love interest, Deborah, in order to begin a new life as Bailey, a man with connections to the Teamsters’ union, connections that have now gone sour.
Now faced with ruin and the specter of a Teamster assassination, Max asks Noodles to kill him, having tracked him down and sent the invitation. Noodles, obstinately referring to him by his Secretary Bailey identity, refuses because, in his eyes, Max died with the gang. As Noodles leaves Max’s estate, he hears a garbage truck start up and looks back to see Max standing at his driveway’s gated entrance. As he begins to walk towards Noodles, the truck passes between them. Noodles sees the truck’s auger grinding down rubbish, but Max is nowhere to be seen.
The end returns to the opening scene in 1933, with Noodles entering the opium den after his friends’ deaths, taking the drug and broadly grinning.
It was the final film directed by Leone before his death five years later, and the first feature film he had directed in over a decade. It is also the third film of Leone’s Once Upon a Time Trilogy, which includes Once Upon a Time in the West (1968) and Duck, You Sucker! (1971). The cinematography was by Tonino Delli Colli, and the film score by Ennio Morricone. Leone originally envisaged two three-hour films, then a single 4 hour and 29 minute version, but was convinced by distributors to shorten it to 3 hours and 49 minutes. The American distributors, The Ladd Company, further shortened it to 139 minutes, and rearranged the scenes into chronological order, without Leone’s involvement. The shortened version was a critical and commercial flop in the United States, and critics who had seen both versions harshly condemned the changes that were made. The original “European cut” has remained a critical favorite and frequently appears in lists of the greatest gangster films of all time.
The initial critical response to Once Upon a Time in America was mixed, because of the different versions released worldwide. While internationally the film was well received in its original form, American critics were much more dissatisfied with the 139-minute version released in North America. This condensed version was a critical and financial disaster, and many American critics who knew of Leone’s original cut attacked the short version. Some critics compared shortening the film to shortening Richard Wagner’s operas, saying that works of art that are meant to be long should be given the respect they deserve. Roger Ebert wrote in his 1984 review that the uncut version was “an epic poem of violence and greed” but described the American theatrical version as a “travesty”. Ebert’s television film critic partner Gene Siskel considered the uncut version to be the best film of 1984 and the shortened, linear studio version to be the worst film of 1984.
It was only after Leone’s death and the subsequent restoration of the original version that critics began to give it the kind of praise displayed at its original Cannes showing. By most accounts, the uncut original film is considered to be far superior to the edited version released in the US in 1984. Ebert, in his review of Brian De Palma’s The Untouchables, called the original uncut version of Once Upon a Time in America the best film depicting the Prohibition era. James Woods, who considers it to be Leone’s finest film, mentioned in the DVD documentary that one critic dubbed the film the worst of 1984, only to see the original cut years later and call it the best of the 1980s.
If you have never seen this film, please give it a watch (in its full length version). You are sure to come away with a lot of questions and perhaps a few insights into your own life. There will be some confusion: Is the whole film a flashback and a drug induced dream or artfully presented reality? What do you make of Max’s disappearance at the end? A lot is open for interpretation. However, if you do not begin to cry as Deborah removes her Cleopatra makeup, you probably have missed most of the movie’s salient points.
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Years ago, shortly after I first moved to Italy, I decided to take a long hike with my wife and a friend. We went to an area that was new to us near the Malga di Bresimo. A malga is a high mountain dairy farm and they are common in these parts of the Italian Alps.
To get to where our hike would begin, I had to take a very windy road that ascended into the Adamello Brenta Dolomites after we made a brief stop at the Alta Garda Castle in Bresimo for some site seeing and pictures. The scenery was spectacular all the way. Suddenly, I realized we had cleared the tree line as we had passed the 6,600 foot mark.
Many miles on and at a higher altitude, we parked the car and did some hiking. After a couple of hours we made our way up to the malga on a steep, well-worn path. I had actually never visited a malga so I really didn’t know what to expect. We looked around a bit at the cows when a voice broke the still of the mid-day heat. “Avete fame?” We turned around and there was a man beckoning us into a part of the malga I hadn’t seen. It soon became clear that this man was asking us if we wanted lunch.
