The Pen is Mightier Than...Part IV: Ethics in Question

In this case, I use the title in its literal form. The pen just might be mightier as I draw attention to something I have let simmer inside me long enough. Recently a co-worker from my past had the audacity to question both my business practices and work ethic. I have always stood by my work ethic which has been near flawless to a fault. I don't plan on drawing any attention to this particular posting, but those who know me may accidentally find it on their own and will undoubtedly know of whom I speak. Sadly, my mild mannered personality forces me to internalize things rather than speak my mind.
I don't like confrontation.
I don't like rocking the boat.
The recent assault on my character has been all consuming. In typical Morty fashion however, rather than physically stand up for myself, I have chosen to take the coward's way out. Writing about it, while I hope may prove therapeutic will, if nothing else set the record straight. The dramatically creative side of me will take over as I write an imaginary response in letter form. The letter of course will never be e-mailed, nor sent in the traditional sense, but will remain here.
No names will be mentioned.
For all who continue to read this, you may draw your own conclusions.

Former Co-Worker,
Your recent ambush on my current employer while he visited the facility I selflessly and often over zealously gave 18 years of my life to, was unfair and uncalled for. If your desire was to get under my skin, then I offer congratulations.
It worked.
If your despicable plot was to somehow debase my character, or instill in his mind some degree of doubt or mistrust, it failed.
Your delusional rant and factual misrepresentation was met with derision and laughter.
You consider yourself some type of martyr, choosing to accept unemployment in lieu of putting your older and last remaining colleague out of work, while portraying yourself as a victim at the same time. You selfishly insinuated that I was partly at fault for the final demise of the company, a company which was wildly in free fall at the time of my departure. On the surface, my decision to leave may have seemed hasty, but inside I spent many months agonizing over it while simultaneously trying to devise creative ways to keep the business viable. Already inundated with the consistent amount of work that continued to come in, trying to grow (or at the very least maintain) that business on my own proved a near impossible task. Understanding thoroughly that book/autograph signings, abundant personal days following late night shows and the disgustingly inordinate amount of company time you spent surfing the web were clearly your priority, I chose not to inconvenience you with work related tasks, which admittedly can be bothersome, especially when it interferes with far more relevant issues on Blabbermouth.com. Thankfully, the clients I had nurtured for more than a decade (and long prior to your arrival) kept enough work coming in to support your enthusiasm for the World Wide Web while contributing in part to the paycheck you received on a weekly basis. The fact that a small percentage of those very clients chose to follow me in my endeavors is testament to the service and enthusiasm I showed them over the years. I apologize if you mistakenly construed their dedication as theft on my part. Remember how often you would exclaim in exasperation what a pain in the ass the woman from the largest news gathering agency in the world was? Luckily, I handled all of her incoming work following the multiple mistakes made by my predecessor, placated all of her doubts and kept her as a viable customer within our former company. With my decision to find a more stable environment elsewhere, you suddenly came to the decision that she really was not that difficult to deal with after all.
Hmmm.
It was never my intention to take any of the clients with me, although I certainly earned that right without question. I could have been a typical scumbag citing the unwritten rule which says business is business, and taken the entire client database with me, unfortunately the shrewd gene does not lie within me. As I had made my transition prior to the onset of the traditionally slow summer season, there was no reason for me to make contact with any of those clients, short of saying farewell and thanks for the support, at least not until the e-mails loosely hinting that I had also absconded with video editing software started showing up in my inbox. I literally lost sleep for nearly a week, knowing that our former employer may have harbored the very thought that I had stolen anything! A frenzied string of responses followed as I continued to add to the list of places I felt the software might reside within our former office space. Several days later, I took it upon myself to drop by and look for it myself. The proclamation from your last remaining colleague that you had not gotten around to looking for it came to me as no surprise. Even after my absence, Blabbermouth, Break.com and YouTube obviously demanded your immediate attention. In less than the time it took for me to walk out of my way across town, the two of us unearthed the missing discs. For your records it was number three on my list of possible locations. Mere minutes spent away from your vaunted websites would have saved a week of unneeded stress and sleepless nights on my behalf. You can bet if our boss had been in town you would have been on it in seconds, similar to the employee of the month act you would pull every time he was in the office. Disgusted, I would inwardly laugh as I opened the door on a morning when he was due to arrive to find you already at your desk, something that for the most part was a rarity. The staged interest you took in the welfare of our clients was often a brilliant performance that our former employer seemed to enjoy with relish. You often mentioned your 15 minutes of fame spent on the big screen for an independent film. Obviously, you took something away from the experience, because several years later you sure convinced our boss that the salary you were paid was actually worth it. I could go on with a laundry list of further examples, your seemingly endless quantity of sick days for instance (various procedures notwitstanding), but that would fall under the category of sour grapes and nitpicking on my part. I never professed to be the golden boy in that organization, and openly admit to both yourself and the untold millions in cyberspace, that I too spent a fair amount of time surfing the web on the boss' nut. The only difference between you and I was that I EARNED that time, much of it based on late nights, weekends and work brought home (without any compensation from our esteemed leader), not to mention the time spent working durng regular business hours while you pretty much took a pass. In closing, I will say in your defense that there were times when you busted your ass to help get product labeled, packaged and shipped, especially when things were simply overwhelming. You also paid attention to detail and presentation when something left the office. Yes, there were a few shining examples of some actual work and caring on your part. Sadly, those moments were too few and far, too far in between. To answer your accusation that I may have had something to do with the final death throes of that company, I wholeheartedly agree. I should have made the boss aware of your lack of input several years ago, before he literally wasted untold THOUSANDS on your mostly undeserved paycheck. It was he who once told me as I tried to hint what was really going on behind his back, "There's two sides to every story."
You have told yours, and now the world knows mine.
I would tell you that maybe we'll cross paths on Blabbermouth.com sometime, but that's kid stuff. Besides, I have work to do.
It's what I do.
When I'm on company time that is.
Sincerely,
your disappointed, but no longer disgruntled ex-co-worker.

*Blogger's Note
For all of those who patiently made it through this last posting, I apologize for the detraction from my original mission statement to keep this place positive. I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

The Difference

Writing has long been a part of my life and while for several decades I let that passion fester, my mind continued to function in much the same way that I would assume a writer's would. Maybe I am shamelessly humble, or probably lack the confidence that a true writer feels.
There it is right there...a true writer.
While I treat this as more of a hobby, mostly due to the fact that the real world is constantly in the way, this is truly my calling. Granted, the writing has been more about the quick gratification, the personal high that comes from another successful blog posting or magazine submission. I never intended for it to touch the lives of others. My recent past however shows quite the opposite. On a Monday morning, facing the beginning of another lackluster work week, this Letter to the Editor @ Forest Hills Celebrity & Entertainment found its way to my inbox.

Dear Joe,
I am a staff member of St. John's Bread & Life Program. I have never written a letter to the editor before but felt I wanted to tell you how much reading “Just One Life” meant to me. Mr. Mortensen did not write with fonts but with chords of his heart. Having lost two very dear friends this past year, reading the article and the words of Lynda Dobbin-Turner’s songs spoke to my grief and healing. They were inspiring. I appreciate the articles appearing in your magazine. Please know how much they mean to the community – and not just in Forest Hills or Astoria. Thank you.

Sincerely,
Rita Marie Trucios
Director Social Service
St. John's Bread & Life Program

The article she mentions was a labor of love for me, opening up a part of myself that I did not know existed. The woman I wrote about is someone I have never met in person. As a blogger, I often find myself looking for ways to draw more traffic to this site. Selfishly, while perusing the sites of blogger's like myself in an effort to make them aware of my own existence, I stumbled upon the world of Lynda Dobbin Turner. As a big city guy living and working in the metropolitan area, I immediately came to the conclusion that here was a simple country person living a simple country lifestyle. What I found however was inspiration and someone who is far stronger than I could ever imagine myself to be. What follows is my 2009 holiday submission to Forest Hills Celebrity & Entertainment. With no space limitations, I have chosen to include several more pictures which did not appear in the original layout for the magazine.
I am proud,
I am humbled,
I am speechless.
I made a difference.
- "Morty."




“We got a lovely skiff of snow last night which will make a nice quiet day for Shane and me to regroup by the fireplace and get grounded again. Tonight, we're planning to put up our Christmas tree. Maybe that will help fire up the spirit of the season for me.”

I met Lynda Dobbin-Turner in November of 2008, the chance crossing of our paths purely by circumstance. Worlds apart, we have little in common beyond our affinity for country music and our passion for writing, she a songwriter, me…let’s just say I still consider myself in the category of aspiring. While we have never met in the conventional sense, I have found in this remarkable woman a deep sense of inspiration that has reached out across the many, many miles via the World Wide Web and touched my soul.

“It's hunting season around here again. A calf was accidentally shot in our west pasture. Before we could dispose of the remains, a group of Bald Eagles found them. They are awe inspiring in their majesty. Even amid the frustration of needless loss, we are blessed to be living in a place that gives us such beauty in exchange.”

Lavenham, located in the Canadian province of Manitoba is a tiny hamlet with a population of only 50. Microscopic, by borough of Queens standards, it marks the furthest I have been from home while seated at my PC. The incessant pattern of controlled chaos taking place outside my Mid-Manhattan office window infringes upon the landscape she has painted, so openly shared for the world to see via her blog. At a glance, this brief glimpse into a paradise imagined by most, only through the world of National Geographic may seem a simpler way of life, but it is not without its share of hardships. Following the release of her first CD in 2006, the culmination of a thirty-year dream, Lynda Dobbin-Turner knew immediately that it would not be a once in a lifetime event. Caring for a son afflicted with Cerebral Palsy however, would always be her main priority. Shane’s early diagnosis meant that he would never do many of the things that a normally developing child would, but with fierce determination and an undying spirit, Lynda made sure that he would live a life full of love, laughter and adventure. By the age of 16, he had dipped his toes in two oceans, sped on an airboat through the Everglades, ridden horses, snowmobiles, ATV’s and roller coasters. The staff and students of the local elementary and middle schools welcomed Shane openly.
“There were certainly bumps along the way, anonymous letters that pierced the spirit but the effort paid off and I think it was a shining example of what Inclusion can look like”
Shane turned 17 on January 18th, while remarkably, Lynda had a dozen songs nearly completed for her next CD, which would continue along the lines of its predecessor, offering further insight into Canada’s prairie province, and a lighthearted look at what makes this singer songwriter tick. Whether dreaming of a place near the ocean that allows her to “put her gifts in motion”, or looking back at the years of growing pains and teen angst: “If I could write a letter to that girl back then, I’d tell her it’ll be alright,” or the woman over 40, convinced that the inability to make up her mind is due simply to the onset of Age Activated Attention Deficit Disorder (AAAD), we find an individual who has lost neither her resolve nor sense of humor in light of the monumental struggles faced in raising a terminally ill child. I grew excited as her second musical outing began to take shape. We would correspond briefly when time allowed, me anxious to learn more about her real “Little House on the Prairie,” while offering my own whimsical thoughts on life in the big city.

