My Political Career

      When Rep.  Stewart B. McKinney died from AIDS in 1988 he had three months left in his office term.  The State of Connecticut announced a special election and Christopher Shays, a Republican,  was the first to sign in. I was the second, as an independent write-in candidate.
     There were also several others climbing aboard the bandwagon. But Shays and I ruled the media’s coverage.  He had $200,000 and 200 staff members with as many telephones. I had $20,000 and 20 team members, all college age. My headquarters was the 1911 Duluth, Winnepeg & Pacific caboose in our backyard with one telephone and piles of campaign literature.
     The only political experience I had dated back to 1945 when I spent an hour in the House of Representatives as a Washington tourist.  There were about twenty Representatives present, taking turns at the lectern to defend or protest some sort of water conservation bill before Congress. Vice-President Harry S. Truman, as Speaker of the House, sat high above the assembly with his feet on his desk! And he was reading a LIFE Magazine throughout the hour!
     Fast forward forty-three years and here I was, throwing my hat into the political ring. On second thought, this was really going to be my second experience with politics. In 1964 I served as campaign manager for Mrs. Yetta Bronstein, independent candidate for President of the United States with a great slogan, “Vote for Yetta and Things Will Get Betta.”
     Although that was all in fun, and Yetta lost by a landslide, she did get more write-in votes that Mickey Mouse or Johnny Carson. Her competition was Barry Goldwater and Lyndon Johnson. Newsmen David Brinkley and Chet Huntley adopted Mrs. Bronstein as their favorite (tongue-in-cheek of course) on nightly television broadcasts from Convention headquarters in Atla ntic City.
     My wife Jeanne, a superb actress with multiple character voices, looked more like Natalie Wood than a Jewish housewife with fallen arches from the Bronx. So she stayed out of sight, only did interviews by phone and allowed me to take the heat up front. I always explained to reporters that Mrs. Bronstein was in Israel planting a tree.
     The student body at Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore extended an invitation for her to visit the campus and speak. I accepted in her name, as campaign manager, and took the train on the appointed day. At the Baltimore station there were several hundred students waiting with campaign signs bearing Yetta’s slogan, a marching band playing “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight,”  and Milton Eisenhower, President of the University!
     I spoke to the crowd and there was great disappointment over Yetta’s absence. But I managed to charm them with her platform that included: lowering all sidewalk curbs for baby carriages and senior citizens;  putting Jayne Mansfield’s nude photo on postage stamps; truth serum in the Senate drinking fountain; a chicken in everyone’s pot and other humorous planks.
     When the NEW YORK TIMES called to publish a story on Mrs. Bronstein, they insisted she appear for the photographer forthwith. They had a deadline with their Sunday Magazine going to press the next day. So Jeanne and I decided to make an appearance and take our chances on an expose.
     We met photographer Sam Falk in Central Park, I carried a campaign sign and Jeanne wore a huge red, white and blue crape paper button that said VOTE FOR YETTA BRONSTEIN. Falk never batted an eyelash as he shot several rolls of film of us walking around with dozens strangers attracted to the scene. Jeanne, 27 years old, wore an attractive dress and displayed her long blonde hair. And that’s the way she appeared in the TIMES several weeks later, as Mrs. Yetta Bronstein, along with a story on her campaign.
     Subsequently, the NEW YORK DAILY NEWS revealed the hoax. Their feature story showed Jeanne riding her bicycle and a humorous story brought down the curtain on this four-year scenario. She received an offer from Hawthorn Books to write “The President I Almost Was” and completed a manuscript in six weeks of frenetic writing. Avon Books paid $60,000 for the paperback rights and Peter Wolfe Ltd. Published an English edition.
     Cassandra, the British book critic, said “The President I Almost Was” is the best American satire since Sinclair Lewis’ ‘Babbitt.’”  There was also some flirtation with Broadway producers for a stage play, including  Jewish actress Gertrude Berg. Unfortunately, she passed away before anything materialized.
     Now, back to the future. I had a ball with my student campaigners when I ran for Congress in 1988, during a month of traveling around the state. We had four cars and concentrated our efforts in Stamford, New Haven and Hartford. As a political candidate there was never a problem with police permits or using a bull horn in downtown areas. The cops were very obliging in allowing us to take over public malls and parks.
     I also made a trip to Washington with several of my supporters to measure McKinney’s office. That was for the purpose of redecorating in case I won. No problem obtaining access, taking photos and measurements. Imagine attempting this sort of feat following 9/11 and the Homeland Security ring around Washington.
     On election night we all waited in the caboose for results and it soon became apparent that Christopher Shays would win hands down. My supporters gradually but sadly said their goodbyes and they really believed I had a chance. The youngest member, Gary Schwartz, a high school senior, was quite upset and suggested I demand a recount of votes. I assured him it was all over and the best man won.
     By the way, if I did win, my first official act in office would be to resign.

WHY AMAZON.COM SUCKS!

     I just spent an hour trying to order a used book, BLESS YOUR STRESS by Mimi Donaldson. There were 44 used copies, a number of them only $.01, plus $4 for SHIPPING AND HANDLING. What a ripoff the latter is! I can have a friend in Seattle go to a amazon.com WEREWOLF Warehouse, pay for a good used paperback copy and deliver to me on his next trip to New York City.
     Jeff Bezoar (that's my name for him; look it up), is making millions on his ripping off the public. Perhaps our new government under Herr Trump will slap him with a RICO; i.e. unless His Royal Highness, a'k/a known as "The Dictator," is impeached under the same statute for the TRUMP UNIVERSITY fraud he committed.
     But, back to my book order. I forgot my new password to amazon.com, although I 've ordered a number of books over the past 20 years and changed my password many times. I had to. A hacker had tried to use my debit card with amazon.card, they had on file, and was unsuccessful because he couldn't remember the name of my first pet. (No, you don't get his name here either!)
     The hacker emailed me from his hotel in London, desperate for funds to pay the bill and buy an airline ticket home to the USA. He had information about my family to corroborate his friendship. I took the bait and sent him $2 via Western Union. They never reveal how much money is waiting for the recipient. When he showed up at WU in London, M15 officers and INTERPOL nabbed him.
     Anyhow, about the book I tried to order online. Since I couldn't remember my current password, somebody at amazon.com emailed me a new code in numbers as my temporary password. I also had to print a series of numbers and letters in a Captcha (Gotcha?), to prove I wasn't a robot. My entries on the latter failed eight times! What goes? I might seem like a dummy but I'm not a moron.
     I've given up ordering this book. I think I hate it anyhow. That's my stress. Now I can't solve it with the book. Too bad. That's why amazon.com sucks. Thanks for reading this blog and take your reading orders to abebooks.com  They are much more reliable and agreeable.

The Best Damn Band In The Land!