We went into a small room with a few tables and sat down. The same man immediately arrived at our table and asked us again if we wanted lunch. We all choked-out a “si” in unison and off he went. I thought it strange that he didn’t take our order and the lack of conversation was a bit baffling. I asked another patron at a nearby table how things worked at a malga for lunch. He laughed and seeing that we were Americans explained: “Qui da noi, mangiamo un piatto fisso.”
Okay, I got that. There was no menu and lunch entrees were fixed each day by the proprietor. It was simple enough and I liked the idea immediately. Then came the food. The obligatory basket of bread was presented first followed by a plate for each of us containing a whole stinco. What, you ask, is a stinco? Without all of the Tirolean drama that usually accompanies the explanation, it is simply a ham hock. It is also known hereabouts by its German name, haxe.
These were full-sized ham hocks, meaning it was a hell of a meal by any standard. As I began to inquire about what to drink, a liter of Teroldego wine was plopped down on our table. Now, I thought, this is living!
Fifteen minutes passed as we struggled to consume all of that meat. I had noticed that the wine was gone but when I turned my head for a moment to speak to our friend, another liter appeared. Not being ones to shy away from hospitality or wine, we began pouring anew.
Another twenty minutes lapsed and we were just getting to the stinco bone when boom! Another liter of wine appeared as if by the hand of God. I must interject here that at that elevation, a small bit of wine goes a long way. We cautiously moved our way through the third liter, keeping an eye open all the while for that wine porting man of the malga. Finally, he did indeed appear again with another liter in his hand. “Basta!” I spewed. Feeling that maybe I’d hurt his feelings, I explained that three liters of wine for three people on a hot day at over a mile high is, well, just too much!
As we paid our bill, the malga owner explained that lunch at a malga was an all-inclusive affair; all you can eat and drink. The error, in fact, had been mine by not calling a time out earlier in the proceedings.
Remember that I said the road was windy? I instantly decided that I could not and would not drive down the mountain with that much wine in my gut. I proposed that the three of us sleep it off in a meadow. I pulled an old U-Haul felt blanket from the back of my station wagon and laid it out under the hot Tirolean sky. I didn’t even have to explain further. My wife and our friend joined me instantly and we slept a good three hours. I would have probably slept into the night except that loud snoring ensued on either side of me. When it finally became too much to bear, I jumped up and said, “Let’s go!”
I remember this story very well. It came back to me this morning when my wife and I bought a stinco at the market. We laughed together at the memory from years ago. Yes, we would have our stinco for dinner but this time with just a couple of glasses of wine.
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Lately I noticed that my telephone calls are seldom returned. It is as if my number has been erased from every phone register world-wide. Yes, it’s true that my older friends still call me back but the younger ones, not so much. But this phenomenon works at cross purposes.
Several years ago, I began crossing off telephone number entries in my phone book. (Yes, being a geezer, I actually have a physical phone book.) There are now more crossed-off entries than those who boldly claim they are still alive. All too often I have dialed-up an old friend only to hear, “Beep, beep, beep. We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is out of service.” I mumble, “Another croaker,” as I cross off yet another entry. It’s a little depressing, really.
Feeling optimistic, I lay out my morning’s underwear the night before. It’s those small repetitions that keep you believing you’re still in the game. It’s as if to say, Swarzenegger style, “I’ll be back!” Morning has regularly come and the only real surprise might be waking to find that my wife is holding a mirror under my nose. But even so, I am thankful that she didn’t use a pillow instead.
I usually get up, have a small home-made espresso and watch the fake news a bit. Yes, I know the news isn’t really news but when you hit my age you like the background noise. It makes you feel relevant. After breakfast, I am usually off on some errand and that’s where life furthers its rub. I go into a store and immediately I seem to be in everyone’s way. Carts clash, mindless millennials crash into me without so much as an “excuse me” and I once again feel invisible.
When I’m in the market or store, I often feel the genuine need to talk to other shoppers, perhaps just strike-up a friendly conversation. After all people of my generation used to actually talk to each other. It is in these brief moments that I feel alive; I am being seen and being heard. That’s half the battle lately.
Like all invisible geezers, I will soon enough truly become invisible. I will be erased from my friends’ phone books with a mere key stroke, a pencil stroke if they’re my age. In the meantime, what have I left? Just idle thoughts such as the one you are reading now.
Ah, but I have found a unique way of staying off the rolls of the departed. I have written these blog posts in advance so that they will appear years after I’m gone. Crazy? Not really. It’s just that this geezer likes to have the last laugh.