“I watched the sun rise up this morning, just like it did yesterday.
It’s funny how so much goes on the same, when everything has changed.
Did I not tell you all I should have; I hope you read between the lines.
We would have done more if we could have, but we just ran out of time.”
- Won’t Say Goodbye (From the CD “Just One Life”)

My world stopped briefly one dreary March afternoon when I checked her blog on a whim. I stared in stunned silence at a picture of the smiling child she had strived so hard for, a boy who had known little of boundaries, because she refused to acknowledge them, a young man who had seen and accomplished more in his brief existence than most ever will. For the first time in my life, I wept for someone so far away, someone I had never met.
In June, still devastated from her loss, Lynda returned to the studio with new songs that surfaced in working through the pain of that loss.

“If you’ll just look inside, soon you’ll realize,
There’s a fire that these struggles cannot kill.
See my heart, see my spirit, see the light that shines in me
See the love I could offer, and the friend that I could be…”
- When You Look at Me (Shane’s Song)

“I’ve seen the difference that a commitment to inclusion made not only in Shane’s life, but in the lives of all the other students he connected with. “Just One Life”∗ is a tribute to the difference that just one life can make.”

Last year I brought attention to the East Coast Car Association raising money for children diagnosed with long-term illnesses in our area. I have witnessed both here and afar the difference that everyday people can make in challenged lives. Maybe by simply using this gift I have been given, the gift to write, I can touch others to do the very same.

Morty 101: Politically Inept in a Politically Correct World

Blogger's Note:
Under the gun and under the wire for another magazine submission, this came to me on the day of the greatest snowstorm seen in the NYC tri-state area in years. The timing could not have been better as just days later, our fill-in governor is under pressure to step down. Call me cynical, but I wholehartedly believe that there is no such thing as an honest politician, and that those who come off as good hearted and squeaky clean simply have not been caught yet.

All right, so it’s tough to sit here and think happy springtime thoughts while outside my window the sound of a passing snowplow briefly overwhelms the echoes of multiple shovels scraping pavement. Admittedly, the snow continues to fall as I type, yet by the time this publication winds up in your lucky hands we will have long arrived at that proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. Flowers bloom and short sleeves abound under a tranquil blue sky during this early and unusually warm spring season.
Global warming or wishful thinking?
Now, far be it from me to exercise my right of free speech, but coming off both the coolest summer and coldest winter in recent history, haven’t our elected leaders taken this global warming thing far enough? Even southern Texas and sunny Florida saw record snowfall amounts this year, not to mention the rest of us right here at home. Why, even in an unprecedented display of intelligence, our illustrious mayor and designated school officials opted for snow days on more than one occasion. Yes, using the word intelligence in the same sentence with any type of government official can often be construed as a contradiction in terms.
Or term limits?
I never talk politics. I don’t like talking politics. I am thoroughly independent and hate everyone equally. Maybe I am shamefully naïve, but when did politics become an Olympic sport? Finger pointing has created a whole new level of Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. Does anybody remember “The Name Game,” that annoying old ditty from the 60’s?

“Shirley!
Shirley, Shirley bo Birley Bonana fanna fo Firley
Fee fy mo Mirley, Shirley”

I am unsure how it might be received today, but I can tell you that with some updated lyrics it just might stand a chance.
I call it “The Blame Game” and it goes something like this.

“Democrat!
Demo, Demo, Obama, walked into a problema
Fingers pointing everywhere
Healthcare.


Republican!
Republican, the GOP, who is watching the money?
Economy is still failin’
Palin”

All right, my future as a songwriter remains in question but don’t stop me now, I’m on a roll, which incidentally is something the MTA is not. We have all reached the conclusion that fare hikes will never be enough to keep the trains and buses rolling, yet it doesn’t hurt in keeping the wallets of the fat cats…well, fat.
It’s time to take a little trip, good people. Now, rather than beat an old cliché to death and tell you how things might be in a perfect world, follow me into a comfortable place of naïveté I call “Morty’s World,” a place where hospitals remain open just outside the shadows of newly constructed multi-billion dollar baseball stadiums.
Your tax dollars at work.
The average employee can actually afford to get to work thanks in part to someone we’ll call “Joe, the MTA worker.” An ethical man tired of greed and mismanagement resulting in un-fare hikes and a budget deficit nearly in line with the price tag of the aforementioned mammoth arenas, “Joe” decides to step up to the plate (pun intended). As a lifelong employee in the transportation industry, “Joe” takes a minor pay raise, ascends the corporate ladder and instills a few ideas of his own with the understanding that if they do not work, he will willingly step back down to give someone else the same opportunity he has been afforded.
The view from the top is breathtaking.
“I can almost see my outrageously overpriced two bedroom apartment from here,” he muses, looking around the new office in which he sits, marveling at the very thought that it alone is far larger than the dwelling he calls home. The wheels in his head begin to turn.
“Hmm,” he thinks, his finger tapping upon the fine walnut desk. “Where can we begin to cut costs?”
He removes the Montblanc pen from the gold plated desk caddy, touching it to the fine textured stationery while CNN inexplicably drones from the 60” flat screen plasma affixed to the wall opposite an oversized gaudy abstract.
Meanwhile, The fat cats have been sent away on extended leave for the duration of this historical experiment, yet rather than whisk them off to a five star tropical resort; they are involved in another type of research. Call it a return to roots as they partake in that great American pastime, Spring Break. They fly coach, stay in cheap sordid motels and the only refreshment they can afford comes in the form of cheap domestic swill, most of which is obtained by entering poolside beer chugging contests. Later they will become disorderly. The cops will arrive and they will forever disappear into a third world prison far off the tourist path.
Unfortunately, the spinning wheels of a car in search of pavement underneath the ice has prematurely interrupted my reverie, roughly depositing me back here in the real world left to wonder if the suggestions of our friend “Joe the MTA worker” may possibly have helped to solve the insurmountable while sparing citizens further inconvenience. Someone once told me that writing could be cathartic.
Visualize with me wisps of steam lazily rising from the warm pavement following a fresh springtime rain, a metaphor for my finally recognized need to vent. Having never visited the offices of the MTA, I can only imagine the accommodations of those who sit at the top, but let’s face it. We all share a similar vision don’t we?
Have I brought us a step closer to world peace or at the very least inspired someone to take a practical stance at cutting the MTA deficit without layoffs or raising fares?
Have I accomplished anything beyond a hopeful smile or chuckle?
I doubt it.
But we can dream, can’t we?

A Complete and "Udder" Disgrace

Blogger's Note:

I had initially considered writing about our first dude ranch experience in the lighthearted "Morty" long form that really sets the tone for this site. Thoroughly disgusted however with mismanagement and blatant misrepresentation of the resort in question, I opted to get in touch with the people at Trip Advisor where I posted an accurate picture of what vacationers might experience after emptying their wallets to a dysfunctional family run organization. What follows is a first person review originally submitted to tripadvisor.com shortly after our return home.