     The best damn band in the land (a/k/aTBDBITL) is The Ohio State University Marching Band, 200 members strong, and all brass instruments. Their uniforms haven't changed in over a hundred years, nor has their marching tempo of 180 beats per minute. And every half-time show during football games has the tuba player dotting the i after one of their letter formations.
     OSU was my alma mater and I enjoyed sitting in the stands during every home game, and once in Ann Arbor, Michigan, during my four college years. As a drummer in the concert band and President of the Jazz Forum on campus with weekly jam sessions, I did not want to march fast with a heavy street drum strapped to my left leg. No way Jose!
     But I did compose one composition for TBDBITL, "Serenade To A Sand Dune," that featured dancing drummers whirling around to a Latin-Mambo melody. The 90 thousand spectators applauded, cheered and shouted "one more time!" So conductor Dr. Jack Evans repeated the three minute extravaganza, again to an overwhelming response from the audience.
     Meantime, the 40 football players waiting in the tunnel to run out for the second half game against Illinois, ran by the clock and led by coach Woody Hays. But they had to halt because TBDBITL was playing my song for the second time! So they waited fuming at the front of the tunnel, while  Coach Hays, furious,  demanded to know who was responsible for this debacle.
     All this time I was watching the game from the press box, thanks to bandleader Evans, and afterwards Woody Hays came storming up the steps to the press box shouting, "where is Alan Abel! I want to kick his ass for spoiling the team's entrance for the second half!" I heard his shout out in time to quickly jump into the clothes closet. All the reporters played dumb and said I wasn't around. Hays left in a huff. I did not relish the idea of trading blows with his linebacker body. Whew!  Saved by the bell.
     So what is the point of this blog? Well, Im complaining about the lack of half-time band shows during televised football games. The entire ten minutes is devoted to commercials and more commercials. Why? Because money talks, B.S. walks. One would think that colleges and the NFLmake enough money with ticket sales, overpriced hotdogs and beer plus parking fees. It's the greed factor, folks. Think about it and complain. But don't anticipate any changes. Sorry.
    

IF DONALD TRUMP WINS THE ELECTION ………..

     Bet your money for total chaos in America. A few million people would be without jobs as their employers depart the USA for China, Japan and Taiwan. Thousands of homeless families would overwhelm all government resources for help. They will have to be located in empty schools to live, shut down because teachers can all find better employment in Canada, England and even Mexico. Students must be home schooled.

     Trump remains secluded in the White House, fully surrounded by a 12-foot steel wall, paralyzed with fear over the enormity of his job as President. The Vice-President has already been indicted, charged with taking enormous bribes in cash from builders and contractors. His weekly take makes Spero Agnew seem like a street panhandler.

     Attorney General Christi has his hands full with thousands of lawsuits against Trump’s Taj Mahal Casino, Mar-A-Lago in Florida, Trump Tower and his AIR FORCE ONE airplane. The latter because the painter hasn’t been paid for the letters. There are so many vets camped in Lafayette Park, across from the White House, both McDonalds and Wendys have fast food trailers there.

     Christi was recently hospitalized for Mad Cow Disease after kissing so many asses.  He was also treated for PTSD  when Trump appointed Don Rickles to fill the empty chair on the Supreme Court, and made Sarah Palin Secretary of the Treasury.

     The Washington Monument Plaza is the camping site for 10,000 women, all members of  WRAG (Women Raped And Groped). They are protesting the President for his behavior. Especially since he hired Monica Lewinsky as his personal secretary.

     The only decent activity the President performed is his pardon for Roman Polanski to return to America. Rudy Giuliani has been appointed Ambassador to England and Wolf Blitzer Ambassador to Haiti, since he speaks Creole when reporting the news.

     Only one camera is allowed at a White House news conference (CNN) as the official media outlet, to be held monthly for ten minutes. No other reporters are to be allowed near the White House and a Restraining Order keeps them 150 feet away. The latter for their safety because the metal fence is electrified. Everyday, workmen have to bag and discard hundreds of dead pigeons.

     Kim Jung-un and Bashar al-Assad are presently overnight guests of President Trump.  Dennis Rodman has been hired as a salad chef in the White House kitchen

and  Magic Johnson is the new Secretary of State.

     Otherwise, 200 million Americans have migrated to Canada, welcomed by PM Justin Trudeau. They had to abandon their homes, especially after Social Security was terminated and pension funds going bankrupt. Obamacare evaporated too.

     There was one consolation: living in America had been better than than living in North Korea or Syria.

      

Electoral College Test For Voters

                   ELECTORAL COLLEGE TEST FOR VOTERS

1.    Did you ever smoke, snort, chew or swallow illegal substances?__________

2.    Have you ever groped a pussy for sexual pleasure?___________

3.     Did you ever fondle a penis for sexual pleasure?___________

4.    Have you ever squeezed a testicle for pleasure or pain?____________

5.    Did you tell a lie recently?__________

6.    If someone called you a dummy, would you hit him/her?

7.    Where?____________________

8.    Do you pronounce the capital of Kentucky “Louieville” or “Louisville?”

9.    Hey dummy, haven’t you heard of Frankfort,KY?__________        

10  True or False:  Castration is a form of government in Cuba:________

11.  Do you suffer from indecision?______YES_____NO____MAYBE

12. Within the pecking order of your life, do you consider yourself a small pecker, a medium pecker or a big pecker?_____________

13. Are you aware that Donald Trump’s halo is only inches away from being a noose?____________

14. Have you ever taken paper clips, rubber bands or erasers home from the office? _______

15. Did you report this booty on your income tax return?______

16. Why not?_____________________________________________________

17. Are you ready to be incarcerated or deported?________

18. How about Alcatraz or Mexico?___________________

WHY DO JEOPARDY AND WHEEL OF FORTUNE EVADE TAXES?

     Both of these TV programs are gambling with money. Lots of it. Merv Griffin created the programs many years ago and his estate earns trillions in royalties, through licensing fees worldwide. But in the USA their use of wagering (a/k/a gambling) somehow avoids taxation.

     Contestants on both shows can earn thousands of dollars, which is taxable, as is Jeopardy  MC Alex Trebeck’s six figure salary. The networks that syndicate these two shows pay millions to the owners, probably Griffin family members or whoever has a stake in the heart of some relative.

     Somewhere along the way, while Griffin was alive, he might have sold portions of the programs to investors who speculate in such investments. For example, when opera singer Mario Lanza was desperate for funds, he sold his record royalties to his manager for $25,000. Those recordings sold millions of copies for many years, and still do.

     1 met his son sixteen years ago and he said none of Lanza’s offspring received a dime from the millions being paid to the manager in perpetuity. As a result, the MARIO LANZA MUSEUM in Philadelphia is just a room in a brownstone. What a disgrace to this great singer’s legacy!

     Vana White and Pat Sajack are the titular stars of Wheel of Fortune. Vana has a lovely face, a sexy torso and the legs of a race horse. Pat is an attractive MC and looks 30 younger than he really is. They have both been doing the show for at least four decades and ABC-TV pays them a fortune for headlining this TV gambling enterprise.