Photo: The Invisible Geezer working a fly on the North Mills River.
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One of my latest novels has been out for awhile. I wanted to highlight it again today: Hey, Mister Publisher is available here. It’s a great look into the 1970’s music industry and the people who craft the tunes we hear on the radio. If you are from the Los Angeles area, you will recognize many of the landmarks of the area along with the flavor of the 1970’s.
“Follow songwriter Al Sapetello as he takes you through the back streets of the 1970’s music business on his way to the top. Where will the road lead him?
The 1970’s music industry is explored from the inside out, exposing both the beauty and the ugly underbelly of the business. Presented with authority by veteran songwriter Allen E. Rizzi, Hey, Mister Publisher will give you a new understanding of music and the people who make it.”
This was written as a labor of love in every respect and many years in the making. Please give it a read. I think you will enjoy it! Hey, Mister Publisher.
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Indovina dove! Guess where!
Foto © Allen E. Rizzi
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Well into my seventh decade on this planet, I have to say I am really disappointed with the miseducation of today’s young people. It’s really not an old person thing, so I probably should leave out the part about seven decades; it’s a today problem and one that affects all of us.
A few years back, a young dinner guest hit me with a barrage of LOL over dinner. Like many of her age, she likes to ride older people for being stupid and out of touch. She thought I didn’t know what LOL meant. I did. However, when I asked her if she knew how to spell the word laughing, I was greeted with silence and the very facial expression that sums up today’s education experience in America: Vacuous.
Over the last few years, I learned that today’s young people are woefully lacking in communication skills. Most can not write a coherent paragraph, all but a few simply don’t listen when someone is speaking to them and their reading lists are chiefly comprised of emails, photos and texts. Trying not to embarrass younger people, I avoid any references to novels, classical music and virtually everything that Mr. Webster has published. It makes me wonder and fear for our very future as a society.
Likewise I was completely floored when I learned that local schools no longer teach cursive writing. What? Not possible! Sadly, it is not only possible, it’s a fact. Then my mind flashed back to the days of penmanship, exchange letters, love letters and dear diary entries. I suppose these have been relegated to the Smithsonian but I fear we are no better off for it. Granted, I am typing this off on a computer keyboard but guess what folks? I can still write it down with pen and paper just as easily. Fortunately I was not miseducated.
Then there’s the practical side of miseduaction. If you are going to eventually have a job, I suppose it would be handy to know not to start a letter or business correspondence with 2 U. Of course, the argument supporting this vacuum in our education system insists that computers will do all the work in the near future. Great! What about conversations, you know, where you have to speak and respond to someone else. Are we to be left with just grunting sans facial expressions? The Neanderthals would be proud that we have come full circle.
I look back with considerable pride to the time I spent as an English teacher. My students certainly did learn communication skills. All were able to write, speak, read and listen. I wonder how those folks are coping with their children these days. I honestly believe that the people who went to public schools in the 1970s were the last people to have acquired good communication skills. Today’s teachers as well as their students don’t seem to put a high priority on communication – 2 Bad! And grammar? Don’t get me started!
Youth is rebellious by nature. I sure was rebellious when I was young. My parents and grandparents thought my music, idiom and way of thinking was a bit strange, even unacceptable. The feelings were mutual. I didn’t think they were very boss or bitchin’ either. That was natural. But like them, I was at least educated, enough even to write this blog entry.
The next time you see one of our lightly educated youths fiddling with their phone, you might want to text them a quickie: “2 U – RU miseducated? – OMG – Y – LOL 2!”
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“An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” (1890) is a short story by the American writer and Civil War veteran Ambrose Bierce. Described as “one of the most famous and frequently anthologized stories in American literature,” it was originally published by The San Francisco Examiner on July 13, 1890, and was first collected in Bierce’s book Tales of Soldiers and Civilians (1891). The story, which is set during the American Civil War, is known for its irregular time sequence and twist ending. Bierce’s abandonment of strict linear narration in favor of the internal mind of the protagonist is an early example of the stream of consciousness narrative mode.
