Russellville Lives MS

Marianne Stokes is an artist. Do you prefer your portrait in oil, water color, charcoal, Rodda’s paint? Or how about a sculptured head for your mantel? Ms.Stokes does it all. Wait, there’s more: Say you wanted to pull your neighbor’s chain a little bit.  Have Marianne paint your garage door to look like a pig pen with a few porkers standing around. 

Marianne and Herb, her husband of 38 years, have recently taken residence on the fifth floor allowing Marianne to immediately merge into the social life of the Russellville community.  She conducts weekly free model drawing sessions working with live models for wannabe artists (can you draw a straight line?  You’re an artist.) at Russellville as well as free model sessions at two other locations in Vancouver.

As Frank Sinatra came to the end of his career, Paul Anka composed a song for him that  was his mega hit: My Way. Paul could have written the song for Marianne because from the time she was a little girl she was doing things her way.  When she was seven or eight, her drawings went unnoticed by her mother and father. By the time Marianne was in high school she had evolved her drawing skills to an advanced level of excellence so that she delighted classmates by doing their portraits.  She was also a top academic student.

While she earned a BA degree in fine arts from Hofstra University on Long Island, Marianne found little in the arts classrooms that she hadn’t already discovered on her own.  After graduation she taught art in the public school system on Long Island but the routine life of reporting to school administrators was a giant turnoff for her and she dropped out of public education to offer private art classes.  

Marianne taught herself calligraphy to use in a sideline she was attracted to by the large prices sign painters charged for their commercial work.The art schools offered no classroom instruction for sign painting which they considered beneath their calling so Marianne scouted around to find an apprentice position. There she could learn the ropes of this unique profession (an early assignment from her master sign painter was to paint letters on to a large glass door and then, when it was dry, scrape it all clean with a razor blade). She soon left her trainer and opened her own shop. As the only woman in a niche occupation filled by good old boys, (no traditional education required) Marianne built a lucrative business painting signs and murals that stood out because of the artistic flair she introduced to mundane assignments. She was untroubled about using her exceptional artistic talents to mine gold in lowbrow shafts.  Once it’s in the bank, all money looks the same.  Marianne’s artistic touch with signs brought her many commissions in boat yards lettering transoms of yachts using gold leaf.

Marianne has three sons who live in New York.

On a cold, snowy, Christmas night in 1976 while with a Catholic singles group, she was introduced to the greatest guy she had ever met. His name was Herb Stokes.  Herb turned out to be her favorite Christmas gift that keeps on giving.  She and Herb enjoy the relaxed pace of life in Russellville where she still pursues her interests as an artist, whatever the form it takes. Because, like old Blue Eyes, she does it her way. 

...Man, What Are You Doing Here?

Once, a long time ago, my wife, Georgann, and her lifelong friend, Lois Battleson, left on a jet plane to New York City to visit Georgann's brother, Dick Johnson and his wife, Maureen, who lived on Long Island.  Just a couple of country girls on a mission to find out what was moving in the Big Apple.  Brother Dick would take the girls with him into the city each morning, riding in a private railroad car Dick shared with a number of other commuters who enjoyed the special accommodations.  Dick was a partner with the Price Waterhouse accounting firm.

Georgann and Lois spent the days learning how to be New Yorkers, adapting to the rhythms of the city.  One thing they found difficult was knowing which railcar to enter at the appointed hour for returning home. Dick would spot them moving down the platform, eyes cupped, looking into the windows of all the cars and with brotherly patience herd the laughing strays into his car.

On a Sunday before their return to Oregon, Dick drove them on a tour of the Hamptons at the east end of Long Island.  At noon they spotted a quaint small cafe and decided to stop for lunch.  They were alone in the small dining room except for two other couples who were sharing a table across from them. One of men from the other table was sitting at a piano in the corner of the room playing beautiful melodies with effortless grace.  The three new arrivals looked at each other with instant recognition:

Billy Joel.

He played all through their lunch.  They made no moves to intrude on the Joel party letting Billy be Billy. Imagine that.  Flying coast to coast to have the Piano Man deliver an intimate concert for the price of a tuna sandwich and a glass of decent wine.

 Editorial note: Billy Joel goes into the city once a month to perform sold-out concerts.  He returns to the Hamptons with one million more dollars than he had earlier that day.

