Deep in the 50’s McCarthy red scare era, our neighbor and my dad’s friend happened to be a loud, in your face, communist.  Two floors above lived a spooky guy who only communicated with tight lipped nods.  Everyone said he was an undercover FBI agent.  My parents were school teachers, terrified of losing their jobs because of my dad’s association with his friend.   My mom taught at the same elementary...

According to the ad on the back cover of my comic book I could get a working model train for selling only 12 boxes of Christmas cards.  It didn’t occur to me that selling them in a Jewish highrise could be a problem.  They opened their door to a four foot kid, sweating beside a four foot carton of cards I pushed in and out of the elevator.  They felt sorry for me, probably because they thought I was an idiot. ...

In my single digits, my first love was a Bell & Howell 16mm Filmosound projector. Its appearance always meant a good time. The magic light pouring out of the little door in its hard shell home. Film night at summer camp was a sheet stretched between two trees. Mosquitoes flying in the light. And a couple making out behind the sheet. Or in school when the classroom door opened and a Filmosound projector appeared...