Peyton Farquhar, a civilian and plantation owner, is being prepared for execution by hanging from an Alabama railroad bridge during the American Civil War. Six military men and a company of infantrymen are present, guarding the bridge and carrying out the sentence. Farquhar thinks of his wife and children and is then distracted by a noise that, to him, sounds like an unbearably loud clanging; it is actually the ticking of his watch. He considers the possibility of jumping off the bridge and swimming to safety if he can free his tied hands, but the soldiers drop him from the bridge before he can act on the idea.
In a flashback, Farquhar and his wife are relaxing at home one evening when a soldier rides up to the gate. Farquhar, a supporter of the Confederacy, learns from him that Union troops have seized the Owl Creek railroad bridge and repaired it. The soldier suggests that Farquhar might be able to burn the bridge down if he can slip past its guards. He then leaves, but doubles back after nightfall to return north the way he came. The soldier is actually a disguised Union scout who has lured Farquhar into a trap as any civilian caught interfering with the railroads will be hanged.
The story returns to the present, and the rope around Farquhar’s neck breaks when he falls from the bridge into the creek. He frees his hands, pulls the noose away, and rises to the surface to begin his escape. His senses now greatly sharpened, he dives and swims downstream to avoid rifle and cannon fire. Once he is out of range, he leaves the creek to begin the journey to his home, 30 miles away. Farquhar walks all day long through a seemingly endless forest, and that night he begins to hallucinate, seeing strange constellations and hearing whispered voices in an unknown language. He travels on, urged by the thought of his wife and children despite the pains caused by his ordeal. The next morning, after having apparently fallen asleep while walking, he finds himself at the gate to his plantation. He rushes to embrace his wife, but before he can do so, he feels a heavy blow upon the back of his neck; there is a loud noise and a flash of white, and “then all is darkness and silence”. It is revealed that Farquhar never escaped at all; he imagined the entire third part of the story during the time between falling through the bridge and the noose breaking his neck.
La rivière du hibou (“The Owl River”), a French version directed by Robert Enrico and produced by Marcel Ichac and Paul de Roubaix, was released in 1963. Enrico’s film won Best Short Subject at the 1962 Cannes Film Festival, and the 1963 Academy Award for Live Action Short Film. In 1964 La rivière du hibou aired on American television as an episode of the anthology series The Twilight Zone.
I used both the story and the film when I taught high school English in California to teach the novelist’s convention of compressing time. It remains a favorite of mine for its haunting portrayal of hope. If you haven’t read Ambrose Bierce’s master work, please do so and excuse me for the spoiler. You will enjoy it just the same. The film really brings the story to life and is also recommended.
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This is part of my presentation of my Top Five favorite movies (in do particular order).
The Wizard of Oz is a perennial favorite with American viewers, yet strangely the best copy that I own is the Italian version Il Mago di Oz which contains bonus features that are longer than the film itself.
This 1939 musical fantasy film produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. It was one of the first commercially successful films to use Technicolor. Its principals included Judy Garland as Dorothy Gale alongside Ray Bolger, Jack Haley, and Bert Lahr. I won’t bore you with the plot synopsis here because I am 100% sure that every living person in the United States has seen this film at least once. (Okay, maybe not millennials.)
The film did not do that well in it original box office release. It was re-released in 1949 and barely made a profit. It wasn’t until 1956, when CBS released the film on television, that the movie became popular and rather instantly a classic. I remember very vividly watching it on television for the very first time on November 3, 1956. The witch flying around her castle accompanied by flying moneys was a real powerful moment. It seemed both fake and so real at the same moment.
Margaret Hamilton played the Wicked Witch of the West in perfect style as well as Miss Almira Gulch. Her line, “…and your little dog too!” has become one of the most quoted in all of movie-land. I remember seeing the witch melting away in the movie after Dorothy accidentally splashed her with water. That scene and many others showed real innovation for the time for special effects. Equally appealing in terms of special effects were the sequences that featured Billie Burke as Glinda the good witch.
The Wizard of Oz has become an American pop culture icon. It was nominated for six Academy Awards, including Best Picture, but lost to Gone with the Wind, also directed by Fleming. It did win in two other categories: Best Original Song for “Over the Rainbow” and Best Original Score by Herbert Stothart.
Charles Grapewin (uncle Henry), Clara Blandick (Auntie Em), and Frank Morgan (The Wizard) round out the cast that also included over 100 little people to play the various Munchkins. The little dog Toto was played by a female Cairn Terrier named Terry.