Guy Fawkes

   In the year 1570 on April 13, at 2:27 AM, Edward and Edith Fawkes welcomed into this world a full term baby boy who, when laid beside Edith, reached out and pulled over the kerosene lamp, setting fire to the birthing room.  They would name the little rascal Guido but he was called Guy from then on.  Guy is known to history for his association with a group of Catholic insurrectionists who plotted to assassinate King George I by using 36 barrels of gunpowder to blow up the English Parliament.  Guy Fawkes was captured just as he was lighting the fuse.

So we celebrate Guido Fawkes for his guyness and being the only man who has ever lived to have his name attached to every man on planet Earth since November 5, 1605 when Guy was captured, charged and found guilty of treason which resulted in his being hanged, drawn and quartered. 

So let’s give a shoutout to Guy Fawkes who, if we could put him back together and have a team of shrinks wash his brain clean of doctrinaire nastiness,  might turn out to be a decent guy.

                                                  ***********************                                                                                         

I Enjoy Being A Guy   (Apologies to Richard Rogers)

I’m strictly a real male, real male

And my future I hope will be

Entwined in the arms of a female

Whose fulfilled with a guy like me.

When we go to a big State Fair

 I’m lost but I won’t complain

I never ask how to get there

Just circle again and again.

I’m a guy and by me that is great

I’m a guy, I don’t glow, I just sweat

I’m a guy, and I do hate to wait

I’m a guy, why aren’t you ready yet?                         

Russellville Lives. SM

 

                                                                                   Sharron Morita

My friend Vincenza Scarpaci told me I should meet her friend Sharron Morita because Vincenza knew of my mission to discover the most interesting residents of Russellville Park and share their stories with our other cabin-mates on this mysterious voyage. Those who know Vincenza are cognizant of the truth that Vin is never wrong.

Sharron and her husband, Paul, have lived at Russellville for the past six years of their 55-year marriage and it did not take long for Sharron to become immersed in the social life of the community by serving as treasurer of Russellville's Community Service Board. Life patterns of community service seldom change.

Raised in Auburn, NY, she moved to Bridgeton, NJ, to take a job on the local newspaper after graduating in Journalism from Syracuse University. Sharron's editor sent her to write a story about an anti-poverty agency in Bridgeton and it was just another assignment until she interviewed the CEO of the operation. His evasive responses when she started asking questions about the collection and disbursement of money set off warning bells in her reporter's mind and it would launch an investigation that became a two-year episodic series of articles. Interviewing hundreds of sources, her compelling search for facts about the agency resulted in Sharron being awarded the prestigious New Jersey Press Association's Lloyd P. Burns award for responsible journalism and public service.

Sharron's editor at the paper kept after her to meet this friend of his, Paul Morita, who had a dental practice in Bridgeton. They met and Sharron cleverly became Paul's patient because you can learn a lot about a man by the way he shoots novocaine into your gums.

Paul is a Japanese-American whose family was sent to an internment camp in Amache, CO, after the attack on Pearl Harbor. They were allowed to leave the camp toward the end of the war to move to a small farming community outside Bridgeton, where Paul's parents worked for a large food processing company, Seabrook Farms, that hired a diverse body of employees. They included refugees from Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, Germany and Poland, as well as some residents from Jamaica. Sharron would later submit a manuscript about that unusual community to a publisher and to her delight it was accepted. The title is Bridgeton, New Jersey: City on the Cohansey.

Paul went to high school in Bridgeton and then after graduating from the University of Maryland earned his dental degree from Baltimore Dental College. He practiced in Bridgeton for 45 years and was much loved by his patients. He retired when his dexterity no longer met his own high standards.

The Catholic Church has played an important role in Sharron's life, although she admits it's hard to be a woman in that institution. She supported the ordination of women in the '80s. In her parish in New Jersey she chaired the liturgy committee while serving as a Eucharistic minister and lector (a person chosen to read holy scripture in the church services). She is a lector at Russellville for Catholic Mass. In 2007 Sharron earned a Master's degree in Theology from LaSalle University.

Wow.

Tim Morita, one of their sons, moved to Portland and loved everything about the city; he was a principal factor in bringing his parents to the Pacific Northwest. When Paul experienced some medical issues, Tim urged them to make the move to Russellville. Sharron agrees that it was a wise choice.

Thanks, Vincenza. You're batting a thousand.

Jungle Jim Loscutoff

Anyone who followed professional basketball in the ‘60s will remember the small forward for the Boston Celtics, Jim Loscutoff.  At 6’5” and 220 lbs of solid muscle. he was an opposing player’s worst nightmare.  He learned the game on the streets of Palo Alto, California and became a legend playing at the University of Oregon.  Jim and I lived in the same fraternity and shared the same birthday (Feb.4, 1930) but he got all the good stuff.

