Running for Your Life: Nobel Peace Prize Candidate Couple That You Should Know About

Their names are Christopher and Regina Catrambone, two thirtysomethings who live in Malta, who founded the dark niche of all niches in today’s grave new world: a war-zone insurance company, Tangiers International, that provides kidnapping, terrorism and death and injury coverage to journalists and military contractors.

They also have been in the forefront – before the headlines of the past several months – of a consciousness-raising high-energy civilian approach to the migrants-at-sea crisis in the Mediterranean.

You might miss their story. I would have, if not for a random reading of Outside magazine. Typically, the magazine is not for me. Too much about mountain climbing, extreme sports, pricey and wonky gadgets that, if anyone has read even a shred of this blog will know I don’t cotton to the high falutin when it comes to exercise or fitness.

Occasionally, though, Outside will surprise you. With articles like this one by Joshua Hammer, whose “The Bad-Ass Librarians to Timbuktu and Their Race to Save the World’s Most Precious Manuscripts,” will be published by Simon and Schuster next April. See this link: http://bit.ly/1FDwnwt.

Chris, of Louisiana, and Regina, of Italy, might not have everyday routines like you and me. They live millionaire lives on an island in the Mediterranean. But they couldn’t stand by and watch as the crisis worsened in those waters. The Catrambones should be considered for the Nobel Peace Prize because they answered the call, the one we all feel when we see the pictures on television and ask how in the world can we ever get ahead of this crisis, or even make a little bit of a difference. I mean it’s all in the article, including their self-financed 131-foot rescue vessel MV Phoenix, but here, to me, is the moment of truth. From whence Nobel Peace Prizes are born:

One day near Lampedusa, an Italian island south of Malta that has become a  purgatory for tens of thousands of migrants, Regina was sunning on the top deck  [of their yacht] when she noticed a winter jacket bobbing in the water. The Catrambones asked their captain, Marco Cauchi, a search and rescue commander moonlighting from the Armed Forces of Malta, about the incongruous piece of clothing. It was, he replied, almost certainly the jacket of a refugee. Cauchi told them how, during one military rescue, he’d watched a migrant sink beneath the waves a few feet from him. “There were 29 people on this boat that capsized, and most could not swim,” he told them. “I saw those big eyes open, and I saw him go down so fast. I couldn’t reach him. It stayed with me always.”

 As Hammer tells the story, the Catrambones refused to look back. They jumped on board and since that day in July 2013 have worked to save thousands upon thousands of these desperate souls. These are the kinds of actions that should be more widely known. A Nobel Peace Prize, an evening’s visit with Stephen Colbert. Couldn’t we just dream of a world in which “Keeping Up With the Catrambones” was must-watch television?

Next: Running for Your Life: Marathons and War

Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

A little while ago I wrote about Roberto Clemente, my favorite baseball hero, in this space. Today, let’s honor someone I never saw play: Satchel Paige.

First off, folks like me, who carry the idea of being an athlete into their silver years, admire Satchel Paige for being the oldest major league rookie (42) while playing for the Cleveland Indians. He played in the pros until he was 47.

But here, I want to write about these lines that are attributed to Paige:

Work like you don’t need the money.

Love like you’ve never been hurt.

Dance like nobody’s watching.

These words come to mind because of something that happened about five years ago. Like we’ve done for years in our married life, M and I went for a morning walk. She was glum, upset about the lack of progress she was making in her writing. Many years before, K, our daughter, had printed these lines, with a credit to Satchel Paige, on a bulletin board in her bedroom.

It was in the spirit of Satchel Paige’s quote that I said to M, if it’s possible, why don’t you try to write stories from the place of excitement and wonder that you did when your first stories appeared years ago. She took my advice to heart and did just that with the superfine result that Narrative magazine would soon publish her story “Standards” http://bit.ly/1gRSKCy, an MM classic, if you ask me. And she has not looked back since.