    I wonder why the US Treasury Department hasn't required ABC-TV to display the standard $50  tax fee for sponsoring a gambling operation? That badge of dishonor is often seen on the door window of a house where the residents host a weekly poker game party. And money exchanges hands. Legally.

     Perhaps someone from the IRS will read this blog and files a claim with ABC-TV for a full field audit by government accountants. That move could reveal the trillions of unpaid taxes and papers filed in court to demand payment or else. 

     I don't think any major corporation wants the IRS in hot pursuit of their assets. Especially in this election year. Hear Hear Donald Trump. Show us your taxes! 

All Right PCH, You Win. I'll Take The Money And Run!

  I received an important snail mail letter from PCH claiming I was now in the winner's circle. When I was urged to buy something, anything.....however, a purchase would not increase my chances for becoming the GREAT GRAND SUPER WONDERFUL UNBELIEVABLE FANTASTIC JACKPOT PRIZE OF $7,000 a week for life winner. I decided to go wild.
     First, I took ten strangers on the street to a chicken dinner at KFC . They were all delighted and quite hungry, to a total tune of $167.80. But, what the hell, I'm in the winner's circle with a letter of confirmation. What more do I need to know that I'm a sure fire winner? Maybe I better buy something from PCH, for insurance.
     O.K. I'll send for a shoe horn, a baby screw driver and a nail clipper. Total cost, including handling and shipping $14.58. Not a bad investment for the kind of annuity I'll be receiving for the rest of my life!
     I'm going to spend more money until PCH's team shows up at my door with a Brink's truck, a marching band and hundreds of balloons on October 21st. Until then my plan is simple: spend as much as I can without any contrition. I'll have to take out a bank loan, of course, for $100,000, and my banker assures me I have enough in assets to serve as collateral.
     I already have my bucket list of things to buy, places to visit, people to reward and parties to attract new friends. The first party will be to celebrate my birthday(please don't ask how old I am; I'll only admit that I'm old enough to know better.) There will be a sitdown dinner for 40 of my friends, catered by a gourmet chef. I'll also invite Dr. Oz, in case anyone gets sick and requires expert treatment.
     Finally, if any of you folks reading this blog are naive enough to think that I might throw a few thousand your way, forget it. Because money talks and bull shit walks. I might take you to dinner. But that's about it.
     To celebrate my big win, let's all hum "In a country garden by Percy Granger" while we exercise our sphincter muscles. A one and a two.............    

TENNIS EVERYONE!

     The 2016 US Open Tennis Tournament introduced a new convertible roof over the Arthur Ashe Court...in case it rains....and many more seats for a total of 23,000 sitting and millions watching on TV. The net profit for the US Open was 40 million dollars. And, believe it or not, the winner of the men's single and the women's single each received 3.5 million dollars! The all-silver trophy was HUGE and probably worth another million, if melted down.
     Today's tennis is a far cry from the 1940's when I observed Bill Tilden and Bobby Riggs courtside at Oberlin College. They played with wooden rackets, gut strings, skinny tennis balls and served at 50 mph. They were lucky if they got transportation money from their homes and sponsorship was unheard of. Everybody competing was pretty much on their own.
     Winning the trophy was a big deal then. No money changed hands. Anyone with a racket could enter the tournament, including bookmakers,  and wearing white outfits were suggested but not mandatory. You won for the sport of winning. I felt that inclination and played tennis throughout high school and college. But there were too many excellent players and so I veered towards a career in music.
     Fast forward to 2016 and we barely remember Roger Federer from Switzerland or Rafael from Spain.  Remember Martina Hingus? I didn't think you  did. She was a tennis champion at the young age of 16 two decades ago. Nowadays the tennis pro can expect no more than two decades for earning a small fortune. That includes tournaments and sponsors. As long as they stay in good condition and don't ever get sick.
     My opinion about today's sports....football, basketball and tennis primarily....is that the "stars" are overpaid. Lebron James, Steph Curry, Dwayne Wade all multi-millionaires playing basketball. To hear their coaches urge teams to "go out there and have fun." They might add, "you better win or you'll be traded to another losing team."
     We will never ever return to the truly good old days of sports heroes performing their best just to win, rather than for the money. The stadiums today have to fill thousands of seats; they can't just make a profit on hot dogs and beer. Oh well, such is life in the fast lane of enterprise.
     If  you want to know why I gave up tennis thirty years ago, read my  Questionable Commentary #18, "Tennis Anyone." It has a few more laughs than this one.
    

    

Want To Win $7,000 A Week For The Rest Of Your Life?

     Publishers Clearing House offers suckers an impossible chance to win $7,000 a week FOR LIFE in their TV ads. This is the same scandal ridden company that was throwing all entries to win in their dumpster. They seemed to have recovered from that illegal dumping. Just don't hold your breath!
     I receive their letters, a dozen pages with bait trap stickers on each page for making a purchase, albeit a disclaimer says "you don't have to buy anything to win." One page boldly says YOU ARE ALREADY A WINNER! Because you were selected to receive piles of junk mail and are stupid enough to think you might win the jackpot.
     Actually, you'll do better to buy your crapola at a 99 Cent Store. Or try QVC and eBay on the Internet. Some people have filled their houses and garages with all the garbage purchased on line.
Buying crap is an addiction, along with gambling, drugs and drinking. Yes, some people actually have orgasms when they paw through their piles of refuse. Don't even think of going there!
     Publishers Clearing House spews unsuspecting consumers with wild promises of getting rich for the rest of their lives, through constant PCH mailings saying: "You could win in October!" Then, for the next six or eight months a winner is promised with more seductive ads saying so. Fat chance! Forget it! Frustrated? Just go play with yourself. You'll feel better with an aspirin and a nap, followed by a cold shower to wake up your senses.
     Finally, you don't have to send me any nasty letters. I have enough perverted hard copy to stir up my bile. Don't test me. Thanks!

D. H. Smith, General Manager

PUBLISHERS CLEARING HOUSE

101 Winners Circle

Port Washington, NY 11050

Dear D. H .Smith,

     How can I ever thank you for rushing to me my DELIVERY VERIFICATION NUMBER: 13419349613419 on PCH FORM 13-X within two days!

     However, D.H. Smith, the thought of winning $7,000 a week for the rest of my life scares me. Right now I am living comfortably on only $500 a week. So maybe you can spread $6,500 a week around to others.

     If not, I’ll let our grandson claim the money because he’s only one year old and intends to live to a hundred. But how many more years will PUBLISHERS CLEARING HOUSE live? Let me think about that possibility.

     Otherwise, D.H. Smith, I’ll be waiting for that knock on the front door in February to greet you, and accept the first check in the amount of $7,000, along with the marching band, all the balloons and neighbors with their hands out to pay their mortgages and help them build new homes.

     So, until that rendezvous, I remain both excited and exhausted over this BIG WIN!!!   Sincerely, Alan Abel

    

    

WHAT DO SOCIAL SECURITY AND POT ROAST HAVE IN COMMON?