The son of Russian immigrants, Loscutoff was a charismatic figure on the small campus of the university where he acquired admirers for his ability to find where the fun was, whether it was occurring, on or off the basketball court (He once left the bench when pulled from a game Oregon was winning big and went to a hallway hotdog stand and returned eating the weenie).

Jim was a master manipulator of yo-yos and would do pre-game exhibitions of amazing yo-yo tricks.  Those antics, of course, brought the house down in historic MacArthur Court.

And, oh my, was he a hit off the court as Jungle Jim and his entourage roamed the campus looking for the action.  If they didn’t find it, they created it.  One time at a charity auction fund-raiser, Loscutoff and Jack Faust (a talented musician and creative showman) were purchased by the Alpha Chi Omega sorority to do their act which involved Faust singing while strumming his banjo as Loscutoff flexed his muscles and did dance moves.  But shortly into their act, Loscutoff spontaneously leaped onto a chair next to Faust and started playing the zipper of his fly like a musical instrument, up and down in rhythm with Jack’s banjo.  Can you hear the shrieking, stomping, and clapping of the sisters of Alpha Chi Omega? Can you see the sorority house mother  powering her way to the performers, arms waving and screaming for them to leave immediately?

And so the legend of Jungle Jim Loscutoff grew and grew.  Some time later Loscutoff was expelled from the University for another incident, but that’s another story.

Rus'vil''Echo 12/18/'21

 As a resident in the Russellville Park retirement community,  I am privy to much of what’s happening in this remarkable encampment of citizens who have stepped back from playing the role of slave to the the dictates of a clock and now march (however slowly) to the  cadence of their own drum.

What a crew. Take Bob who once ran a maximum security state prison in New Jersey and once a week, in the evening, would walk alone among the inmates. These were not choir- boys. Or Rodney who spent his working life among archival treasures, including those of the New York Public Library.  Or Lou the one-time California state patrolman who would chase you down at 100 miles an hour and run you into the ditch if you didn’t pull over. Then smile and wish you a really nice day as he handed you your summons. Or Betty who is 102 and will sprinkle an expletive or two in telling you about her adventures in San Fransisco during WWII.

And on and on. This place is full of residents with great stories.  Which results, if you keep your ears open, in entertaining eavesdropping.

Lady seated at a table for lunch greeting her approaching friend: “ Hi, I see you found your teeth.”

“Oh, look, is that the new woman from the fifth floor?”

“Which woman?”

“That one, with the grey hair”

“Well, you’ve narrowed it down to 50.  Thanks.”

Diner to server who has just delivered a plate of food to him: “What’s that supposed to be?”

Server: “Not sure, but there’s a lot more of it in the kitchen.”

Mary Barrett greets a new resident: Hi,  my name’s Mary, welcome to Russellville.”

“Hello, Mary, my name is Ruth”

                       (They chat)

Ruth: “I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”

“My name is Mary, Ruth”

“Your name is Mary Ruth?”

“No, Ruth, my name is Mary.”

That’s the news from Russellville.

Russellville Lives J&B H

Joan and Bob Hatrak

Joan and Bob Hatrak are recent residents in the Russellville family of no-longer-young citizens and in addition to being a very nice couple, they have a terrific backstory.  One of these days you will be able to read all about it in a book the two of them are writing. They have a publisher and when it comes out it is going to get a lot of attention.

Between 1973 and 1979 Bob Hatrak was Superintendent (Warden) of the high security  Rahway State Prison in Trenton, New Jersey.  Two years prior to Hatrak’s arrival the convicts rioted causing horrific damage to the prison and almost killing its then warden.  Violence continued to be an issue as Bob Hatrak was sent in to clean it up.  The book will be the story of that restoration of order and the national attention it brought to that troubled institution.

At the time he became chief executive of Rahway he was the youngest prison warden in the nation and that complicated his mission as he introduced creative new programs that were not admired by many of the old boy administrators in other prisons.  Prophets of change are not universally loved

Bob’s a big guy, hard to miss (somewhere up his family’s genetic stream a grizzly bear might have been involved), and Joan the writer is alway by his side, ready to catch any slips in Bob’s memory. If you see them in the dining room, go over and say hello.  They are a welcome addition to our small village of former lives.