Before you check their website, which is a complete and utter fabrication, I am hoping that potential guests of this hellhole will take the time to thoroughly research the establishment. Unfortunately, I was "roped in" (total pun intended) by the slick look of the pictures featured on their site.
We stayed in the "Nevada" section of the building, checking in on 8/22, a date which should also have served as checkout. The room was musty, reeked of mildew, the carpet borderline damp. The furniture, well past its prime was scarred and scratched, while two of the dresser drawers would not open properly. Only a background in physics could help patrons make sense of the bathroom faucets, the sink proving exceptionally dangerous to children who will have a difficult time discerning the hot from the cold settings. The mattress on the bed nearest the window, completely worn on its left half nearly required a side guard to protect the occupant (me) from falling to the floor (the wife always gets the better half). The bed in the middle of the room, while in better shape from a chiropractic standpoint featured a dangerously protruding piece of metal jutting out from the frame; something my wife painfully discovered after scratching her lower thigh. Had she not noticed it first, the potential injury that may have been suffered by an exuberant six year old may have warranted a trip to the emergency room for stitches or worse. The grating on the air conditioner, also past its prime was cracked and crooked. Our traveling companions staying across the hall fared no better. Their air conditioner had no grating to speak of, the wallpaper was peeling, and the mattress on bed number one with its deeply pronounced dip from top to bottom would guarantee multiple trips to a chiropractor most likely followed by back surgery. A dangerously protruding piece of metal on the lower corner of bed number two would most certainly have sent that unsuspecting six year old to the hospital as well. The housekeeping staff while courteous was far from thorough, except in the main lobby area where the overwhelming scent of furniture polish permeated the area. The public bathrooms off the lobby were nearly immaculate, yet take a walk down the dingy hallway past the Food Court and Silver Dollar Saloon to check out the public bathrooms there. Far enough off the beaten path, these two rooms were simply filthy.
The sighting of some type of large rodent running across the downstairs hall from a storeroom to somewhere underneath the hallway stairs was especially repulsive, not to mention beyond disturbing as the area was literally adjacent to the filthy room that passed for a day camp!
I will not go into detail pertaining to the Food Court, as I did not spend a lot of time there. The pizza offerings from the rarely open “Angelo’s” were a far cry from the succulent pie pictured on the official Pinegrove website. While the limited selection of pies were often cooked fresh, the razor thin crust would harden quickly upon egress from what loosely could be considered the oven, the sub standard toppings turning gristly, dry and papery shortly following. The dining room fare was not exactly a step above that of the food court. The limited, unimaginative selections were generally tasteless. Our first dining experience found the prime rib impossibly tough. A buzz saw would not have sufficed! A later attempt at Prime Rib (yes, unbelievably we did remain for the duration of our stay) several days following proved a bit easier to stomach, but cutting around the fat was the equivalent of following an intricate treasure map. The salmon had the consistency of pudding. A brief complaint to our host, the ever-unlikeable “Cowboy Denny,” was merely brushed off with a rudely smug grin and the comment, “There are a lot of ways to cook Salmon.”
Tell it to the “Chef.”
Let’s briefly interrupt the negative with a brief nod to the only positives.
“Tapadero’s,” provided a brief respite from the horrors of the dining room. This small restaurant (another relative term), with its complete lack of ambiance or atmosphere served Italian food cooked fresh to order that was surprisingly edible and tasty.
The horseback riding marks the only reason to even briefly consider a visit here, “brief” being the operative word. The corral staff was friendly, professional and confident, easily placating the fear and uncertainty in first time riders, while capably managing large groups of the un-initiated through their introductory riding experience. The mountain scenery before descending into the twisting wooded trail, while not quite breathtaking is inspiring. These staff members clearly displayed their love for the animals and the job as well. I would have a hard time believing that they were faking it.
“Faking it,” however is where Pinegrove seems to excel. There was little to no semblance of any type of “ranch” experience. Nowhere was there a cowboy in sight. Staff members were adorned in simple polo shirts bearing the logo of this horrific establishment. The pseudo-Vegas style entertainment was passable at best. Jugglers and magicians catered to the pint-sized crowd, while allowing adults a fair amount of genuine laughs. I had a distinct problem with only one of the comedic magicians whose name escapes me for the moment. His risqué sexual and homosexual references while over the heads of the younger ones did not go unnoticed by the pre-teen crowd. It was obvious that he was used to dealing with more of a non-family casino crowd rather than the prisoners held hostage in the “Bullroom.” I call the guests prisoners, because there was literally nothing else to do during Showtime. “Rusty Johnson’s Wildlife Show,” kicking off at 9:30 put most of the younger set to sleep, not a surprise, as it was a bit late for them at this point anyway. This individual’s bland and boring tales of life in far off lands for snakes and alligators was a snooze-fest to put it lightly.
The “Bullroom” really had the capability of being so much more. Why there was never a live band playing country music on the sizeable stage following the lounge acts would almost remain a mystery, yet it did not take much to realize that “management” here was nothing more than selfishly frugal. Granted, not everyone is a country fan, but why not maintain the western illusion even for a brief moment? Upstairs, the “Silver Dollar Saloon” would more aptly have been named “Death Valley” as either no one knew of its existence, nor cared.
Let’s take a trip outside to the pool, where a quick five or ten minutes with a leaf blower and a broom would have done wonders. The leaves and branches that littered one side of the pool deck made walking in bare feet hazardous.
(Anyone up for another trip to the E.R.)?
The white 1980’s era plastic pool furniture stained, uncomfortable and generally filthy followed suit with everything else in the place. The pool slide, the clear highlight for guests of all ages could clearly have been the setting for a catastrophic fall by a child due to missing bars along the upper edge of the stair railing, providing a gaping hole for someone small enough to either step or fall through. The occasional appearance by an inattentive slide attendant at the top who was too busy “texting” to pay attention was simply pointless. Traffic control for the dual slides would have been non-existent had it not been for the help of parents who cared enough to see not only to the safety of their own children, but others as well. The lifeguards appeared bored, restless, and when paired together (rather than having one at the top of the slide) paid more attention to either their cell phones or each other than to the activity happening in the water.
Mere words cannot describe the deplorably horrifying condition of the toddler’s wading pool.
Meanwhile back at the ranch…
Not much had been mentioned about the brown water incident during our unfortunate sentence here. Sometime during the late afternoon of Tuesday August 25th, the water began running brown from sinks and showers alike. Flushing the toilets resulted in a bowl filled with H20 unfit for even the lowliest of fungi. A trip to alert uncaring management poised at the front desk was met with a combination of boredom and annoyance, followed by a clear reluctance to provide additional bottled water to guests who were smart enough to consider utilizing it for the simple everyday function of tooth brushing. Rather than leaving paying customers in the dark, management could have made an effort in alerting the public to the problem while offering an apology for the inconvenience. A simple note on the lobby bulletin board would have sufficed, followed by an update or some type of assurance the following day that the water was once again clean. Of course, it was impossible to tell looking at it running from a rusty faucet into an equally rust stained sink.
Well, to make a long story only a tad bit longer, I would gladly offer up suggestions on how to better utilize the miles of wasted space or manage time between shows and activities, but as I have no plan whatsoever on returning to this pit, I will follow management’s lead and not make the effort.
Returning briefly to the utter fabrication of their website, pay little attention to any of the remaining pictures of cowboys, the dining room, guest accommodations or food. The mouth-watering barbecue shots are either old, or a blatant lie. There was evidence of an area that may once have been used to that extent, but is obviously no longer in existence. I will close by saying that I am not a seasoned traveler used to five star, four star or even three star accommodations. I vacation only where it is affordable and reasonable. Take this review with the proverbial grain of salt, as it is only one person’s opinion. My six year old, who incidentally had the time of his life here would beg to differ.
But then anyone can pull the wool over the eyes of an unsuspecting child.

*Afterword
The pictures of succulent pizza and the dank, dingy food court have since been removed from the website. Several reviews both preceding and following that of my own have also drawn attention to these area's. Further reading of the "one star" rated reviews will offer insight into the alleged "five star" ratings. Apparently, there is money to be made in Pinegrove Bucks in return for a positive review. Several people make reference to the offers of bribes. As I have no solid evidence to substantiate these rumors, I will treat them as just that.

2009: The Year in Review

Here we are already and with little to show for it. Coming off of 2008, which had marked a real writing boom year for me, I had a lot of great plans for the last year of the millennium's first decade. An old quote I remember from High School comes to mind here. "The best laid plans of mice and men often go astray." There may be more to that, but I don't remember it. During that time of my adolescent life I would never have found myself quoting Steinbeck, although in hindsight the only book in our required reading curriculum that I can remember with any degree of fondness was in fact "Of Mice and Men." There was something about required reading versus recreational reading that sealed the door on my already closed mind. Only within the last few years have I discovered a slight affinity for those that are now and long have been considered classics. If my English teachers could only see me now!
It would not be an honest review of the year if I did not mention some of the reading highlights which unfortunately these days falls into the top three where overall 2009 highlights are concerned. I rediscovered Steinbeck this year completely by accident; a case of being in the wrong place at the right time listening to an animated patron regale others with tales of his premeditated reading schedule.
"I read The Grapes of Wrath every Thanksgiving, A Christmas Carol every Christmas, and Huck Finn at Easter."
Having recently completed an old-fashioned western, The Grapes of Wrath struck a chord. What the dust bowl had to do with Cowboys and Indians remained to be seen, short of the fact that both tales take place a long, long time ago. Similar to discovering Jules Verne's The Mysterious Island several years earlier, I came to the immediate conclusion within the first few pages that this might be a tough read. Lucky for me, with maturity comes patience and more of an open mind. The Grapes of Wrath was simply fascinating and came with an ending so explosive I had to return to that last page to see if either I missed something or if pages might actually be missing. Kudos to the High School teacher that forces this book upon today's student body, and accolades to those who finish it. Currently as '09 draws to its welcome end, I am deeply enmeshed in Pearl S. Buck's The Good Earth. It may have been a social studies teacher who bestowed this one upon a class of (I am assuming) mostly unwilling kids. I never got through the first chapter. Hell, that year I think I may have been lucky to move on to the next grade. I was a satisfactory student at best, my mind focused elsewhere. There was always some type of movie playing there and as creative writing took priority, I always contemplated which of those "Morty movies" might just make the written page.
There is a name for this affliction now and drugs to correct it, control it, or stifle it.
Unlike "Mr. Classics at Holiday Time," there is no rhyme or reason to my reading schedule or tastes. Hemingway came to mind one summer's day as I perused the classics wall in our local library. My longing for Key West and love for writing seemed to make Hemingway a perfect fit. I have been known on more than one occasion to voice the thought, "I want to smash toilets like Hemingway." Whether proof of this legend exists or not, I have spent time in some of the bars that this well renowned author has frequented in his past. Choosing To Have and Have Not solely on the fact that part of it revolved around my favorite Florida Key, I prepared myself to experience the island in days before it became the tourist mecca it is today. Refusing to revert back to the days of my closed adolescent mind, I plodded forward, determined to embrace all that was Hemingway.
To Have and Have Not, marked the toughest read for me in recent memory. I have discarded other books long before losing complete patience. There are others who will claim it was brilliant, he a genius. Perhaps one day should I stumble upon one of his paperbacks in our laundromat (a place where I have unwittingly become a fan of many authors), I might try again.
Author Matt Braun has captured the feel of the old west and written it in a form that makes it sound almost current; something that should appeal to reader's of any age, a difficult task when writing of a genre that is wholly unpopular in a large percentage of this country. Not more than a casual fan, I am in awe of his bibliographical achievements which number somewhere in the area of roughly sixty published works. I'm just hoping to see one published.
The idea of actually pursuing a book project came to me shortly after launching this site in 2006. Ecstatic at the positive reception (albeit from friends and family members) of my first posting, the thought began to surface that there might be more than just a poignant childhood recollection of teen romance and that all important first kiss. I have long held close to my heart the events that transpired during a hastily planned Labor Day Weekend getaway in 1976. I could never have dreamed that three decades later, not only would my memory commit to the written page nearly every pertinent detail, but that through the wonder and magic that is the Internet, I would reconnect with some of the very people who made that time so memorable. Nelson's Family Campground has quite literally become an integral of my subconscious, my very being. Citing the well worn cliche and title of an earlier posting here, "Go to Your Happy Place," it meant for me a return to this beloved piece of personal paradise, be it physically or mentally. It has invaded my dreams, leaving me to awaken the following morning with a special smile and a feeling of self-satisfied warmth. My return there during the summer of 2009 marked one of the highest points in my life in several years. Triumphant at finding the place purely from memory, while marvelling at the fact that so many places I considered landmarks as a teenager were still in existence, my homecoming there seemed bittersweet. After all, nothing truly remains the same. The recapturing of memories while standing on the very ground in which they happened failed to ignite inside me that long sought after feeling of euphoria I had imagined it might. Life had moved on and at a terrifying pace. Undeterred, there was still the thrill of pursuing a lifelong dream, followed by feelings of doubt and anxiety. What do I know of publishing a book, let alone writing one? Can I really pull this off? For the moment, I am still in the infant stages of collecting and collating information while trying not to jump too far ahead in thinking about formatting, i.e title, chapters, graphics, ROYALTIES! Alright, royalties seems a bit far fetched at the moment although I have reached the conclusion that any funds accrued from the successful publication of this book will go towards the research of Alzheimer's and related diseases. Sadly in March of this year, the wife of the campground owner passed after a thankfully short lived bout with the illness. Doing my part as only I know how, this project is thus dedicated to her, my way of saying thank-you for the memories, and not just for mine, but for so many others whose lives have been touched, maybe in the very same way.