M got word of acceptance from Narrative on Yom Kippur, and this week, ironically, I too was rewarded on the Day of Atonement with some perseverance of my own, with after years of false starts and promises surrounding work short and long, fiction and non-, I received word that a story of mine has been accepted for publication at a journal that deserves the respect that it has among writers. Today I’m feeling as M did when “Standards” was taken, not looking back on what has been.

So do what Satchel says. You can't go wrong.

Next: Running for Your Life: Nobel Peace Prize Candidate Couple That You Should Know About

Running for Your Life: Power of Tides

A simple idea came to me recently. M and I were enjoying the hospitality of our friends who own a second home on Fire Island. Life on Fire Island, no more than a giant sandbar of scrub trees and marsh off the Long Island shore, is by definition relaxed. There are no cars. No roadways. Big tire wagons and balloon wheel bikes account for non-pedestrian traffic. Speed limit signs say 8 MPH.

It is a strange and hypnotic stasis here, day after day in the summer, I imagine, really felt it on Sept. 12 as we strolled along Holly Walk to the Atlantic Ocean side. Here are several simple cottages, vintage-looking, with wide open doors and windows, there is nothing about these places that would suggest that any time had passed from the days they were built after the Great Hurricane of 1938. God, do you feel it. The people here move about, manage their time in leisure like their family members have been doing for decades.

Like the tides. People here are but organic matter, not cement or mortar, we yield. And if the dominant presence is the tides then they will hold sway on all the living things touched and held by them. We cannot do otherwise. That is the why of these people coming back season after season.

Which reminds me of a story by Alastair MacLeod, “The Road to Rankin’s Point” http://bit.ly/1KtlBI9. How touching are they – grandmother and beloved grandson. There are the precious few who allow in the other (tides) to a place where it becomes something more than we can know, and is given voice. How we interpret that voice is up to us.

Next: Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

Running for Your Life: Cruising to Brooklyn

It’s not likely to be pretty, but I’m in. The Brooklyn Marathon 2015 http://bit.ly/1VXZSx7. That’s Sunday, Nov. 15. And no I haven’t put in enough miles (but I’ve got 60 days to rectify that somewhat.) I tried a less demanding “cruising” training program last year in preparation for the Nova Scotia Marathon in July. It didn’t work for a terrific time – my slowest since I got back on the marathon kick five and a half years ago with the Pittsburgh Marathon. But I finished, and damn it that’s what I’m going for this year. In Brooklyn, my own backyard.

Training is going much better than I expected – considering the hamstring pull that flared up during our July trip to Paris and Marseille – so the marathon plan is back on in earnest.

Brooklyn 2015 takes me around my regular jogging route, the round interior pathways of Prospect Park, but instead of, say, going around two times, I’ll be going six times, as well as other shorter laps that’ll get us up to a Boston Marathon-qualifying 26.2 miles.

As for being Boston strong … Well, as of Oct. 5 I’ll be sixty, so that’ll help some – I need to get a finish time of 3:55. We’ll just have to see. As to the New York City Marathon, I would need to hit a time of 3:34. Which is just not going to happen. (My PB is 3:33:52 at 2010 Steamtown Marathon of Scranton, Pa., when I'd recently turned 55.)

So, yeah, here goes nothing. My ninth marathon, sixth since Pittsburgh in May 2010. And if you’re in the ’hood on Nov. 15, c’mon out to the park. When you’re running around in circles, chances are you’ll see me. More often than perhaps you’ll like.

Next: Running for Your Life: Power of Tides    

Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

When I traveled by airplane to Managua, Nicaragua, in the summer of 1985, there wasn’t much in the way of post cards. (Yes, that’s what we did in those days, send post cards home.) I bought a few that I did find and didn’t get them in the mail because they showed the landscape devastation of the Managua earthquake of 1972. Not exactly what I wanted my mom and dad to see before I got home that year.