WHAT DO SOCIAL SECURITY AND POT ROAST HAVE IN COMMON?

     First of all, Social Security has made deductions in payments to Senior Citizens this month that are quite substantial. This move has been essential for states that contribute money to SS coffers, because neither has a pot to piss in.

     The pot roast at MaggieMcFlys’ Restaurants in Connecticut is usually the best in America! But when it’s bad, it’s the worst. Their food in Southbury,CT  has the greatest roast beef, usually. Occasionally, it is terribly tough, over cooked and has to be abandoned for another entrée.

     Another fault with Maggie’s place is her Lottery Box. If you fill out the yellow form (there are half-a-dozen at each table and booth) and rave about the food, service, lighting, décor, the overhead airplane and lots of other stuff, you might win a $50 gift card towards your next dinner.

     I have been trying to win that gift card for seven years and at least a hundred visits to Maggie’s in Southbury. No luck whatsoever. But then I haven’t won the lottery for either MegaMillions or Powerball in over twenty years.

     So, the Social Security pot and Maggie’s pot have something in common: you might win, you can’t win if you’re not in, and the odds against winning are phenomenal. Both are now no-win situations. I don’t have the extra SS money to eat and pay for dinner at McFlys. 

     My projection over the SS deduction this month will lead to millions of more votes for Donald Trump and he will become Dictator of America “to make it great again.” We are packing our bags for a move to Canada and live there, along with all the Draft Dodgers from the Vietnam War era, and the former Nazi SS Officers.

     Canada’s Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau, is the epitome of honest leadership and we’ll watch the TV news with anguish to see Trump deport 11 million aliens, then the blacks, tans, Muslims, Jews, gypsies, senior citizens, disabled and dissatisfied.

     Just remember: BEING FOREWARNED IS TO BE FOREARMED!

How I Almost Left My Heart In Rio de Janeiro

     A few years ago, Eric Swensen, Senior Editor with W.W. Norton Publishing, called me to send an autographed copy of my book, "Don't Get Mad...Get Even," published by Norton, to Alan Gray. He was the son of L. Patrick Gray, former Director of the FBI under disgraced President Richard Nixon.
     Alan Gray was an attorney in private practice and he offered to exchange an unused round trip airline ticket from New York City to Rio de Janiero on TWA. I sent the autographed book to him and he sent me a voucher for the airline ticket that I was to sign and send back to TWA, which I did.
     I was very excited over this opportunity to visit Brazil for a few days and I brushed up on my Portuguese, with help from a neighbor who had lived in Rio de Janeiro for several years. She warned me to stay close to my hotel, walk around daylight hours and not at night.
     Apparently, robbers were everywhere and could spot a tourist in seconds. They worked as a team of three. One would offer to show you around, speaking broken English, another would accidently bump into you and the third robber grab your wallet on the run. The other two joined up down the road and they split the cash.
     "It happens all the time," she said, adding, "when my husband and I lived there we always walked in public with others as a group. And this procedure discouraged the culprits from approaching any of us. We never really felt safe, always on guard against thieves."
     I had my hotel reservation for three nights in downtown Rio de Janeiro, could speak a few sentences in Portuguese for ordering food, saying "hello, thanks and goodby." Then I waited patiently for TWA to send me the airline ticket.
     A week went by, then another week and a third. I called TWA and they said they had mailed the ticket two weeks ago. Not to me, as requested, but to Alan Gray in error. My call to Gray's office was answered by his secretary. She said he was vacationing in Rio de Janeiro!
     I was very upset over this betrayal. My subsequent bill to Gray for the book was ignored. Nor was there a word of apology. Perhaps I could have gone to Small Claims Court and sued for breach of contract. But my attorney friend, Bob Schwartz, advised me to forget the matter and bite the bullet.
     This is how I almost left my heart in Rio de Janeiro. It's difficult to forgive and forget. Even while I watch two weeks of exciting Olympics on television, with my wallet securely hidden in my rear button down pocket.

Where Is Jeff Bezos Hiding?

     I've been trying to reach Jeff Bezos, CEO of Amazon.com, via snail mail. My third letter has also been returned to me, "RETURN TO SENDER. UNABLE TO DELIVER AS ADDRESSED AND UNABLE TO FORWARD."
     Now that is a rude way to react to a good customer for the past fifteen years. Why is he hiding from the Post Office? His address is clearly published on the Internet, the marketplace where Jeffy makes his millions every month. Yes, I mean every month, not year. Maybe that's why he is hiding.
     This is all very perplexing to me. Not even Dan, my postal executive with the Post Office can tell me anything. He is happy to just sell me stamps, now three of those little buggers for 49 cents each. At least they are FOREVER; i.e. I don't have to worry about not having enough postage for First Class mailings, even ten years down the road.
     Perhaps Jeff Bezos has this faux address (1200  12th Avenue, Seattle, WA 98144) to discourage fans seeking autographs or other favors. Women would obviously be offering "special services" for books, if he accepted their letters. And potential kidnappers will definitely have a tough time capturing their victim.
     If anyone has a clue how I can find Jiff Bezos, I would appreciate knowing. I can offer as a reward, an autographed copy of my last book (and it was). Just don't play games with me. And don't even think of hoaxing me. I have perceptive powers, better than a lazer beam, that can zero in on you, in retaliation of course, and tickle your butt uncontrollably for hours.
     Several years ago, Mark Zuckerberg was on "60 Minutes") and he said openly, before at least fifteen million viewers, that he walked to work from his home to his office. WOW! No security guards, friends, relatives or police escort for him. No, he does it alone, thumbing his nose at all the dysfunctional people jerking off and planning an illegal crime. Such as kidnapping.
     I have correspondence with people in very high places: Frank Sinatra, Princess Grace, Walter Winchell, Ed Sullivan, Jack Paar, Mario Lanza, Roger Ailes, Richard Nixon (I was even invited to the White House) and many others. They all have one thing in common. They are all dead.
     Obviously, I can hide behind the Fifth Amendment if accused of anything. Maybe not murder. Hmmmmm. Never mind that last comment. Just contact me on FACEBOOK if you find Jeff Bezos or maybe Waldo. You get the reward for him too. Plus I'll keep all the royalties, thank you.

SELECT QUOTE GETS MY NO VOTE!

     Select Quote advertises heavily that you, AND I MEAN YOU, can get $500,000 for only $13.00 a month. Yes, that's all you pay for the first month and you better be in perfect health and under 35 years of age. If you are older than 85 years, forget it. A sign of one of the telephone and internet desk reads: DEEP SIX THE LEPERS.
     Select Quote seeks a company or two for selling SUCKER YOU a policy. It's smooth sailing for a few months, probably six months, and then your premium rate is doubled. At the end of a year it is three and four times the amount your last month's premium was. And everybody on the other end profits except you. Even if you die young there is small print in the policy that nobody reads and denies you the full amount of your policy.
     So let's talk about Highway Robbery.  On second thought let's not. Just stay away from SELECT QUOTE and you'll live happily ever after.  BTW I just celebrated my 92nd birthday!  No insurance necessary.