My contributions to Forest Hills Celebrity and Entertainment continued in much the same way they always have, making deadlines by mere seconds or shamefacedly asking for the dreaded extension. Losing former ELO member Kelly Groucutt both saddened and inspired me to include him in the magazine, sharing with my small piece of the world a love for the music he helped to create, and the incredible hole he left in his wake not only on the home front, but around the world as well. Kelly's death also marked the one true burst of writing for me this year. In composing the article for the magazine, my passion for the Electric Light Orchestra after laying dormant for so long burned brightly once again. Days became weeks before my tale of ELO appeared here for all of the world to embrace. "Symphony in Teen Minor" marks one of the brightest shining moments in this year just past, for me a true sense of accomplishment. Another hurdle conquered came in the saddle. Being a fan of country music and having friends who loved going horseback riding, I had spent most of my life avoiding the activity. A horrific visit to an upstate dude ranch last summer spelled the end of that. Two positive things came from the exorbitant amount of money we spent at a resort that should be condemned. The first was my fear (if that's what it would be classified as) of getting on a horse, the second was watching my son get over his fear of swimming and tackling the water slide over and over again. The look of pure joy on his face as he sailed out of that tube like a bullet shot from a gun will live in my mind forever. One other accomplishment was his ability to graduate from training wheels to a two wheeler...and in literally a matter of minutes! Proud could easily be the best way to describe my feelings as he took off confidently on his own, yet on the other hand it was not unexpected. I had him pedaling bikes almost from the day he could walk, our Saturdays in those early years spent on the streets for hours as he never seemed to tire while we explored the neighborhood and beyond. Justin Thomas, you have added more to my life than you can ever imagine.
At the onset of 2009, I found myself obsessed with all that is Facebook and wasted little time in posting my 25 random facts about Morty. Readers here (be they few and far between) were treated to an additional (5) random facts. Call it a Blogspot exclusive! While I make light of that fact, Facebook probably provided the penultimate highlight in a year that I would otherwise consider a bust. Reunions with people I had all but forgotten made 2009 thoroughly bearable. While the summer weather in this part of the country was wholly uncooperative, the opportunity to reunite with an old friend from High School marked another milestone in my life. For would be adventurers who care to delve back into the archives here, you will find in my retelling of a 1987 road trip to Virginia Beach ("Awry, pronounced Orrie") my first sighting of an odd mode of water transportation called a Banana Boat. Twenty-Two years elapsed before I climbed aboard one in the semi-frigid waters of Long Island's Great South Bay. Keep in mind this was in early June and the Spring weather had yet to cooperate as well. As my Facebook friend list continued to grow, so did the long sought after re-connections with lost loves from my past, most of whom never reciprocated those feelings (you know who you are), and my first girlfriend ever who did!! The sense of accomplishment in not only findng them, but their appreciation of my efforts in seeking them out has left me with a stronger sense of self worth than I have felt for years. That reaffirmation and support really hit home during the lowest point of 2009 at the wake for my mom, who after three months in the hospital lost her battle with something we still don't have an answer for. There is far more that I could mention here in regards to our healthcare (or lack thereof) system, but to what end? 2009 also spelled to the end of my 18 plus years with a company I had given far more than the proverbial 110%. The transition to my new position was seamless, with little fanfare or emotion. We do what we have to in order to survive. Laughably, day one of my arrival in my new home I had been invited to take any space I wanted and opted for the comfy corner office with a killer view of the non descript street below. I feel like I know the corporate folks across the street almost intimately. I wonder if they know that.
In closing, what will 2010 bring? I make no promises and harbor no grand plans for this space. To quote ol' Bocephus (the rest of the world will know him as Hank Williams Jr.): "If it Will, it Will. If it Won't, it Won't."

I've Always Considered Myself Clueless Musically: Symphony in Teen Minor

Overture
June 1994
“Who are you here to see tonight?”
“ELO, believe it or not,” he said in almost a whisper.
“Me too,” I answered, shrugging off his apparent embarrassment. “I’ve been a fan since Junior High, never had the opportunity to see them in their heyday. This will have to do.”
It had been a chance meeting that early summer evening, a happy coincidence, running into an old friend from my college radio days. The venue, a roughly 2500-seat theater in the round was playing host to both Kansas and the Electric Light Orchestra Part II that evening, a classic summer season double bill. I had known of the existence of this new incarnation of one of my all-time favorite bands for nearly four years, but had paid it little heed, all but ignoring the 1990 release of their self-titled debut. Ironically, only a few weeks prior to their Long Island appearance, while perusing the bargain bin in an overpriced F.Y.E. store, I came across the CD again.

Hello, hello,
it's great to see you once again

We were such friends,

Long time ago
Hello
From the album Electric Light Orchestra Part Two (1990)

In the relative quiet of my home, I popped the CD in, cranked up the volume, hit play, chuckled, and within the first fifteen seconds of track one’s “Hello,” knew why this was in the bargain bin. It seemed so predictably cliché, a simple little ditty to welcome back the legions long departed. Short on patience, I was thankful for the even shorter duration of the track. I am usually not so quick to judge, but as I recognized only a handful of the members in this 1990’s version of a 1970’s icon, admittedly I had not been expecting anything out of this world (loose pun intended).
The thundering crash of orchestral strings in the opening seconds of track two’s “Honest Men” abruptly hurled me two decades back in time without warning. Closing my eyes, opening my mind, and catching the breath I had not realized I had been holding, I loudly proclaimed to my empty room, “Holy S---(expletive deleted). They’re back!”
Now, sitting alongside my girlfriend, the anticipation growing while my mind rapidly ran through the seemingly endless string of hits made popular by the once mighty Electric Light Orchestra, I wondered excitedly, what could they possibly open with?
The lights, suddenly extinguished brought an expectant roar of approval from the nearly sold-out crowd. Softly, a synthesizer sets the mood, laser lights intermittently beam outwards from the center of the circular stage, the imagery of the peak spaceship years brings a fond remembrance of my youthful exuberance. I am literally perched on the edge of my seat as the music builds to its momentous climax, and with a booming crescendo, the stage now awash in moving light and color, the musicians launch into Turn To Stone, the first single from 1977’s Out of the Blue; the record that launched ELO into the strata of super-stardom.