That year we lost one of our great ones. Roberto Clemente, who died on a humanitarian flight to Managua the last day of 1972. Before the appearance of my beloved Expos in 1969, I was a fan of Roberto Clemente and Pirates. (And since the demise of my Espos in 2004, the Pirates are my team again.) Clemente's last baseball game in his 18-year career was two days before my 17^th birthday. It was director John Sayles who said, “Most of what I know about style I learned from Roberto Clemente.”

Consider this. Career batting average: .317; total hits: 3,000; home runs: 240 and RBIs: 1,305. While Clemente didn’t play on the perennial champion Yankees, those stats compare more than favorably against the Great Derek Jeter, born after Clemente died in the plane crash. Jeter’s numbers in his 20-year career: .310, 3,465, 260 and 1,311.

But it was the grace of him that I remember. In many ways, the young outfielder Andrew McCutchen reminds me of his grace in the field, his determination at bat. His demeanor is reminiscent of Clemente, who as the Pirates make their way to their third consecutive postseason appearance, I can’t help but think how much Clemente would be a part of these exciting days. If he were alive today, he’d be 81 years old.

Next: Running for Your Life: Cruising to Brooklyn

Running for Your Life: Yankee Haters Dream Team

I was ten years old when the Yankees did the unthinkable – finished 26.5 games out of first place, with a 70-89 record. Ah, those were the days. Now, of course, the Yankees win. Pretty much every day and night. The season is winding down and they are in the playoffs, as per usual.

Time to dream a little. By offering up a Yankee Haters Dream Team. Let’s call them the lovable ones … Some unsung, some associated more with losing (think every other MLB club, with the exception of the Cardinals) than winning. Here’s my version of, yes, the Yankee Haters Dream Team.

Pitcher

Catfish Hunter

Color me nostalgic for the 1970s, and names like Catfish stedda letters

Catcher

Jake Gibbs

Because I’m a believer in strength of character down the middle … And Jake was a member of that losing 1966 Yankees squad that went 70-89. Losing builds character. Good times, times

First Baseman

Marv Thorneberry

Marv broke in with the Yanks in 1955, then proceeded to spur even the most humorless fan into uncontrollable laughter as the starting first baseman for the expansion 40-120 New York Mets, 60.5 games outta first place. Errors that year (1962): 17!

Second Baseman

Horace Clarke

How can you not find lovable someone by the name of Horace? Yes, 1966! Strength down the middle! (70-89!)

Third Baseman

Charlie Hayes

He WAS the unsung hero of the 1996 Yankees, the only iteration of pinstripes except for that unforgettable 1966 squad that actually didn’t/doesn't revolt me. Why? Because of Charlie Hayes, without whom the Yanks would not have won, yet all we heard (and still hear about) were/are Jeter, O’Neill, Williams, Strawberry …

Shortstop

Tony Kubek

Because he had a cool broadcast voice. And he seemed like a relatively nice guy.

Right Fielder

Jesse Barfield

Because he was drafted by the Toronto Blue Jays. (One of the myriad reasons I identify as a Yankee Hater is that my folks at home in Canada cheer for the Blue Jays)

Left Fielder

Tim Raines

Because I am a die-hard Expos fan. (No, I don’t cheer for the Nationals  -- did true-blue Brooklyn Dodgers fans pick up and cheer for the LA team … I don’t think so)

Center Fielder

Roger Repoz

He didn’t patrol center field for long for the Yankees. But man, those were the days. (Yes, 1966 rules as the year of years for Yankee Haters … when they languished with that 70-89 record !

 Next: Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

Running for Your Life: Nonracial Politics Power

Sometimes you find inspiration in unlikely sources. Take “Citizen: American Lyric” by Claudia Rankine, winner of the 2014 National Book Critics Circle award for poetry. Rankine’s poetry sheds light on the great racial divide in America and is justly rewarded for her work by this country’s literary elites, who on a daily basis shudder with shame as yet another atrocity inflames this space and deepens the divide.

