S1:E9 - Ticket Stamped?

Blogging at my desk

This week Mari and I lost someone we loved and respected. Roberta lived in Paris but we met her in Portugal through our friend Virpi, whom is a dear friend of ours and Roberta's best friend since college. They attended Oklahoma State University together. That always seemed oddly funny to me. Virpi and Roberta stayed at our home a few years back when Virpi's daughter and Roberta's goddaughter, Meeri, graduated film school here in LA. Meeri is like our adopted daughter. She spent every holiday with us while in school. I could go on and on about the person Roberta was, but Virpi's other daughter, Sirri, summed her up in one phrase, "A lover of life and champion of dreams". God speed to all who loved her. With the passing of Roberta, it moved up in the rotation a writing that was planned a few weeks from now. This is something personal to me although we have all experienced death. Someone does not have to die to experience a type of death, which I will get into further down the blog. I will say that you can miss the living just as much, if not more than, the ones who have passed into a different plane of existence. 

I have a lot to say, so I am moving on. Through my aviators I am listening to the Sassy and Divine Sarah Vaughn. If you're not familiar with her, you're missing out on one of the greatest all time vocalists and singer of jazz, ballads, blues and anything else she chose to sing, like Gershwin. She played the Apollo and Carnegie Hall with the likes of Miles Davis, Charlie Parker, Count Basie, Lester Young and countless other greats.

How do we deal with people up and dying on us? Is it different if someone is very old, very young, in a car crash, suicide, cancer, terrorist attack or one of the other infinite possible ways to die? Do we deal with it head on right away? Or process slowly, with or without a therapist or a support group? Or man up, and accept it is what it is? Or do we rationalize by giving it to God or a Higher Power and the reasons why are beyond us? How long should we mourn for before partially or completely move on with our lives? So many questions, so few answers. We are all probably saying each of us deals with it differently. But does the individual approach make it the right way or give us a "get out of jail free" card. For me, in hindsight, the answer lies somewhere between talking to a therapist and/or a support group and make room to process grief and the spectrum of emotions. And perhaps a Higher Power is a part of the equation for me.

Rex - University of Miami, 1983

Thanksgiving morning 1985, my sister's girlfriend at the time, came into my room and quietly said "God not only needs the wilted flowers but needs the strong ones as well". Those 14 words carried me for many many years. Backing up to the summer of 1982, I found myself in a gym at University of Miami for freshman orientation. I was standing alone in the middle of the gym and this pretty handsome dude, holding an ice-cream cone, walked up to me. We started chatting and we became instant friends. Later that summer, I drove from Long Island to Harrison in Westchester to spend a few nights at his house. It was only then did I realize his family was pretty rich. We tried becoming roommates in freshman dorm but the school didn't see it our way. A week later we pledged Sigma Chi Fraternity. We got pretty stoned the next day, threw everything we owned on a couple of luggage carts, wheeled them over the intramural field, down fraternity row and into our new badass room. His name is Rex and he was my best friend. No one ever said Rex without saying Tony, we traveled as one. The day before Thanksgiving 1985 we met up in NYC and spent the day doing whatever. I had no fucking idea that would be the last time I saw him alive. Later that very same night, Rex was killed by a drunk driver, along with a childhood friend. I have moved on after years of floundering but I always have his personality and mannerisms in my head til this day. I made a point of staying close to his dad and 36 years later we are still friends. There was no one like Rex, he was as unique as anyone I have ever met and I still miss him today. Unfair he was taken in senior year of college at the age of 21. I miss my friend.

My mom, Lucille, and me, 1987

Wedding day, October 5, 1958 - on my mom's 18th birthday

Like any worthwhile alcoholic, I used Rex as excuse #1 to increase my intake of alcohol and cocaine. Having had enough of Miami, I pulled a geographic and moved back to Long Island and crashed on my cousin's couch for almost a year. In 1988, I finally got a real job at an editorial house in the city. I showed up late my very first day because the night before I hung out in the city late and got pretty hammered. While waiting on the outdoor stairs at Penn Station for my train, I fell asleep (passed out). I was awoken by the sensation of someone going through my pants pockets. As I started resisting the fucker poked me in both eyes and made a clean exit, never to be seen again. No pun intended but that was a major eye opener that my soul had vacated my body and I needed to do something, but what was that something. On September 15, 1988, I gave notice at my job and told the owner I was moving to LA. She asked when and my response was tomorrow. So a new chapter began on September 16, 1988. Having no friends here I got a job interview for a PA position on a film through a friend of a friend. After the interview the line producer said, "you have zero experience, you don't know LA at all, but I like you and will give you a shot". I have arrived and that job led to another and then the pivot to commercials where I rose pretty quickly through the ranks. I was as happy as I have ever been in my life. When early December rolled around the ground shook violently under my feet, not from an earthquake but a phone call from my mom. I was definitely a momma's boy and proudly so. We worked together at the bowling alley and frequently drove or flew to Atlantic City for an all-nighter session of blackjack. We had a ton of fun together all the time, she was a cool mom. I remember one time when we flew, rows 29 thru 40 were smoking sections. Looking back I feel for the passengers in rows 1 thru 28, poor bastards inhaling second hand smoke. Anyhow, on that call, after a few minutes of chitchat, mom told me she had severe lung cancer and the diagnosis wasn't good. I told her I would get on a plane and move back home that week. She wasn't having any of that. I remember her words verbatim "I don't want you to, this is the happiest I've heard you in years and it means more to me to have the entire you back". New Years Eve, I drove to Vegas to meet mom and dad and we saw Sinatra that night. I crashed in their room but didn't sleep a wink. Instead I listened to mom cough that nasty wet cough all night and my heart hurt so very much. Mom passed April 23, 1989, with my dad, my sister Valerie, and me by her side. It is impossible for me to forget the distinct smell of someone dying and their organs failing in rapid succession over a few days. Mom was only 48 years old and in a few year's span I lost both of my best friends. Is it randomness or part of a bigger plan we are not privy to? My mom was the nucleus of the extended family and with her went the big Italian holiday feasts with 20 people and 9 course dinners. I miss my mom.