First Movement
I was twelve years old the first time I heard the Electric Light Orchestra, or more appropriately, the first time I became acutely aware of their existence, although somewhere in the subliminal recesses of my untrained musical mind did reside Evil Woman. In the bedroom of my Junior High School sweetheart, (relax, things were different then), the two of us pored through the impressive amount of 45 rpm’s she had amassed at such a young age. I willingly forgave her minor indiscretions amongst which included a single record by Happy Days heartthrob Anson Williams. Ironically, as television’s Happy Days was still immensely popular at that time, my musical naiveté had become somewhat attuned to the sounds of the Potsy Webber/Fonzi era. Fate stepped in when I found myself drawn to the semi futuristic look of the ELO logo adorning the front of the Telephone Line single. By the end of the first chorus of the 50’s sounding Do-wop, doobie do-do-wop’s, a musical obsession had begun to emerge.
While I (not) jokingly refer to myself as musically clueless, I did have an affinity for music curiousness in the guise of flipsides.· I had no idea what to make of the odd Poor Boy (The Greenwood), a tune that brought to my limited consciousness, a hint of Camelot ala Monty Python’s Holy Grail; one of my all-time favorite movies. Fate, destiny or providence, with the stars aligned and the heavens in harmony, this polar opposite non-radio friendly B-side called to me. Rather than make the expected move forward in my evolutionary ELO journey, I decided to take a step backward, choosing not to purchase the recently released A New World Record from which Telephone Line had achieved record single status, but deciding on Olé ELO; a greatest hits collection highlighting the band’s musical accomplishments thus far. Immediate standouts included Evil Woman and Can’t Get It Out of My Head, both of which I had unknowingly been familiar with, the straight away rocker Ma-Ma-ma Belle, and the incredible cover of Chuck Berry’s Roll Over Beethoven. The ethereally beautiful Strange Magic appealed to my sensitive side, still being cultivated at that innocent stage in my life, while 10538 Overture completely intrigued me. The wide range of musical styles presented on this LP made it a perfect choice for the ELO beginner. Every record has its clunker’s however, and to my top-40 sensibilities, the ploddingly long Kuiama was wholly unlistenable. Showdown; probably the band’s most popular hit from those early days did not move me then, and leaves me equally unenthused today.
I do not remember in what order it was that I had accumulated the remainder of the ELO catalog, nor is it most likely important to this tale. A few key points however, do resonate within the dusty catacombs of my neural pathways, beginning with Roll Over Beethoven, an early favorite that inadvertently played a key part in the future path that my life would follow. While creative writing had always been my number one passion, I had always harbored within me the desire to become a radio disc jockey. Accidentally stumbling upon a local college station· where the on-air talent not only answered the phone, but would actually play listener requests as well, I called one afternoon hoping to hear my favorite Chuck Berry remake played over the airwaves. Flabbergasted, I found myself in a state of near euphoria listening to a version of the tune that extended well past the 4:32 running time I had known almost literally by note. A return call to the accommodating D.J. netted the information that the song came from the 1973 LP; the band’s second release suitably titled Electric Light Orchestra Two. Never having enough money from my paltry and undeserved allowance to afford purchasing the record, I am relatively convinced I made many a DJ’s life miserable insisting on hearing only the long version as per my (multiple) requests.
The first time I had heard A New World Record in its entirety will always be remembered as a major event in my life; a turning point of sorts. While I did not have some type of spiritual out of body occurrence, I did experience something I have come to consider as a life changing moment of clarity. Standing in the basement of a close friend, sipping sodas at an impromptu get together, I had been chatting up a new acquaintance of the female persuasion when, with an unexpected crash of imaginary thunder, I suddenly pictured myself as an adult at a real life cocktail party. Repeatedly as I mentally relive this scene, I can almost hear the orchestral buildup at the beginning of Tightrope; the first cut on side one, emotionally driving this climactic transformation from adolescence to adulthood. Sadly, while I enjoy remembering it this way, the drama did not exist in that capacity. This finished basement in the home of a classmate did however provide the setting for my New World Record experience. Apparently, her weekly allowance put her in a high enough tax bracket to afford the purchase of the band’s sixth release. The aforementioned lead cut on side one immediately fueled the fire of my rising ELO passion. Three decades later, the dramatic conclusion of Shangri-la, the final cut on the record still gives me goose bumps. It is truly one of the Electric Light Orchestra’s defining moments.
My procurement of Out of the Blue; the next release, became an important event in that I purchased another album that afternoon which was also a monumental step in my musical evolution; The Beach Boys, Sunflower·. I had well become familiar with Turn to Stone, having previously purchased the 45 rpm, a record whose flipside introduced me to yet another piece of musical magic dating back to the earlier years. Mister Kingdom marked the third tune I had now become privy to from 1974’s Eldorado, also featuring both, Can’t Get It out of My Head, and Poor Boy (the Greenwood), and only added to my desire for more ELO music. The New York radio market in 1977 seemed a bit gutsier then, more open to moving beyond the authorized single releases from a current LP. Night in the City became one New York City station’s song of choice, cementing in me the need to save up my literal pennies and hurry out to the local music retailer of my choice. Like most fans, Out of the Blue remains in the coveted number one position as my favorite ELO record. A double album with a gatefold sleeve, the artwork is breathtaking, and the music within nearly flawless, once you get past the ridiculous Jungle; a song which in this humble writer’s opinion would best have been left in the can, or possibly seen limited release as an unreleased B-side. Bonus points go to the Jet record label for the inclusion of a poster featuring charcoal renderings of the band members and a great build-it-yourself cardboard spaceship. I proudly displayed both of those items within the sanctity of my bedroom for years. One footnote of mention here; my younger brother, a Kiss fan and the proverbial thorn in my ELO side would unmercifully chastise me regarding the poster, referring to my rock idol’s as a bunch of stone faces based on the artists depiction of each member. The arguments that would ensue over our differing musical opinions were loud and legendary, often shaking the very foundation upon which stood our otherwise peaceful middle class home. Further capitalizing on the success of Out of the Blue, a live concert recorded at England’s famous Wembley arena, debuted some months later on HBO. My parents, long denying the need for cable TV resulted in my brother and I viewing this sixty minute spectacle in the living room of a nearby friend, where completely mesmerized by the visuals, I had my doubts as to how live this recording might be. It sounded too good, too close to the original records, and while lip-synching had yet to reach the degree of public acceptance (or denial) it has now, I did harbor some suspicion.
. “Ha, your band went disco,” the same friend who had opened his living room to me a year earlier, said tauntingly.
Not a fan of the genre he spoke of, but biased to the nth degree, I loved Shine a Little Love, yet privately worried that he might be right. After all, if the Stones could do it with Miss You, Rod Stewart with Do Ya Think I’m Sexy, and even the Grateful Dead with Breakdown Street, why not the Electric Light Orchestra? Dare I mention the Beach Boys one-time sojourn into that dreaded territory with a remake of one of their lesser-known tunes from 1967?· While Discovery could not possibly live up to its predecessor, it did not disappoint. The mega success of Don’t Bring Me Down quickly dispelled the disco theory, although Last Train to London, while not a chart topper, clearly appealed to the Saturday Night Fever crowd. With Lush orchestration, backed by an equally moving choral performance, The Diary of Horace Wimp is the standout track on the eighth Electric Light Orchestra release. The musical saga of a nerd, who on a lifelong search for love, subsequently meets, then marries his significant other in the span of only a week did not chart here, but did receive a small degree of radio airplay. While trespassing in a neighbor’s backyard bushes during an overzealous game of adolescent Hide and Seek, I distinctly recall hearing this incredible tune resonating from the speakers of a portable radio in the yard next door, where my escape route if need be, would take me straight through the tomato plants.
Ah, youth!
I am considerably fortunate, possessing what I have come to believe as a unique gift in retaining some of the most inane recollections of my adolescence, leaving me with the realization that it is hard to comprehend how important the music you hold close to your heart really is, that the musicians you have personally chosen as your favorites are in essence writing the very soundtrack of your life.
September 1978 marked the next milestone in my adolescent evolution, High School. Bringing along my undeniable fervor for the music of the Electric light Orchestra, I re-discovered (semi-ELO pun intended) another lifelong passion. Introduction to Creative Writing marked my immersion into a world I had inexplicably abandoned several years earlier. Although the urge to create had never dissipated, the motivation to produce had. Handed the task to write a modern day fairy tale, my heart leapt. Eldorado had long played in my mind as a movie that needed to make the transition to the written page. Always in creative mode, I had nearly failed 8th grade math two years earlier due to my wandering thoughts. It was during that time when I had first conceived the idea of this artistic masterpiece as a written fable. The developing intellect of a fourteen year old led to a far different concept than that of composer Jeff Lynne.

Opus Interruptus
Eldorado: A Concerto in Musical Cluelessness
Puberty having been reached, I envisioned the tale of a forlorn teen, not unlike myself pining for a popular, out of his league female classmate. From his lonely perch, he gazes upon her from the bedroom window while she laughs with her friends, knowing if his secret ever got out, they would be laughing at him. Barry Manilow’s Even Now reaches its climax as he pours his heart out to the silver screen, the girls below seemingly oblivious.
I will take a moment here to allow you, the unsuspecting reader to catch your breath and compose yourself.
Yes, I pictured this as a musical.
You can blame my parents and Top 40 radio for the inclusion of Barry Manilow on the soundtrack.

May I remind you that I was only fourteen?
My head bowed in shame, I shall continue to plunder forward.
Anticipate another break allowing the inevitable laughter to subside.
Following the lead of the Eldorado Overture, the two, silently whisked from their beds in a dreamlike state, awaken on a lush green hill, remarkably fully clothed (I have yet to work out some of the kinks), with only the memory of a voice summoning them to a land called Eldorado.
(Cue Music)
Can’t Get It Out of My Head
With awkward introductions out of the way, they set out on their journey. Reaching the top of a near insurmountable peak, they face yet another rolling green knoll in front of them. Dismayed at the thought of infinite hills beyond, Lisa begins to lose hope, growing increasingly fearful that the two of them are desperately lost and alone. Ever the voice of reason, Bob, takes her by the hand and vows that together, they will ascend each rise, with the assurance that something wonderful lay ahead. With renewed hope and boundless energy they continue, until at the crest of one last mound, they see off in the distance a small farm tended by a lone individual.
(Cue Music)
Boy Blue
Descending upon the isolated dwelling at full gait, they come upon an unlikely character, fondly recognized from childhood days of innocence. Little Boy Blue welcomes them to his small abode, where following another round of awkward introductions, he explains to them that no soul has ever seen Eldorado, yet all believe of its existence to the north, in the land where the sun rises (an ingenious fairy tale twist, right?). After a fine night’s rest upon a bale of hay, having never questioned the hellacious sleeping arrangements, they set forth the next morning, with a hearty farewell from their host and a word of warning. Beware the scourge, who will stop at nothing in her mad quest to destroy all that is good. At dusk, following another day of exhaustive climbing, they eye a small wisp of smoke rising in the distance.
Could it be Eldorado?
No, not yet.
We are still on side one.
(Cue Music)
Poorboy (The Greenwood)
They arrive at a small Hamlet; The Greenwood, and with the second cheerful welcome in as many days, they meet a smiling young lad, shoddily dressed and in need of an extreme makeover.
“I am Poorboy,” he states proudly.
We can take another break here to bring the fits of convulsive laughter back under control, although I foresee plenty of mirth still to come.
Bob and Lisa are mystified that this small band of people, living in squalor are immeasurably happy to the point of near giddiness.
“We are friends, we are family, we are together,” PB explains.
“What of this scourge that infiltrates these lands?” Bob asks, displaying his impressive command of fairy tale diction.
A cautious hush falls over the happy campers.
“Belle. Her name is Belle and she is pure evil. I fear your arrival here may bring her wrath down upon us. An odd whispering comes on the breeze. Look upon the horizon,” Poor Boy urges.
“Clouds, where there should never be. She sees all. She knows that you are here.”
Mealtime passes without incident. As Twilight gives way to darkness, a distant thunder begins to roll. Emaciated dogs whine, children cling to their mothers. The rustling breeze becomes a howling wind, accompanied now by cruel, echoing laughter. Rain pelts down, further adding to the blinding darkness. Lisa, succumbing to an unseen force can no longer hold her ground and while the locals run for shelter, finds herself forcefully separated from her unlikely companion. Bob fights the wind with rapidly waning strength, before falling to the ground, unable to withstand the wrath any longer.
(Cue Music)
Ma-Mama-Belle
“Who dares trespass upon these lands?” The angry voice demands.
Bob, shielding his eyes from the churning maelstrom glimpses the form of a malevolent woman, bathed in a chartreuse (or some such fairy tale color) glow.
“I have felt your powers from afar, known that this moment would one day come,” she menacingly addresses Lisa. “Alas, as you cower in fear, I grow stronger. None shall defy me.”
Her arms raised high; Belle summons the lightning, and then redirects it at her foe. Bob watches in horror as Lisa disappears in a blinding, yet silent explosion of light. Confusingly, he feels an overwhelming sense of peace and calm. The wind and rains have subsided. He opens his eyes and sees Lisa through a wispy white fog.
(Cue Music)
Laredo Tornado
“Be gone from here, Belle. Your evil is powerless here.”
The lilting voice seems to come from the heavens.
Belle screams in frustration, swears revenge and dramatically makes her exit. The fog dissipates and takes the form of an ethereal being in a flowing white gown. She calls forth the townspeople from their shanties, assures them that all is now safe and begins to fade from existence.
“Wait. Who are you?” Bob asks.
In that brief moment, Lisa perceives that the woman appears notably winded, before she is no more.
“That was Laredo,” PB informs them. “She watches over all of us, but is rarely seen. The two of you must be of some importance for her to make herself known.”
Another night’s sleep with many questions and little answers later, our heroes set forth again, this time with renewed confidence that they cannot fail. A short walk through a non-threatening forest provides a much-needed change of scenery. As they approach the edge, a golden light beckons. Emerging from the trees, they behold a shining kingdom that reflects the sunlight in every direction.
Eldorado, they think cheerfully as they enter unhindered, yet no one seems to be about. Their footsteps echo along the empty hallways, until before a great flight of steps, they hear the stirrings of someone above.
(Cue music)
Mister Kingdom
Mister Kingdom is a lonely man who blames himself for the plight his land suffers, the result of an unauthorized visit to the world of man, he explains. His search for love, and the immeasurable powers he had bestowed upon Belle, whom he had brought back with him made her hungry for more. Banished home again, the land from which Belle had arrived refused to accept her. Unknowingly bounced back to the dominion of the king, she disappeared to practice dark magic. A feeling of unease descended upon the kingdom and surrounding country. Left alone to wither in misery, Mister Kingdom conjured up what little power he could muster, giving birth to Laredo, a wraith whom would soon see her already diminished life force perish. He goes on to explain that Bob and Lisa, representing all that is innocent and good would in essence breathe new life into this place, yet belle had become too powerful and would stop at nothing in her quest to rule. A doddering, weeping fool, he falls to the ground in anguish, and suddenly the great castle is no more. Bob and Lisa are left standing alone in a field of (you guessed it) green, armed with knowledge, but not answers. As night approaches following another several hours of walking, the distinct glow of a city appears on the horizon. Warily entering, they know in their hearts that this cannot be Eldorado. Their queries as they pass people along the streets are ignored. What had appeared as paradise upon their unexpected arrival two full days ago now seemed anything but.
(Cue music)
Nobody’s Child
While Lisa disappears inside a hotel with the hope of procuring lodging and a good night’s sleep on an actual bed, Bob is being lasciviously summoned by a woman whose appearance has far surpassed anything his pubescent adolescence could imagine. Out of earshot, she promises him untold joy and passion. He shifts uncomfortably as he stares into the eyes of this incredible creature, thinking in the back of his mind, she’s not at all like the sleazy prostitutes you see on TV. Lisa watches from hotel door, dismayed at the sight of him and the woman disappearing through the door of an abandoned theater. A tear threatens, but she holds back the sorrowful emotion as she marches across the street, angry that he has so easily lost sight of their mission. Inside, the darkened auditorium she can barely make out the silhouette of Bob forlornly walking across the stage. Dramatically, he faces the empty seats. A lone spotlight illuminates him in a soft amber glow.
(Cue Music)
End of the Show (Dennis Wilson)
He pours his heart out to the empty room, singing a mournful Dennis Wilson (Beach Boys) solo tune. He is, essentially throwing in the towel. On the final note of the climactic ballad, Lisa ascends the stage, overcome with emotion and hugs him, weeping openly in a display of role reversal harkening back to their first meeting on the hill when he took charge. With the hooker, nowhere in sight and all but forgotten, she leans in to reward him with the long awaited kiss he has dreamed of, a kiss that is interrupted by the sudden activation of strobe lights all around them.
(Cue Music)
Illusions in G Major
A sudden explosion of light and sound brings forth a trio of bizarre characters dressed in futuristic sequins, with outrageously exaggerated fluorescent afro’s and sunglasses ala Elton John’s Captain Fantastic. The Illusions, sing and play feverishly while hokey special effects reminiscent of the Live at Wembley video envelope the group. A dramatic flash of light signals the end of this odd transference. Standing atop an impossibly high mountain, our heroes look around in bewilderment as they are showered with praise and confetti. Among the sea of faces, they recognize Little Boy Blue, Poor Boy and Mister Kingdom. The hooker mischievously winks at Bob, who realizes in the second before she disappears is actually none other than the evil Belle. Unable to overcome their power, fueled purely by innocence, her cheap Adam and Eve temptation ploy had failed.
(Cue Music)
Eldorado Finale
Overcome with happiness and emotion, Lisa sings now. Eldorado will now become the place she will lay down roots. Bob cannot understand this. She has friends and family at home. Was it something he said? I must stay as well, he argues. She silences him with a kiss. He falters, dizzy with the feel of her lips, yet glimpses for just a moment the black clouds above the distant mountains furiously lit from within.
He awakens in his bed the following morning, unknowing of all that has happened, the days spent in Eldorado, no longer than a few short hours in the real world. Lisa is not in school that day, something he barely realizes until the whispers of rumor reach his ears. Kidnapped, runaway, no one knows for sure.
As the last vestige of the Eldorado finale draws to its conclusion, we see from high above, a rolling green hill, Lisa walking beside an almost transparent Laredo.
The End