I say unlikely sources, not because I disagree with Rankine’s politics. Quite the contrary, in fact. Rather it is the lesson I learned about running for public life in YouTube America from those who feel persecuted by a society perversely conditioned to these atrocities that did come as a surprise to me. 

I’m referring to the following passage, in “Citizen,” page 23:

Hennessy Youngman aka Jayson Musson, whose Art Thoughtz take the form of tutorials on YouTube, educates viewers on contemporary art issues. In one of his many videos, he addresses how to become a successful black artist, wryly suggesting black people’s anger is marketable. He advises black artists to cultivate “an angry N exterior” by watching, among other things, the Rodney King video while working.

With respect Jayson, I’ve got a wry suggestion for both blacks and whites looking to be successful politicians. (I haven’t yet posted my videos on this …) Cultivate a simple, nonliterate exterior. For example, say you are running in a neighborhood with high dog ownership combined with a high percentage of porn consumers (when it comes to the latter, every ZIP in the country). Cultivate a simple, nonliterate exterior. Change your name to Dogget. Don’t campaign, don’t write anything down that could even remotely be defined as a position. Simply leaflet your district with the simple, nonliterate message. Do It Dogget Style. Vote Dogget.

Next: Running for Your Life: Yankee Haters Dream Team

Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday

Some time ago we were in Freebird Books, a gotta-check-it-out used bookstore on Columbia Street, not far from Brooklyn Bridge Park. While browsing there, I found and purchased a treasure: the “complete stories” by one of my favorite authors, Alistair MacLeod, published under the title “Island.”

A few months before I was saddened to read that MacLeod had passed away. It was at least fifteen years earlier that I’d first heard of MacLeod from my friend Ray Smith, who with his wife Joyce Carol Oates ran the powerfully good literary journal, Ontario Review, until his untimely death in 2008.

At that time I got a copy of “The Last Salt Gift of Blood” and was amazed with the quality of the stories. I am not alone in thinking this way. In fact, and Colm Toibin and Carmen Callil included MacLeod in their book “The Modern Library: The 200 Best Novels in English Since 1950. “Knowing that I could tell other readers about [MacLeod] was the high point of The Modern Library Project for me,” Toibin said.

What a gift MacLeod has at describing a boy’s regard of his father: the proud working man. Here’s a sample, from the story “The Vastness of the Dark” …

“As long as I can remember [Father] has finished dressing while walking, but he does not handle buttons or buckles so well since the dynamite stick at the little mine where he used to work ripped the first two fingers from his scarred right hand. Now the remaining fingers try to do what is expected of them: to hold, to button, to buckle, to adjust, but they do so with what seems a sort of groping uncertainty bordering on despair. As if they realized that there is now just too much for them to do, even though they try as best they can.”

Alastair MacLeod: definitely a great who is missed. Get thee to bookstore and find out for yourself.

Next: Running for Your Life: Back On the Beam

Running for Your Life: Endless Summer

Here it comes, a New York City-style heat wave: 94 degrees Tuesday; 94 Wednesday; 97 Thursday and 88 Friday.

What to do as a runner – Get out in the early morning? Or late at night when the temperatures dip into the low 70s?

Well this runner heads to a treadmill in my neighborhood gym, where the temperature is always in the 70s. From here, because the machines face picture windows that look out onto busy Fifth Avenue in Brooklyn, I watch the foot traffic go by. The endless summer of young ladies in too-short shorts, children during their last days of no-school freedom on skateboards and scooters, my elders shuffling along in the punishing heat that is demonstrably too much for them, BFFs on their way to coffee or an early lunch.

If I’m to be in the city (and not at the beach!) during this early September heat wave, here’s what I do to cope (and keep up a semblance of training for that mid-November marathon in Brooklyn): treadmill-run, dine in AC comfort and if the spirit moves, put a little Beach Boys on the stereo !

Next: Running for Your Life: If the Greats Were With Us Thursday