Losing it

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  Usually we keep the "book synopsis" thing for last. But this one is so irresistible! I met Andrew Goldstein at a book party--and he says, oh, I have a book too. And I'm like--right. So does everyone on the planet.

 But then he started telling me about it. How the novel is based on his childhood, and though there were dark and scary moments, as it evolved it because more serious.  He said it become a "meditation on family and sacrifice and what one does for those they love. Okay. He was winning me over. What's the title, I asked? 

In a second, Andrew is going to reveal--just to Jungle Red--how he's "Losing It." And ask if we are, too. Embarrassing, but hilarious. But first--in a break from JRW tradition, here's a tiny bit of synopsis. And then you can see why the title of his based-on-true story clinched the deal.

 THE BOOKIE'S SON

In 1960, as a way to pay off some of his debt, the bookie, HARRY DAVIS, starts collecting loan payments for the Bronx gangster, NATHAN GLUCKSMAN.  Making his rounds, Harry visits a sweet tailor named MORRIS, who is a survivor of the Holocaust.  Whether out of pity, or because Harry was one of the liberators of the camps during World War II, or because he is prone to rash decisions, instead of collecting from Morris he gives him some of Nathan’s money so that he can move to Israel.  Nathan’s henchmen, the SPRATZ brothers, come looking for Harry, who is forced to escape and leave his bookie business in the hands of his twelve-year-old son, RICKY, and his almost deaf and nearly blind mother-in-law, ROSIE. 

Great or what? But now, Andrew's facing what, um, we all are. If we admit it. That he's:

               Losing it.         

At a dinner party the other night, my friend posed the question to the five of us, all of us 60+ years, Do you think you’re losing it? Everyone except for me answered yes.  After all I had recently published my first novel, The Bookie’s Son. I wasn’t losing it.  Undermining my perception were three incidents over the past ten years that tell a different story.

1. Ten years ago my wife was in Paris on business and I had never been there so we decided that I would join her for a long romantic weekend together. At our age, having been together for decades, anything even hinting of romance sounds appealing. I even packed the night before my flight, which I knew would impress her. As I pulled into the airport parking garage I said to myself, that’s funny, I don’t remember putting my suitcase in the trunk. Too late to drive back home, no longer allowed for a suitcase to travel by itself on a later plane, too expensive to ship, I flew to Paris without any clothes...except for what I was wearing. I tend to look on the bright side and told myself, it’s nice to travel light.

2. Eight years ago I was sitting at my messy desk at work when the phone rang. I reached my hand to answer it but instead of lifting up the receiver I picked up my glasses. With one of the plastic covered metal arm tips by my ear and the other by my mouth, I said, “Hello” and the phone rang again. “Hello, hello.” Another ring. Now I’m getting annoyed, at the imbecile on the other end. It was around the fourth or fifth ring that I realized the identity of that imbecile and quietly slinked away from my desk.

3.   The phone incident happened only once so it didn’t scare me. As the years passed an  occasional age related memory lapse, like I’ll leave my glasses at work because I have something else in my pocket and my brain is tricked. No big deal (I’m not losing it.) In December, I was taking care of my nine month old grandson. My daughter likes to keep the heat low to save money and the environment. Fine, I bring extra clothes. She doesn’t want me to track germs into the house. Fine, I take off my shoes. The week before I left a pair of sneakers there. So this time when I was leaving I make sure I have everything. Extra clothes, sneakers, cell phone, keys, glasses, wallet. Proud of myself, I strut down the ten steps to the front door, turn around, wave my free hand at my grandson and shout in a baby voice, “Bye bye, bye bye”. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my sneakers still on the floor upstairs. How could this be? What could I be carrying in my other hand that tricked my brain. Hint: There are two of them, approximately 3 inches long––my grandson’s sneakers.

    Of the five of us, I think I won the "losing it the most contest." 

 

The closest contender was a woman who drove to her mailbox to pick up the mail but instead of opening her mailbox she walked around her car and popped the trunk.

You decide, which of the 4 stories indicates more loss of brain cells? And if you are lucid enough to include an incident of your own I will give a free copy of The Bookie’s Son to the top three “losing it” incidents. 


HANK: Oh, dear. May I begin with the "I thought it said" problem YOu know when you read something, and think--HUH? The other day at the TV station I got a story idea about how chickens were having their identities stolen. I thought--HUH? Who'd steal a chicken's identity? And what is a chicken's identity, away? It actually said "children."
Now--you.

 

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ANDREW GOLDSTEIN SAYS:

I always wanted to be a writer and was fortunate in my early twenties to be selected as a Bread Loaf Fellow and to have my nonfiction book, Becoming:An American Odyssey published by Saturday Review Press. However, in order to make a living while writing I worked at many diverse jobs:tree planter and assistant librarian in Oregon, organic orange and olive farmer in California, school bus driver, Zamboni driver, editor, stock broker, power transformer tube winder and tennis pro in the Berkshires, and custom builder in the Boston area.  Tree planting was the hardest but the job I performed terribly   at was driving a Zamboni.  I could never make clean ovals and once during a Parents‘ Weekend hockey game I froze the Zamboni to the ice in the middle of periods.   

I have been writing The Bookie’s Son on and off for forty years.  While I was managing the construction company and raising my two children I gave up writing for a couple of decades.  When the children didn’t need me to coach their soccer teams anymore I returned to writing. The Bookie’s Son, based on my childhood, was the story I wanted to tell.


JAN BROGAN: Breaking in to announce yesterday's winner:  Melissa Robbins, your name was chosen to win a copy of No Way to Kill a Lady by Nancy Martin.  Please email me at Jan@Janbrogan.com with your snail mail address.  Thanks!