Of course, being a musician, you knew I was going to get around to the music, right? The music and lyrics are what make The Wizard of Oz so endearing. Here is a complete list of the songs:
“Over the Rainbow” – Judy Garland as Dorothy Gale
“Come Out …” – Billie Burke as Glinda, and the Munchkins
“It Really Was No Miracle” – Judy Garland as Dorothy, Billy Bletcher and the Munchkins
“We Thank You Very Sweetly” – Frank Cucksey and Joseph Koziel
“Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead” – Billie Burke as Glinda (speaking) and the Munchkins
“As Mayor of the Munchkin City”
“As Coroner, I Must Aver”
“Ding-Dong! The Witch Is Dead” (Reprise) – The Munchkins
“The Lullaby League”
“The Lollipop Guild”
“We Welcome You to Munchkinland” – The Munchkins
“Follow the Yellow Brick Road/You’re Off to See the Wizard” – Judy Garland as Dorothy, and the Munchkins
“If I Only Had a Brain” – Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, and Judy Garland as Dorothy
“We’re Off to See the Wizard” – Judy Garland as Dorothy, and Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow
“If I Only Had a Heart” – Jack Haley as the Tin Man
“If I Only Had a Heart” (original recording) – Buddy Ebsen as the Tin Man
“We’re Off to See the Wizard” (Reprise 1) – Judy Garland as Dorothy, Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, and Buddy Ebsen as the Tin Man
“If I Only Had the Nerve” – Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion, Jack Haley as the Tin Man, Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, and Judy Garland as Dorothy
“We’re Off to See the Wizard” (Reprise 2) – Judy Garland as Dorothy, Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow, Buddy Ebsen as the Tin Man, and Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion
“Optimistic Voices” – MGM Studio Chorus
“The Merry Old Land of Oz” – Frank Morgan as Cabby, Judy Garland as Dorothy, Ray Bolger as Scarecrow, Jack Haley as the Tin Man, Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion and the Emerald City townspeople
“If I Were King of the Forest” – Bert Lahr as the Cowardly Lion, Judy Garland as Dorothy, Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow and Jack Haley as the Tin Man
“The Jitterbug” – Although this song was removed from the final film, it is still available on some extended edition CDs.
One last note. I found the ultimate tribute to this film’s greatness in Italy. Here’s the quick story. An elderly friend came over for dinner with his grandchildren. I put The Wizard of Oz on after dinner to amuse the children while my friend and I spoke Nonese together. Within five minutes, he left the conversation and sat down with the kids and watched the whole film until its end. He was amazed just as I had been in 1956.
Please respond with your favorite quote from this movie!
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Who gets your stuff when you are, as we say in Italian, non c’e piu‘? It’s a good question.
We all aren’t going to have much use for all our stuff after we’re gone. So what are we going to do with all that stuff anyway?
Comedian George Carlin had a good take on stuff:
When we moved to Italy, we took sort of a trial run at the stuff liquidation process. First we had to sort all of our stuff to see what was going with us and what would be sold or given away. We then held an estate sale on our own behalf as though we had passed away, thus leaving our stuff behind. Against the organizer’s advice, I drove by to see how it was going. Our tiny cul-de-sac was clogged with over 50 cars and people were scuttling everywhere with armfuls of our stuff. I saw one old lady running to her car with one of our old suitcases in hand like she was running from a crime scene. (Maybe she stole it, who knows?) In the end our stuff disappeared like cotton candy in a pot of boiling water.
Many of us have elaborate wills that dole out our stuff to family and friends. People even leave some of their stuff to animals. Leona Helmsley left $12 million to her dog, although a judge later knocked that amount down to a measly $2 million. But then again, she was nuts! Me? I have made all of my stuff simple: It is all going to my wife and after she goes, the whole ball of wax will be liquidated by our executor and the cash given to St. Jude’s Children’s Hospital.
There is one exception though and that is my intellectual property stuff. Nobody wants that stuff but it is the only stuff that continues to earn money after you’re gone. Don’t worry, I have found a suitable landing site for that stuff as well.
A little PS here: I am writing this on January 2, 2019 for publication on January 6, 2023. Who knows, maybe my stuff has already been gotten!
Please follow this blog by clicking follow below. Your comments are always welcome.
Read author Allen E. Rizzi’s latest book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C9SG1XWH/
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