Wipe away the tears I envisioned, not of sadness, but of quite the opposite, and let me be frank.
Did I mention that I was fourteen at the time?
Quite simply, I drew from an album I loved, taking the songs at literal face value only on the titles. I challenge anyone to attempt a similar project with a different album, and see what happens. I know it is ridiculous to picture Bob on that first hill, singing Can’t Get It out of My Head, his plight having absolutely nothing to with the lyrics of the song. Looking back at the original 1978 creative writing project, I embellished this latter day adaptation quite a bit. The actual written version, similar to a movie screenplay based on an epic novel was simply horrendous, though I clearly recall the exhilaration I had felt on the day I read it aloud in class. Evidently unimpressed, yet diplomatic in his expression, the instructor asked aloud, “What makes this a modern day fairy tale?”
“Uh hello-o-o, there’s a hooker in it,” I should have replied.
Self consciously, I chose a safer response.
“Well it was based on a record album,” I answered unconvincingly.
Apparently, that meant something. Smiling, he returned it to his desk.
“Excellent,” he replied.
There really is no way to put into words how much the music of Jeff Lynne has affected my life. If nothing else, I hope that this haphazardly concocted vision of his 1974 masterpiece elicits something more than just the adoration and admiration I hold for his work. Should you find yourself wondering whether there might have been a sequel in store, the answer is undoubtedly yes. Bob would return, albeit with another romantic love interest. Lisa, having been taken by the evil Belle is held prisoner in the distant mountains. Bob and (whatever her name is) must conquer and then tame a devil horse known only by the name Caballo Diablo, based on a Charlie Daniels song ironically released in 1974 as well. I had also planned on penning a tale based on the Eagles Desperado album. Somewhere amongst my dusty artifacts resides the beginning pages. Unfortunately, it never progressed beyond that point. The main character, a Luke Skywalker type yearns to find action somewhere far from the uneventful domicile he calls home.
His opening song professing this desire?
Wild West Hero
Out of the Blue (1977)
What can I say?
There is simply something about a Jeff Lynne composition that just inspires.
Let’s move on.
My interest in ELO began to wane with the release of 1980’s Xanadu. Now a High School senior complete with driver’s license and confidently dating, both I’m Alive and All Over the World did not instill in me the same thrill I had felt in years past with each new release. I did splurge for the soundtrack however, and leaned heavily towards Don’t Walk Away, feeling that somewhere within that tune remained just a hint of true ELO magic. Whether due to lack of finances or lack of interest, I mistakenly turned down an opportunity to see the band live in support of 1981’s Time. Attending college locally, I maintained relations with my high school chums, most of whom never truly appreciated ELO with the same fervor as I, yet had made it a priority to see the show, reporting afterwards that even sans spaceship, it had been a spectacle. Both MTV, literally in its infancy, and radio stations played Hold on Tight in heavy rotation. Having yet to purchase the LP, I owned only the 7” single. While I loved that record, it was the flipside, the unreleased When Time Stood Still, which appealed to me more. Twilight, the second single, and one of my all-time favorite ELO cuts also featured an unreleased B-side, the catchy and extremely radio friendly Julie Don’t Live Here. Those four songs represented my entire Time experience. At some point, I had finally gotten a hold of the entire LP, but wholly ignored it. Similar to the contractual obligation that I firmly believe made up the final Electric Light Orchestra release, I later purchased the last two records, Secret Messages (1983) and Balance of Power (1986) only from a sense of commitment. Both Jeff Lynne’s Armchair Theatre and Afterglow, the long awaited ELO box set released in 1990, featuring additional non-album B-sides and a small number of unreleased tracks were simply non-events for me. My fascination with Jeff Lynne and the Electric Light Orchestra had come to an end.

Intermezzo
June 1994

“Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven, Roll Over Beethoven.”
Literally out of breath, having been musically whisked back through my adolescence in just under seventy-five minutes, I silently repeated the mantra, sending my message via psychic vibrations to the musicians, who at that minute, just out of sight behind the curtain, patiently waited for the precise moment to dramatically re-emerge on stage.
The Electric Light Orchestra Part Two did not disappoint. The thundering crash of drums and cymbals on the final note of Beethoven’s fifth had the audience on their feet, cheering loudly, and then subsequently making their way toward the exit. When Kansas hit the stage thirty minutes later, the crowd had diminished considerably.
My elation with the reborn Electric Light Orchestra extended to the following morning. Sparing neither time nor expense, I immediately purchased ELO Part Two live with the Moscow Symphony Orchestra in both CD and VHS formats. Concentrating primarily on the music and visuals, I exercised my musical cluelessness, paying little attention to the identities of the actual performers. A co-worker, wholly uninterested in my newfound adulation, argued that this manifestation symbolized nothing more than a glorified cover band, and bordered on blasphemy. Granted the very voice of the original Electric Light Orchestra was conspicuously absent, but then Jeff Lynne had always kept a lower profile than most popular musicians had. Bands recording and performing without key and founding members had also become the norm, Foreigner, Fleetwood Mac, Journey, Styx, just to name a few. There is no question that Jeff Lynne represented the sole embodiment of all things ELO, far eclipsing the role of just singer songwriter. I never paid much attention to the ELO back-story, knew little of lawsuits filed either by former members suddenly excised, nor those filed for copyright infringement over ownership of the name.
Lightning struck on an early summer’s eve in 1994.
The Journey had begun anew.

