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.
Tuesday, June 14, 2016
Saturday, June 11, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
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.
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
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!
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!
Friday, June 3, 2016
An Open Letter To Hillery Clinton
Dear Mrs. Clinton,
A grateful nation admires your fortitude and resilience as you campaign to win the Presidency of the United States of America. We are also proud of the way you "stand your ground" against the snide and often degenerate remarks from Donald Trump, who is probably suffering from Mad Cow Disease as he goes through "mentalpause."
Do Republicans really want that golden haired slob to lead the greatest country in the world? We don't hear a peep to the contrary. That's politics! It's "be kind to your neighbor and kiss ass when asked to do so." Also consider his handbook is "Mein Kampf" and Adolph Hitler a mentor.
Your credentials, Mrs. Clinton, are extraordinary: Former First Lady, Secretary of State, Member of Congress, lawyer, wife, grandmother and now running for President of the USA. Wow! You should not have to answer to a scumbag for your qualifications to be elected and you can really make America great again.
Donald Trump has failed to pay a default judgment against THE TRUMP ORGANIZATION for over 20 years from the Civil Court of the City of New York. So he is also a deadbeat. Here are the particulars:
A grateful nation admires your fortitude and resilience as you campaign to win the Presidency of the United States of America. We are also proud of the way you "stand your ground" against the snide and often degenerate remarks from Donald Trump, who is probably suffering from Mad Cow Disease as he goes through "mentalpause."
Do Republicans really want that golden haired slob to lead the greatest country in the world? We don't hear a peep to the contrary. That's politics! It's "be kind to your neighbor and kiss ass when asked to do so." Also consider his handbook is "Mein Kampf" and Adolph Hitler a mentor.
Your credentials, Mrs. Clinton, are extraordinary: Former First Lady, Secretary of State, Member of Congress, lawyer, wife, grandmother and now running for President of the USA. Wow! You should not have to answer to a scumbag for your qualifications to be elected and you can really make America great again.
Donald Trump has failed to pay a default judgment against THE TRUMP ORGANIZATION for over 20 years from the Civil Court of the City of New York. So he is also a deadbeat. Here are the particulars:
For Immediate Release: (6/6/16)
Presidential
candidate DONALD TRUMP is being sued for avoiding payment of a DEFAULT JUDGMENT
handed down by the Civil Court of the City of New York.
During a New York
Book Fair, the city’s Fifth Avenue was closed to traffic from 42nd
Street to 59th Street. Those 17 blocks of streets and sidewalks were
available to publishers and authors for selling their books from 9 am until 6
pm.
When the PLAINTIFF,
Alan Abel, (“Don’t Get Mad…Get Even” W.W.Norton) began selling his books in
front of TRUMP TOWER, security guards were ordered to evict him. Three glowering linebacker types
carried out this assignment with four words: “Move now or else!”
They claimed that
DONALD TRUMP owned the sidewalk in front of TRUMP TOWER, and it was his private
property. A retired New York City Police Officer passing by, countered that the
sidewalk belonged to the public.
He was also advised by the linebackers to take a hike.
The following day, in
Small Claims Court, Plaintiff Abel stated his case and won a DEFAULT JUDGMENT
in the amount of $919.58 plus interest.
Subsequently, DONALD TRUMP and his TRUMP ORGANIZATION ignored the law
and refused to make payment.
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