My dad, Mike, with "Lucy" and "Ricky"

My Pops visiting me in 2004

I inherited my producing abilities from my mom, we both can have many balls in the air and it isn't a problem. Everything my dad did, he did well and meticulously, but he could only do one thing at a time. He was a solid dude, but he didn't learn how to express himself. However, he evolved over time and I mean exactly that. Today, I'm occasionally prone to resentments, my dads generation had life long grudges and my grandfathers generation harbored vendettas where they just killed each other. At least it was that way in working class Brooklyn. For the early years of my life, dad was quietly prejudiced and fearful of different types of people. My sister Valerie met the most incredible Jamaican woman, Allison, a long time ago. Ally had previously adopted two very young black children, Roger & Jasmine. When Valerie and Ally married my dad walked her down the aisle. My dad loved Ally, Roger and Jasmine like they were his own flesh and blood and he was completely color blind. Ally was his second daughter, the kids were his grandson and granddaughter, end of story. One Thanksgiving I went home and our table wasn't filled with 20 Italians, but my lesbian sister, her Jamaican wife, 2 black kids and my very evil stepmother. It was the greatest Thanksgiving ever as there was so much love in all our hearts, except for the wicked stepmother. On March 25, 2011, which happens to be Valerie's birthday, I got that dreaded call, again. As Mari and I were at work in our home office, the voice on the other end of the phone said my dad wasn't feeling well so he went to the ER. While he waited there, he suffered a ruptured aorta and I was to come home immediately. He passed on April 3rd. Until then, he was in a coma and never knew Mari & I were there. He died three months before our wedding and never got to meet his beautiful daughter-in-law. I miss my dad.

My sister, Valerie and Pops, 2009

Valerie, Valerie, Valerie, oh how I love you my big-hearted sister. Growing up we each had many friends, and I am not exaggerating that my sister had 20 or so friends her age and each had a younger brother that was my age, about 4 years younger. None of her friends would take their younger brother anywhere cool, only my sister included me. Probably cause I was pretty cool and a little more matured. She introduced me to NYC, far from the suburbs of Farmingdale/Massapequa of Long Island. She would take me to Central Park and taught me how to play frisbee and smoke pot. She showed me the Village and took me to The Wintergarden Theatre to see Beatlemania. My greatest memory is her taking me to my first concert, Jackson Browne at The Garden. Side note - Elvis was my first concert in 1974 but that was with my mom, aunts and cousins, so it doesn't count in this context. Moving forward in February 2001, she came to freezing Minnesota from warm Florida to take part in family week while I was in treatment center. She came despite my dad backing out last minute with a back problem. Valerie and I would talk daily, sometimes weekly, and if we had a fight, we would go 6 months or longer without speaking. I wish I could go back in time and behave differently, that is my biggest lifetime regret. In the summer of 2016, I was planning to fly her to LA and take her to The Greek Theatre to see Jackson Browne, like she did for me 39 years earlier. But we had a long-term fight and I gave the tickets away. I was being a stubborn dumbass. With a giant nudge from Mari, we reconciled and Valerie came out the next summer to see what was with me and the neurological issues I was experiencing. I timed her trip out here to coincide with something I've wanted to do forever. Some friends had a box suite at Staples Center and I got to finally treat my sister to a concert. We saw Roger Waters of Pink Floyd, which happens to be her all time favorite band. While in LA, my sister was experiencing some stomach troubles. Her wife insisted she go to the doctor shortly after returning to Florida. Turns out her body was riddled with cancer and she died September 9, 2017, two months after leaving my home. She was only 57 and her last concert was with me. I'm 57 now and have a terminal disease, WTF. But I have things to still accomplish, so I think I'll hang around these parts a while longer. I really miss my sister. 

Valerie and a sharply dressed Anthony, 1968

Sounds like a moronic statement, but death is a part of living and all of us will experience pain and heartache from those we miss. We have zero say or influence in that matter. But do we have a part in other similar matters? Well, I do without question. I absolutely hate when I don't speak or reach out to someone I value, but for a variety of reasons, a wall gets erected and 20 years of friendship disappears in an instant. This is not a new thing with me, I've always hated wasted time. If someone intentionally hurts or sabotages you, that's one thing. If someone says something that hurts your feelings, that is another thing. I ask myself four questions to determine a course of action. Am I willing to take my pride and ego out of the equation? Does this person feed my soul or rob me of it? Am I willing to look seriously at my behavior? If I answer yes to those three pillars of willingness, then I move on to the fourth question. Am I willing to reach out first and accept the possibility that I may be rejected? 

To wrap it up, I'll never know if death is random or tickets are already stamped with a departure date. If Rex had stopped for a Slurpee, would he still have been killed by that drunk driver? Maybe that guy would have stopped for some beef jerky and the answer is yes. I'll never know and I've come to peace with that sliding door question.

Thank you for allowing me to unburden myself and share things I've never spoke about in any detail.

...and remember - "make good days great days, no bad days allowed".

Peace out!!!

Anton

Two oddly handsome fellas