Here it comes again
It’s all around me
It must be magic...
Summer and Lightning
From the album Out of the Blue (1977)

Second Movement

Nearly fourteen months had elapsed before I had the opportunity to hear ELO music performed live again. During that time, my hunger became insatiable. Albums released decades earlier seemed fresh again, the pops, clicks, and scratches of my youthful vinyl years, now phantoms as I embraced every nuance digitally. Songs I had little tolerance for, or simply overlooked in my formative years became new favorites, while those I once preferred now went ignored. The first time I listened to 1979’s Discovery via my CD Walkman, I Discovered (absolute ELO pun intended) Wishing; the fourth cut on the album side formerly known as two. In Junior High School, this track seemed bland and forgettable.
Now, artwork!
My lifelong love for country music rendered Face the Music’s Down Home Town a one-time favorite.
Now, annoying!
It had taken over a decade to familiarize myself with both Time and Secret Messages. The giddy elation I felt in hearing these for the first time reminded me of my earliest ELO experiences. Balance of Power, the group’s 1986 curtain call featured a scaled down version of the band with only three original members remaining, and an oddly simplistic logo. The single, Calling America received light airplay here via radio and MTV, but failed to chart. Heaven Only Knows, the album’s lead off cut became an instant favorite the first time I had listened to it. The structure of the backing vocals, mixing high falsettos with lower bass was similar to the Beach Boys sound of that era. Plenty might argue that assessment, but two years later Jeff would work with Brian Wilson, contributing bass, guitar and keyboards on Let it Shine; a tune he co-wrote with the former Beach Boy. Similar to the records that had preceded it, Balance of Power would wait nearly a decade before I listened to it from start to finish. The lighter pop feel of the record, indicative of the year in which it was recorded reeks of contractual obligation. The grandiose production expected from an Electric Light Orchestra record while non-existent, left in its wake a number of radio friendly tunes with single potential. Listening to it now, there is no doubt in my mind that many of these could have been hits. I often wonder what might have happened if the album had been released without the ELO signature attached. My wife, an ELO fan by association only, finds Balance of Power to be the most listenable due largely to its non-ELO sound.
I re-visited Eldorado with the intention of fully understanding Jeff Lynne’s original concept, reaching the conclusion that either I am not intellectual enough, or my mind has thrown up some type of defense mechanism, allowing me only to see it as I originally envisioned. If anyone can tell me, just what Laredo Tornado really means it would seriously be appreciated.
The concept of Time is not entirely lost on me, but for some reason I see it as a futuristic version of my Eldorado, complete with frizzy haired, garishly clothed rockers, whisking our time traveler back to the present as they belt out Hold on Tight, accompanied again by hokey video effects ala the Live at Wembley video.
It is difficult to fathom that the only CD not in my ELO collection is the album that started it all. 1973’s No Answer is a tough listen. Sadly disappointing in my early ELO exploration, it remains primarily unchartered territory today. 10538 Overture and Mr. Radio, the only two cuts I found listenable in my youth are still the only ones I listen to presently, and believe me I have tried on multiple occasions to give this record a fair chance. Had it been my very first ELO purchase, this epic indulgence outlining my musical obsession would not exist.
Coming into possession of a King Biscuit Flower Hour CD, Kuiama, the first ELO tune I thoroughly ignored, unexpectedly became a new favorite. The live version, recorded for the BBC in 1973 featured an impassioned solo by original violinist Wilf Gibson and a dramatic orchestral buildup, musically placing the listener upon the battlefield within the very ranks of an advancing army, grimly marching forward to the thundering climax before bridging to the disturbing confession of the reluctant soldier in the final verses.

Kuia, please believe me, I just couldn't help myself.
I wanted to run, but they gave me a gun

and they told me the duty I owed to my Fatherland.
I made my stand

Kuia, I just shot them

I just blew their heads open,
And I heard them scream in their agony

Kuiama, she waits there for meTrue blue,

you saw it through.
Kuiama
From the album Electric Light Orchestra II (1973)

This exhilarating performance, so full of vivid imagery soars emotionally, before poignantly reaching its conclusion. As the synthesizer fades to its final demise, the audience, silently stunned, breaks into exuberant applause. A true moment captured, this is what live music is all about!
Recordings of the original Electric Light Orchestra in a live setting were often difficult to find. I remember finding a copy of the 1974 release; The Night the Light Went on (in Long Beach) at a local retailer. Pricier than some of the other albums I had acquired due to its import status, I eagerly purchased it. The slightly longer version of Roll Over Beethoven alone made this a must have. Seeing both Day Tripper and Great Balls of Fire listed on the back cover only added to my jubilant expectation. Thirty years later, I can confidently say that I went straight to Roll Over Beethoven before listening to the rest of the album. Too young, and not in possession of a decent stereo, I hardly noticed the muddy quality of the recording, which years later I would find out had been mistakenly compiled from the wrong set of master tapes. With only eight tracks, three of them instrumentals, this record elicited a poor representation of the band. While Mik’s Violin solo coupled with the Orange Blossom Special appealed to the country fan in me, and made sense from a medley standpoint, I could not understand the abrupt transition from the classic composition, In the Hall of the Mountain King, to the rollicking Great Balls of Fire. I loved their interpretation of the Beatles classic Day Tripper with its brief infusion of classical violins and piano minuet. Roll Over Beethoven notwithstanding, the standout track for me on this collection was 10538 Overture featuring the (too) brief Do Ya guitar interlude. Remastered in the mid 1990’s and featuring alternate cover art, the disc now provides an honest look into the band before the pinnacle of success. Shortly following the re-release of this classic, ELO fans embraced both Live at Winterland 1976, and Live at Wembley 1978. Winterland captures again, the raw sound of the band on stage. I had long awaited a live version of Ma-Ma-Ma Belle, an early favorite of mine, and this version, with the extended ending and blistering guitar solo made it worth the price of the disc alone. I wish I could say the same for Wembley. Longing to believe that my earliest suspicions were not true, this CD is a blatant forgery. Word of lawsuits revolving around the band lip-synching during the space ship tour had not escaped my attention; however, I have not thoroughly researched the allegations to dispel the rumors.
With the advent of the Internet, I was finally afforded a glimpse into what I missed by not attending the Time tour in 1981. Twilight, an audience recorded bootleg captures the band live in Koln Germany, albeit sans Bev Bevan who missed a number of shows due to illness. The twenty-minute medley of songs spanning the band’s musical catalogue is outstanding. My biggest disappointment in this show lies in the fact that nearly eight minutes were wasted on Richard Tandy’s keyboard solo and a cover of the Beatle’s Across the Universe.
Admittedly, I am not a Beatles fan!
I had also never heard of the song before acquiring this disc in 1998. Clearly, Jeff Lynne had this tune on the brain while composing Mister Kingdom for the Eldorado album. Never having seen the original Electric Light Orchestra in person, this CD remains my favorite live disc. Unedited, it embodies the total live experience without the mastering or sweetening of a professional recording. Now, thoroughly sated, I eagerly awaited another opportunity to catch the latter day version of the band Jeff Lynne had formed so many years ago.