Why Do Bonanza And Peter Pan Bus Companies Stink?

     Well, first of all their toilets are just holes in a shell and smell to high hell. Like somebody who had diarrhea and stomach ulcers puked in the hole months ago and spread the stink forever. It will never smell good. Just ask the company CEO, Peter J. Pickanilly. With a name like that he must be voting for Donald Trump.
     I made four tries to make a round trip ticket purchase on line from Southbury, CT to New York City. In an hour and 45 minutes I managed to print three round trip tickets for my wife and I that were not readable. A third printing of the six pages necessary stated incorrect prices, and a questionable service fee of $8.
     My next move will be Small Claims Court in New Haven, CT. My attorney advised this move and suggested I file for the maximum, $5,000. Both bus companies have attorneys on staff salaries and will want to settle for half the maximum, $2,500. I accept $3,000 maybe. It depends on their attitude in court. I've been an active pro se for the past fifty years in New York City courts, and I know how to play devil's advocate in order to win.
     Unfortunately, both Peter Pan and Bonanza have a strangle hold on people traveling on their respective lines. Because there is no other way to go between most of the New England cities unless you drive or hitch hike. RR lines are restricted to Hartford, Boston, Danbury and New Haven. The early railroad builders only had horse and buggy competition. "The Iron Horse" wasn't that big a threat yet.
     With all the electoral bruhaha raging before Election Day, on November 8th, that would be a good time for voters to clean both houses of Congress for new and feisty Congressmen and Congresswomen who will serve the public properly. That could happen, especially now that Donald Trump has both feet in big mouth.

WHAT IS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN DONALD TRUMP AND DICTATOR GOODLUCK JONATHAN?

      For starters, neither one had any experience in politics. Trump never even ran for Dog Catcher. Goodluck Jonathan, former Dictator of Nigeria, couldn't afford shoes as a boy, his father made canoes by hand and Goodluck was a good talker. He had no high goals to achieve in life, he held menial jobs and he was a patsy for his country's leadership, similar to that of the janitor in Robert Downey's classic cult movie, "Putney Swope."
     As a ruthless Dictator, Goodluck ruled Nigeria's injustice system with Kangeroo Courts, used torture in all his prisons and both lied and robbed with impunity. He refused to reveal his net worth (estimated to be well over 100 million) and told his Tax Department to "go to hell" when they asked Goodluck for his Thievery Report.
     So where was I? Oh yes, comparing Trump to Goodluck Jonathan. There is no comparison except they are both deadly choices for becoming a Commander In Chief of a country. If American voters don't come to their senses by November 8, 2016, and allow former Secretary of State Hillery Clinton to be our next President, we are all doomed.
     With former President Bill Clinton back in the White House, President Hillery Clinton will have at her side, his eight years of wisdom dealing with and solving major problems of state and world concern.  That fact should be comforting for American citizens.
     On the other hand, Commander-in-Chief Trump would be nuking North Korea, inviting leaders of Boko Haram to the White House and declaring Martial Law in America. We would all be miserable, develop Hives and swallow lots of Prozac. Maybe even move to Canada.
     Is there hope? It all depends on the next three months before the voters can reflect good or bad sense. Stay tuned. The months will fly by quickly. Then, if we wake up to another CHICAGO TRIBUNE headline: 'TRUMP WINS!" Let's hope it will be as false as when Thomas Dewey thought he had won over the former haberdasher, Harry S. Truman.

50% Of Everything!

     Everything is 50% of what it was in the 60's. Gasoline, Pepsi, sandwich meat, medical costs, even candy! I just examined a Hershey's Kiss and it was half as big as it was more than four decades ago. How cheap can the Hershey Company be? I ripped off the silver paper (fake of course) and swallowed the sucker in one gulp. It tasted half as good as the ones I devoured as a youngster.
     So it's boo-hoo on Hershey and all the millions of companies worldwide that are cheating on the products sizes and tastes. Their Research and Development teams are no better than the slaves who rowed boats to the beat of a drum in 200 B.C. They all cheated with blatancy, feathered their 401 accounts and laughed all the way to the bank.
     The public nowadays is like pigeons on a hot tin roof. They just waste away their lives and take whatever comes along. Angry letters to product manufacturers are answered by a robot who signs the CEO's name and apologizes for any malfeasance. There might be a coupon in the envelope for a dollar off on the next purchase. Haw haw. You know where they can stick that coupon!
     I think it's time we are all mad as hell and refuse to take it any longer. Perhaps a march on Washington Thanksgiving Day. Would Donald Trump make a difference? Excuse me while I go to the bathroom and throw up.

DONALD GRUMP'S PROPOSED CABINET

SECRETARY OF TREASURY.....Bernie Madoff

ATTORNEY GENERAL....Eliot Spitzer

SECRETARY OF HUD...Charles Manson

SECRETARY OF AGRICULTURE....Martha Stewart

SECRETARY OF ARMY....Governor Christi

SECRETARY OF INTERIOR....Pee Wee Herman

SECRETARY OF STATE....Sarah Palin

SECRETARY OF NAVY....Marla Maples

AMBASSADOR TO NORTH KOREA....Dennis Rodman

CHAIRMAN OF FCC.....Roger Ailes

COMMANDANT OF WEST POINT....O.J. Simpson

COMMANDANT OF ANNAPOLIS....Serena Williams

SURGEON GENERAL....Bernie Sanders

PRESIDENT OF USO....Woody Allen

SECRETARY OF FASHION....Natalie Trump

DONALD TRUMP'S TEN COMMANDMENTS (IF ELECTED PRESIDENT OF THE USA)

           DONALD TRUMP’S TEN COMMANDMENTS

                                         (If elected President of the USA)

1.    Americans  between ages of 18 and 38 must serve a year in the Draft .

2.     STAND YOUR GROUND will be a mandate for guns, knives or swords.

3.    Human body parts can be sold, i.e. lung, liver, kidney and bone marrow.

4.    All Bibles in hotels and motels will be replaced by “Think Big Kick Ass.”

5.    The gold in Ft. Knox is to be removed for bituminous coal.

6.    All incarcerated are released and given 7 days for adoption or else.

7.    Poor families and homeless will occupy empty prison cells.

8.    Income Taxes are to be based on the weight of citizens @ $5 a pound.

9.    Motorists cited for road rage are to have their cars forfeited.

10. Caucasians will wear white cloth, African black and Latinos tan.

Did Former New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani Become Radicalized And Lose His Marbles?

     On the night of July 19, 2015 former Mayor Rudy Giuliani spoke wildly about support for RNC candidate for President of the United States, Donald Trump. Rudy's rhetoric in the Cleveland Quicken arena before 50,000 delegates, and millions watching on TV, resembled that of an express train driven by Lebron James with 100 loaded box cars traveling at 150 mph. His speech was a rant to riot!!!
     As delegates peed in their pants or choked on tainted ten-dollar hotdogs (they have all been recalled nationally), deranged Rudy continued raving and his remarks were as nutty as a fruit cake made by Martha Stewart while incarcerated.
     I wonder why this former Mayor of New York City, so gallant following the bizarre attack on the Twin Towers, could behave arrogantly and irresponsibly. Not even Donald Trump applauded this cockamamie pitch to voters.  The whole world would require Prozac immediately.
     Perhaps Rudy Giuliani should lose his law degree, even though he  took the Oath of Hypocrisy. His support speech for Donald Trump is bound to be interpreted by historians as a chapter from Adolph Hitler's playbook, "Mein Kampf."
     Why oh why Rudy? Didn't you learn anything from the former Governor of New York State, Eliot Spitzer, who paid thousands for expensive whores? Or former Vice-President Spiro Agnew who accepted weekly cash bribes right in his White House office? They both deep- sixed their careers and disappointed their wives and children. Newscaster David Muir expressed disbelief when he interviewed people  outside the convention arena.
     Rudolph Giuliani is doomed in politics. He displayed a forked tongue. It's curtains for him. He wouldn't win if he ran for dog catcher. Too bad he blew it all for dangerous Donald Trump.

Why was Jackie Gleason so greedy, vain and crooked?

     That's my opinion. Back in the early 50's the ad agencies dictated the content to TV. My friend, David Pollard, an executive with Young & Rubicam Advertising, used to let me tag along as he monitored Jackie Gleason's behavior on the Dumont TV Network. We stood in the wings...the show was live...and Jackie was a solo comic who changed costumes a dozen times during the one-hour show, along the lines of Benny Hill from the UK.
     When "The Honeymooners" emerged on the CBS-TV network it was an instant success with off-the-wall Neilsen rating on Saturday night. Jackie's sidekick, Art Carney was brilliant. I knew a secretary with COLUMBIA RECORDS who told me they were seeking a novelty song for Carney. Could I come up with something for Christmas release three months away?
     I took the bait and two days later delivered a draft to Connie, "Santa And The Doodle-li-Boop."
This was a kind of rap story, with underlying music, that was a letter to Santa Claus asking him for a "Doodle-li-Boop." Santa looks everywhere around the North Pole and all through his workshop. But he couldn't find a "Doodle-li-Boop" anywhere.
     It was close to Midnight on Christmas Eve when Mrs. Claus told Santa to look in their basement closet. Sure enough there were a hundred "Doodle-li-Boops" and they all tumbled out. He grabbed one, ran outside to his sleigh and took off to deliver toys all over the world. The little boy would receive his "Doodle-li-boop" under his Christmas tree.
     Art Carney loved the rendition I wrote and recorded it in one take. COLUMBIA RECORDS rushed out the recording and DJs played the recording around the clock. Sales were tremendous and since it was essentially a children's recording, BILLBOARD never tracked the sales. But I was receiving thousands of dollars through my licensing association with Broadcast Music, Inc.
     Jackie Gleason's manager, Bullets Durgom, called me a few weeks before Christmas and offered a deal. Gleason would permit Art Carney to perform "Santa And The Doodle-li-Boop" on "The Honeymooners," a top rated television program in the 50's, if he (Jackie Gleason) could be listed as the co-writer with me. Then we would be sharing 50-50 on record sales and ancillary products, such as toys.
     I gave it some thought and turned down the offer. My sense of morality was at stake. Nevertheless, I earned about $25,000 in royalties, instead of the estimated $250,000 if Carney had plugged the recording on "The Honeymooners." Oh well, money isn't everything in life, is it?

The SNL Sketch That Was Killed By Censors!

The  SNL Comedy Sketch That Was Killed By Censors

(HEAR YE SNOPES: the source of this information must remain anonymous, for obvious reasons)

                                                                                   

                                    DONALD TRUMP’’S  PRESS CONFERENCE

(A SCENE INSIDE TRUMP TOWER MAIL ROOM. MIDDLE AGE MAN WEARING PORKPIE HAT READING ‘MAKE AMERICA GREAT’ IS

SPEAKING TO TEN LATIN-AMERICAN MEN AND WOMEN). HE IS DRESSED IN BUSINESS SUIT AND BURNOOSE., COVERED  WITH ICONS:  AT&T  IBM  SUNOCO  IGA  PENSKE   IKEA   UPS  UCLA)

JOSE: All right. Listen up. You’re all going over to the HILTON for Mr. Grump’s press conference. There will be several hundred reporters. So we need loyal supporters. That means all of you. So wear your Green Cards proudly.

PEDRO: I lose me card while scrubbing toilet on 37^th floor…

JOSE: Don’t worry Pedro. I’ll have Helen print another one.

Don’t forget to change your overalls for a suit and tie…

PEDRO: But my suit no match. I have only blue jacket and brown pants in locker. No tie.

(jOSE TAKES OFF HIS TIE AND THROWS IT TO PEDRO, WHO STRUGGLES TO PUT IT ON. HECTOR NEARBY HELPS HIM.)

JOSE:  Remember to smile, applaud and shout loudly: “TRUMP!  TRUMP!  TRUMP!”  And be sure to wave those American flags. Are there any questions because we leave for the HILTON in ten minutes. Yes Pedro.

PEDRO:  Is there toilet at HILTON? I have Green Apple Quickstep.

JOSE: Take your dump here. (PEDRO RUSHES OUT OF ROOM)

MARIA: (WEARING BATHING SUIT) I have no dress. Is this O.K.?

JOSE: (THROWING HER A BURKA). Put this on and hide your face. I’ll let you know when to take it off. You were a high jumper in Mexican Olympics. So jump up and down during applause.

HECTOR:  When we get paid?

JOSE: I have $100 for each after work tomorrow. Those of you who shout and clap loudest will get $50 more. Are you all ready to help elect your boss the next President of the United States?

(EVERYONE IN UNISON SHOUTS AND APPLAUDS AND FALLS OVER ONE ANOTHER THEY  RUN OUT THE DOOR . MUSIC: “STARS AND STRIPES” PLAYS. FADE OUT.

Is Planet World Going To Crash On Jupiter?

     It could happen. Our universe is heading towards total chaos.  Especially if the obese Premier-For-Life Jungle-UN lobs a missile from North Korea into South Korea. And the latter tosses it back.
Either way, there will be big trouble at the 38th Parallel for President Hillary Clinton to decipher.
I suggest that Dennis Rodman start packing his overnight bag, leaving room for several balls.
     Wait, Dennis. Unpack. Former Prime Minister David Cameron is at the front door of the White House holding his suitcase with icons: British Air, BBC, Simpsons and Hyde Park. Obviously, there is a lot of sponsorship money available for a former politician in high office.  Although one sticker, partially blurred, reads, NORTH KOREA SUCKS!
     Meantime, the fat ruler is having his weekly haircut before executing the barber with a 155 mm howitzer. Also included in the execution will be a pizza delivery man who brought cold slices and a deaf chimney sweeper who left a dead skunk inside the grill. The latter was mischievously served with the next day's hot dog dinner. All twelve of the kitchen staff were sent to a labor camp for ten years.
     So, speaking of bad taste, in both senses of the word, Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg hit the jackpot when she said Donald Trump was lying. His Highness fired back: "Resign, b---h!" Now where was Supreme Court Justice Clarence Thomas? Nodding off or secretly watching "Long Dong Silver" on his smart phone. We'll never know. He doesn't talk. Only grins and votes.
     Finally, the RNC Convention in Cleveland was "The Last Supper" for any rehab for America. All the shooting, protesting and arson.....including wholesale looting.....showed the world that we can erupt better than Syria, Iraq or Uganda. How about that landing on Jupiter? Just wait and see. I'm heading for Canada and a better life.

Read The Small Print, Cheesehead!

     Yes, folks, it's the small print that will fuck you everytime. And don't be dismayed at my language. It's a sign of the times. FUNNY OR DIE has a bold headline subject today that defies my imagination. And maybe yours too. Here it is: JUSTIN TRUDEAU GIVES GREAT CUNNILINGUS. Just say hello to another porn site.
     But in all fairness, I recently asked my urologist if it is possible to get lockjaw from too much cunnilingus. He said "anything is possible." But when I asked my heart surgeon what to do with a six hour erection, he just laughed. I guess doctors do have a good sense of humor.
     Let's get back to the small print. Every offer on a website has the necessary disclaimer in small print to protect their asses from litigation. Why? Because most sale pitches are flawed, deceptive and downright dishonest. I would say 99.9% are sucker traps. Once you order and disclose your credit or debit card, you are hooked and will be fucked on a monthly basis.
     So, join the club. It's not exactly the Mile High one where you have sex in a toilet on the airplane. That activities is designated mostly for celebrities riding in First Class. Not you, strapped in the middle of a three-seater like a salami, with an unruly kid behind you kicking the seat.
     I detest the computer ads that chide me for leaving the page. Or darken my screen with a drop down message that pleads for me to reconsider my decision not to buy a stupid product or mundain service. Don't even think about asking how I ever wanted to visit these disingenuous pages. Perhaps I do need anger management. I'll think about it.
     My message for this blog is: DON'T FALL FOR THE SUCKER TRAPS. DELETE, DELETE, DELETE. And may you all have a nice day.

THE WAITING GAME!

     Don't you hate to wait? If it's on the phone you're played a menu of possibilities, such as: "PRESS ONE IF YOU ARE A DOCTOR. PRESS TWO IF YOU WISH TO MAKE AN APPOINTMENT. PRESS THREE IF YOU ARE AN IDIOT. PRESS FOUR TO EXIT. HAVE A NICE DAY. But it goes on and on for a dozen more possibles until you are ready to scream, cut your wrists and dial 911.
     Then there is the background music. It's right out of an elevator. Soft jazz, medium country or Taylor Swift. Music on a loop over and over in case you want to dance. Maybe file your nails or tear up junk mail received, especially from Publisher Clearing House or the National Rifle Association. If I don't get a human voice I just hand up. If I need Tech Support for my computer and it's "Mary" in the Philippines" I also hang up, pull all the plugs on the iMac, wait five minutes, reconnect and I've solved the problem.
     When I've been on hold when trying to reach someone in a government office, there is usually a recorded message stating the waiting time: "please wait for an agent who will be with you in three minutes."  Bull shit! It's more like thirty minutes. So I wait and wait. Finally a sad voiced employee says "hello" and thanks me for my service to the country. That's when I pretend to be a stutterer and take several minutes to state my name. Then all I hear is a dial tone.
     I never wait in line for anything. Time is much too precious. I carry a cane and have no trouble getting into the head of everybody waiting. For a taxi line I have a white jacket and stethoscope that give me top priority for the first cab. Obviously, a medical person cannot be delayed, rushing to save somebody's life. It works like a charm.
     We spend a third of our lives sleeping and probably another third waiting, waiting and waiting. It's time for all of us to shout, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it any longer!" Thanks to a great writer, Paddy Whatshisname. Please look him up. I just can't waste anymore time with any trivial matter.
     I hope this column gives everyone some hope. Our grandson, Jalen, at the age of 3.5 years, heard me say "there is no hope." Now, when he visits, he takes my flashlight and goes around the house to different rooms, saying, "I'm going to look for hope."
     Thanks for reading.

Rayl, The Indomitable Freeloader!

     When I lived in Manhattan, on the Upper Westside during the 50's, I had a spacious ground floor apartment with 3 bedrooms for $130 a month. My two roommates, Sperie and Bob, each paid me $50 a month for room and board. We had our own bedrooms, I shopped and cooked meals.
     Ray, the freeloader, dropped by every other night for leftovers. He was in his late 20's, resembled "Kramer" in the Seinfeld TV series and spoke with a lisp. Ray never turned his back on anyone. A few years later, I found out why. Ray was stone deaf and had to read lips. He was also a cheapskate and a deadbeat. Ray ate like a horse, always hungry.
     But we felt sorry for him. Ray had been kicked out of his family apartment near Columbia University when he failed in college and could never hold on to a job. At dinner, Ray would recite his latest misfortune and tolerate our amusement. For example, his last job lasted only a week, working for a Brooklyn company that manufactured accordians, $395 wholesale, retailing for $795.
     Ray's error was shipping fifty accordians to KCMO, that he thought was Knights of Columbus Missouri, instead of Kansas City, MO. Then he billed the music stores $3.95 for each instrument.
I forgot to mention that Ray was also an idiot.
     Sperie, Bob and I finally became tired of feeding Ray after a month when I served him dog biscuits covered with chocolate syrup for dessert. He lapped them up and smacked his lips with thanks. This was after he ate a baked potato, skin and all, and it had been in the oven only five minutes. He even wanted seconds!
     I asked Ray not to return for food because we just couldn't afford to feed him. He was out of our lives. But not so fast. An opportunity arose to throw him a bone, so to speak. I was scheduled to attend the Midwest Band Convention in Chicago at the Shorham Hotel, representing Premium Drums for two days of promotion.  But I had forgotten I was also booked for a lecture at the Eastman School of Music in Rochester, NY.
     Ray agreed to attend the Chicago convention as me and mingle with the musical instrument dealers, wearing my name tag. He also had to be me for the hotel room, as the Shorham was sold out. I would cover his expenses, plus he would return with a hundred dollars. A lot of money in those days.
     The plan was working. Alan Abel is now on stage in Rochester performing before 1,200 students, and he is also attending the Midwesst Band Convention in Chicago. Well, almost. Halfway through my lecture, the Dean walks out on the stage, I stopped talking, he whispers in my ear: "you have an emergency phone call backstage." I excused myself to the audience and said I would return shortly.
     During those steps to the telephone I could only imagine some tragedy within my family. But I remained calm, picked up the receiver and heard Ray's voice from Chicago:  "Alan, I know you said I was you in my hotel room and on the convention floor. But right now I'm on the balcony and don't know if I should be you or me."
     I assured Ray he could be me on the balcony and returned to my audience with the excuse,"that was my mother. everything is fine." The program was well received, I received a check for $300, returned to my car in the parking lot, rolled up the windows and screamed very loudly.
    

So You Say You Want A Recording Contract?

   Fat chance. First of all, recording companies don't open their mail. Why?  Because they could be sued when one of their artists is charged with plagiarism by a composer who sent the company his similar song some years earlier. Litigation is terribly expensive for both Plaintiff and Defendant. All mail is returned to sender unopened. That's homespun liability insurance.

     In the early sixties I had an idea for a percussion ensemble of six drummers playing a variety of instruments....namely xylophone, marimba, bells, vibes, tom-toms, drum kit, triangle, etc. I hired drummers who had played with the Radio City Music Hall and Roxy Theater orchestras.  We would record a demo. They could all sight read and play well. Bob Swan was an excellent musician on timpani and he had perfect pitch. Bob was also a good friend and managed the 55 member orchestra at Radio City.

     I tried delivering copies of the demo to record companies by messenger. They were all returned unopened and, obviously, unplayed. Very frustrating. I needed another game plan to bypass the resistance from record companies, and I came up with a bold plan: The First Percussion Sextet would go on an imaginary tour performing college concerts.

     Every week, I mailed a press release to each of a dozen record companies in New York City:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE:  "The drummers played several dozen instruments and delighted the overflow audience with their versatility and exciting new sounds of music......." 

     My mailings went on for six weeks and then BINGO!  RCA VICTOR Records wanted to hear the ensemble. George Avakian, Artists Director, called me and would send over a messenger for a copy of the demo ASAP. I played the messenger role (yes, I have a uniform for that purpose). I gain entrance to the company office and insure delivery of the coveted disk.

     Several days later Avakian called and said he was thrilled with the sounds of music from the array of percussion instruments. Could he send a recording crew to our next concert scheduled for the University of West Virginia in ten days?  I assured him we could arrange that, hardly containing my excitement.  He would messenger a contract to me and guarantee a $5,000 advance against royalties.

     After a quick trip to the bathroom, I called all our musicians to stand by for a trip and concert at Morgantown, West Virginia, with a dress rehearsal several days prior in New York City. Then, fingers crossed, I called the band director at the University and explained a free concert to be recorded by RCA VICTOR. He was delighted to arrange for the auditorium and would obtain local media coverage.

     Our entourage for the trip was two cars and a panel truck with instruments. The turnout was great, as were the reviews, and the RCA engineer with Cal the producer, captured enough musical material for two LP albums. Former Glenn Miller arranger Norm Leyden had created a spirited version of "St. Louis Blues" and Norman Beatty, talented composer-arranger and lead trumpet player at Radio City, accomplished the same excitement with "Where Or When" and several other popular tunes.

     Our first album sold well and resulted in our being booked on television for "Today," "I've Got A Secret" and "The Ed Sullivan Show." So you say you want a recording contract? Let me know. I might be able (no pun intended) to help.  BTW, this is the first disclosure about the fake tour and glowing reviews.

      My dictum is, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. With giant steps of course.

How I Got Screwed By Phil Donahue!

     In the mid sixties Phil Donahue was a struggling talk show host on radio in Dayton,OH. His producer, Dick Thrall, was a friend from Columbus,OH and invited me to appear on Phil's show when I visited in-laws in Cincinnati. I made the trip and appeared half-a-dozen times in as many years before Phil graduated to Chicago and syndication on TV. He became a very hot property.
     But in the early Dayton days he was just another talker with an all-female audience of perhaps a hundred elderly ladies with their sewing or crocheting baskets. Their reward at the end of an hour show was trying to catch a loaf of white bread. Dozens of loaves were tossed to the ladies, many breaking open, spewing slices of bread all over the small studio. It was total mayhem, and Phil loved it. I didn't.
     I have about a hundred fan letters that Phil received commenting highly on my appearances with him. Listeners loved the banter between us and he played it straight when I proposed outlandish ideas for draining the Ohio River or attaching wheels to buildings so secretaries could pedal at work for exercise and transport the building into the country.
     In the early 70's I had my autobiography published by MacMillan, "Confessions of a Hoaxer," and the publicity manager asked me to call the the Phil Donahue Show and arrange an appearance to kick off book sales. I spoke with Phil's producer, Debbie, and she said she would get back to me ASAP.
     The next day she called me in New York: "Alan, I'm sorry but Phil feels that he has already interviewed you so many times in Dayton, he doesn't want to do it anymore. But thanks for the opportunity." I was flabbergasted! All those shows were done around Christmas when I left my family and often drove in miserable weather to entertain Donahue's audience. I never got paid and never even got a loaf of white bread. I was being screwed!
     When I reported back to Tom the publicity man at MacMillan, he too was shocked. "How could Donahue dismiss you when your life's story is being published, especially after all the shows you did for him, and now you need a favor in return. That, Alan, is a real bummer!"
     Nevertheless, I made the usual book tour and that helped sell a lot of books. But I carried a chip on my shoulder at being shut out by the guy I helped out in Dayton. Then, a few years later, one of his staff members called me and said, "Alan, I would like to send you a dozen tickets to the Phil Donahue Show, when we move to New York City and broadcast over the full NBC-TV network. Consider you and your friends to be a Welcome Wagon."
     I gritted my teeth. Here was my opportunity for revenge, to screw Phil Donahue royally. And did I ever hit the jackpot!  My fake organization was F.A.I.N.T., or Fight Against Idiotic Nogood Television. Flyers were printed for Informational Picketing and my cohorts rehearsed their roles, with Paul Hiatt, my long time associate in charge.
     The basic plan for the first live show with 400 in the audience, was for my team to raise their hands to question one of the eight senior citizens on stage, all in their 80's and gay. They were  coming out of the closet and revealing their secret lives. As each of my people stood and started to talk, they fainted. Then a few in the audience not with FAINT began feeling ill and fainted.
     It was pandemonium in Studio 8-C as medics arrived, Donahue announced on camera, "we just lost another one," and cleared the studio. He was out of control, perspiring perfusely and stuttering on camera as he tried to maintain composure without success. The show went off the air early. All this time I was in a nearby hotel room with friend Richard Crater, both of us laughing hysterically, tears flowing.
     That night, the NEW YORK POST carried the Page One headline: AUDIENCE FLEES DONAHUE SHOW. Phil was on all the TV news shows, still perspiring, out of control, trying to explain why: "It might have been the heat inside, the cold outside, the fact we were live across America or embarrassed because of the subject matter."
     Within a few days Phil learned I was the culprit and he kicked the furniture in his office. That is, until his ratings soared and I received a Christmas Card saying" May nothing in the New Year cause you to faint."   Hmmmmmm. Thanks Phil. And the same to you!