Third Movement
June 1995
To the casual outsider strolling past me in the opposite direction, my rushed gait exuded nothing more than a typical working class New Yorker possibly running late for a meeting. Inside however, emotions were in turmoil, my mind racked with guilt as I hurriedly made my way across town to a rendezvous with destiny. Left behind to fend for himself, my co-worker inwardly fumed at my seemingly inexplicable departure. Circumstance, coincidence, destiny, the words danced gleefully through my head while I reveled in the stroke of sheer luck at being in the car with the radio on at exactly the right moment just twenty-four hours ago.
“Make sure to drop by tomorrow afternoon, say hello to members of the Electric Light Orchestra Part Two and pick up a copy of their soon to be released CD,” the DJ announced. They were due to perform the next evening at the nearby Meadowlands with the Little River Band. The fact that they were playing on the main stage at the state fair taking place in the parking lot rather than inside the mammoth arena did not surprise me.
Yes, how the mighty hath fallen, I thought to myself. Regrettably, a combination of logistics and a decidedly misplaced dedication to the workplace made attending this show a near impossibility. My disappointment however was unmatched to the excitement I felt at the prospect of not only shaking hands with members of rock royalty whom I deemed instrumental in contributing to the virtual soundtrack of my life, but finally getting my hands on new ELO product after an interminable wait. Turning the corner, I prepared myself for what would certainly amount to an endless wait at the rear of an equally interminable line. The questions came in a torrent as I moved closer towards the hallowed location. Where are the police barricades, the traffic, and the blaring car horns? Unencumbered, I walked inside to an equally, uneventful atmosphere, more questions rapidly coming in succession.
Is it canceled?
Did I get the time wrong?
Did I get the date wrong?
Had the DJ been misinformed?
Befuddled, confusion turned to shock, as I looked upon the unbelievable sight of a band member standing on line to purchase guitar strings.
“Why is he standing on line like a common customer,” I shockingly wondered!
Upon further inspection, I recognized some of the other band mates aimlessly standing about, looking decidedly unhappy.
Warily approaching bassist Kelly Groucutt, I shyly asked, “Is there an autograph signing happening here?”
"No," he laughed loudly, flamboyantly waving his arms in the air, comically calling attention to the library like atmosphere.
“We have nothing to sign," his voice piercingly echoed.
I looked around nervously, expecting an immediate admonishment from one of the nonplussed sales clerks.
Until that very moment, the absence of any band related paraphernalia on display had escaped me. It was a scene right out of Spinal Tap, the hysterical mid-80’s cinematic romp detailing the rise and fall of a fictional rock and roll band.
"Well, what's happening then," I persisted.
"I'll tell you what's happening. We’re going to kick the crap out of our bloody manager, that's what. You may want to stick around a bit."
Not having much to say, I waited awkwardly for guitarist Phil Bates, the newest member of the band to pay for his purchase.
“Why don’t you join us for a couple of pints,” Kelly offered, gesturing towards the pub across the street.
It was single-handedly one of the most surreal moments in my life, standing there like an idiot contemplating the impossible.
Do I stick around and drink with ELO or should I return to work?
Drink with ELO or go back to the office?
I waited patiently for the opposing miniature versions of me to appear on my shoulders, The angelic and the satanic, each with a valid reason for my staying or leaving.
Drink with ELO or go back to the office?
Do it.
Don’t.
Do it.
Don’t.
I wonder what it looked like from the perspective of the thirsty Mr. Groucutt.
I had no camera and therefore no proof of my ill-timed decision. Cursing my sense of priority, values and stellar work ethic, I chose to return to the side of my harried co-worker on the other side of town. I did however learn an important lesson that afternoon and happily offer a bit of wisdom here.
No job is worth it!
Disgusted with myself for not acting upon my good fortune, I was even more disappointed that the show in Jersey that evening marked the only appearance in the tri-state area. Not knowing the reasons behind the botched meet and greet, I grew increasingly worried that the band’s touring days may be seriously limited. From that moment forward, I made a personal vow to myself to attend any upcoming gigs within reason.
I was finally able to obtain a copy of the new CD a few short weeks later, and while it had been well worth the wait, I found myself hard pressed agreeing with other ELO enthusiasts that Moment of Truth had far surpassed the bands first outing. The voice and music of Phil Bates brought a dynamic to the band that harkened back a little closer to the original ELO sound. Breaking Down the Walls, the second cut on the album sets the tone in much the same way Honest Men had from the previous release, preparing the listener to take a trip back in time to the heyday of the Electric Light Orchestra. The song possesses all of the magic ingredients both vocally and instrumentally to stand alongside some of founder Jeff Lynne’s greatest creations. Eric Troyer’s equally satisfying; Power of a Million Lights, another high point on the album, draws on many of the same large production elements. Voices; a song of inspiration that lyrically may come off as a bit cliché, yet delivers a powerfully emotional vocal performance is my clear cut favorite track. Whiskey Girls, the Phil Bates, Bev Bevan penned rocker would most likely find greater acceptance by fans of either the UK’s Status Quo, or Atlanta's Georgia Satellites. A fan of both bands, I easily connected with the tune, though will agree wholeheartedly it is totally out of place on any unit bearing the Electric Light Orchestra moniker. Perfecting my burgeoning skills as a video editor, I chose the tune as the musical base for a self-indulgent tribute to myself seen only by a few friends, family members, and quite possibly ELO Part II members.
Several months later on a Labor Day excursion to the Jersey shore, fate had chosen to make another appearance in my life, this time in the guise of a local music paper. Sitting poolside, lazily turning the pages, my eyes widened at the sight of a casino ad touting an upcoming performance by the Electric Light Orchestra Part Two! Six Weeks later, not quite kicking and screaming, the girl who would eventually become my wife acquiesced, having grown used to some of my idiosyncrasies like traveling inordinate distances to see a show. Unfamiliar with the practice of bribing theater staff with a well-placed twenty-dollar bill for good seats, we sat well above the stage on the second level for the early show. My pulse raced as I expectantly wondered what they might open with this time. With a sudden dimming of the lights, and sans any fanfare, a generic voice announced simply, “Ladies and Gentleman, The Electric Light Orchestra Part Two!” The curtain still rising, Phil Bates had already begun singing the first line of the mega-hit, Evil Woman. Even without the spectacle of the laser lights and synthesized overture I had remembered from the first performance so many months before, I enjoyed the show, though felt a small bit of disappointment by the lack of newer original material. Kelly’s passionate vocal performance on The Fox, a tune describing in detail the story of a foxhunt as seen through the eyes of the title character, while not one of my favorite Part Two compositions, received vigorous applause from the audience. During the later show, now a little the wiser, I waited from a front table for the conclusion of Whiskey Girls, before approaching the stage and throwing several copies of my video (now on glorious VHS) to Kelly, who with a look of confusion mouthed the words “what is that?” as they were taken backstage by one of the road crew. Clearly labeled Whiskey Girls, and with my business card attached to each copy, I patiently waited days, weeks for a call from someone within the ELO Part Two organization, sadly to no avail.
Yet another year would pass before the next show, this time in New York City’s esteemed Carnegie Hall. My front row seat, stage right, came not through a twenty-dollar bribe, but from filling out a mailing list request at the previous Atlantic City show, something I do all the time because of my love for junk mail. I do not recall seeing or hearing anything even remotely close to promotion with the exception of an unfavorable blurb in the New York Daily News Summer Preview pull-out section. A comprehensive listing of all things warm weather related in the big apple, the trite mention, more insult than promo read simply,
E.L.O. Part II with The New York Philharmonic at Carnegie Hall. Yeah, right!
Obviously coming from the same mindset of my esteemed co-worker who still considered any form of ELO without Jeff Lynne, blasphemy, or from a non-fan in general, it did not make a difference. The sold-out show was simply magical, and left me with the question, why hadn’t Jeff Lynne considered this during the arena years? It is simply the only way to experience ELO music in a live setting. The numerous shows I had attended following that New York City night could never measure up. I don’t know much about the time spent overseas, but the brief stints the band did here in the states revolved around casinos and summer rib fests, often leading to ridicule regarding their management decisions. Content just knowing that the band continued to tour on a semi-regular basis led to a degree of complacency on my part making trips to Jersey’s casino capitol less of a priority. Passing on attending one such show resulted in shock and bewilderment upon my return to work following the weekend to learn that Bev Bevan had announced his resignation. I could not imagine how the band could carry on without the last true link to the original Electric Light Orchestra, and became convinced that I had seen the last of them. I had been saddened to learn of Phil Bates departure months earlier, though replacing him with California guitarist Parthenon Huxley had worked well. One of the biggest disappointments in losing Phil had been the expected lack of even further tunes played live from their own catalog. By the time Bevan had left, the band had dropped all of their originals from the set list with the exception of “Over London Skies,” a tune he co-wrote with Huxley. With Gordon Townsend in the drummer’s seat, the band continued to tour, now under the name ELO2, due to increasing legal pressure from Jeff Lynne, who ultimately re-acquired full ownership of the Electric Light Orchestra name, forcing the remnants of the current touring outfit to either change theirs or cease and desist!
Luckily, with only a scant few shows left to play on the current tour, there would be more than enough time to find a new identity.
Unluckily, those shows were played with no identity, the band, now; a literal rock and roll John Doe.
Walking into a small Long Island Playhouse, the marquee and lobby stripped of all references to the band now formerly known as ELO2, I sadly wondered, “hath the mighty fall any further?”
With a sense of both professionalism and bravado however, the band played on, paying reverence to that timeless creed, the show must go on. Following the final encore for which they received vigorous applause from the tiny, yet packed house, I waited outside the backstage door with a scant few others where I briefly regaled Kelly with the tale of our previous meeting under bizarrely similar circumstances.
"Not one of our brightest moments,” he laughingly agreed.
"It must be odd fulfilling these gigs without a name.”
"Did you have a good time tonight," he asked, still smiling.
"Absolutely."
"Ah, what's in a name anyway," he joked.
Apparently not much!
Having survived years of either mismanagement, or no management, they lazily decided on calling themselves The Orchestra! The ridiculously generic name makes it nearly impossible to find them on the web via any reputable search engine. They did however manage to put out a CD, No Rewind, which most will agree is the most satisfying of the Part II related releases. The biggest disappointment lies in the lack of material submitted by Kelly Groucutt. His closing contribution, Before We Go, had been kicking around for several years, appearing on an acoustic Phil Bates release. A Little Light on an Electric Night featured guest appearances by ELO alum, Kelly, Bev, and Mik Kaminski who joined Phil on unplugged versions of Showdown, Whiskey Girls, One More Tomorrow, and Evil Woman. Kelly’s solo performance of No One Was Saved, an early version of the aforementioned Before We Go, showcases his boundless vocal and songwriting talents. Who knows what may have resulted decades earlier, had Jeff Lynne allowed Mr. Groucutt more input into the original Electric Light Orchestra recordings? The finished version of the song on the Orchestra’s No Rewind makes a fitting closing for what will most likely result in the band’s swan song. Should that be the case, at least they bow out on a high note. Parthenon Huxley’s Jewel and Johnny kicks off the disc in glorious ELO fashion. I remember hearing it performed a year earlier in NYC’s BB King’s, a smaller six-hundred-seat venue not nearly filled to capacity. The promise of new material on the way was encouraging, and the debut of the song, reminiscent of the classics Mr. Blue Sky and The Diary of Horace Wimp showed that Huxley had admirably filled the shoes of former guitarist/vocalist Phil Bates. Eric Troyer’s If Only, an emotionally powerful ballad far surpasses any of his previous contributions to the Part II catalog. Still not a Beatles fan, I am willing to overlook the quasi Eleanor Rigby cello break in the song’s bridge. Beatles jokes aside; this is simply one of the most beautiful tunes I have ever heard. The disc overall, does maintain a decidedly Beatles feel, even without the inclusion of the 60’s classic Twist and Shout. Having heard enough of the tune during its 80’s resurgence in movies like Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, and Rodney Dangerfield’s Back To School, this version is wholly original. Beginning with only an acoustic guitar, Eric’s vocal somberly delivers the first verse before the strings are introduced, dramatically rising towards the unmistakable chorus. The song comes full circle with Eric’s falsetto accompanied only by the distinctive violin of Mik Kaminski, mournfully taking it to its conclusion. Had radio programmer’s gotten a hold of this tune; I can only believe that it may very well have breathed new life into the ELO franchise.

I was thinkin' of the past,
I was tryin' to wrack my brain,
I was looking at the future,

I was trying to play the game.

Didn't want to do it, 'cause I knew what I'd find,

You're really only livin' in a state of mind, yeah.
State of Mind
From the album Zoom (2001)

A few short months following the release of No Rewind, Jeff Lynne, now in full control of the Electric Light Orchestra name, tried to do just that. With Sony records on board, he released Zoom in June of 2001. Complete with new spaceship bearing the famous ELO logo, Zoom promised to be the true comeback that devout fans and purists had long awaited. Alright, the alleged single release received roughly a week’s worth of radio airplay here before quickly fading into obscurity. I purchased the CD in much the same fashion I had done with the last few vinyl releases in the 1980’s, primarily out of a sense of obligation. Back then, my retailer of choice had been Record World, due mostly to its convenient proximity. I distinctly remember finding stickers affixed to either solo records or soundtracks as a reminder to sales associates to group the record within its proper category. For instance, the Xanadu album would display a sticker, which read; file under “E” for ELO. During my first half-hearted listen to Zoom, I immediately reached the conclusion, file under “L” for Lynne. Either biased, or too quick to judge, I felt as most longtime fans will begrudgingly agree, that Zoom, even with the inclusion of strings, was more a Jeff solo project than a true ELO product. Determined to give the disc my undivided attention, I made a solo trip down to the Jersey shore several weeks later. Equipped with homemade cassette featuring Zoom on the A-side, and Jeff’s 1990 Armchair Theatre on the B-side, I set out. The tape provided the soundtrack to an unexpected peaceful, yet memorable weekend, resulting in both albums earning newfound respect. I find myself during the winter months listening to Zoom, which never fails to take me back to that sun drenched lazy getaway spent swimming, parasailing, reading, and sipping a few cold ones. Regardless, I still consider it an extension of Jeff’s solo work rather than a full-blown ELO production. The announcement of a tour to support the record meant that I would finally be afforded the opportunity to see the man, single-handedly responsible for the music that has so been a part of my life. The tour, set to take place in an arena setting rather than a theater setting came as a surprise. The ultimate cancellation due to weak ticket sales did not.
All the talk and whispering over the years that had revolved around poor management pertaining to the Part II camp could never measure up to this debacle. Jeff Lynne, having always kept a lower profile than most, coupled with the thirty-five year lapse in anything ELO related, not to mention the blatant disregard by the media ELO often received throughout their career, simply did not add up to any type of arena experience. The companion DVD; Zoom Tour Live, at least provided a glimpse into what may have been. While ELO Part II had covered a substantial amount of the older tunes, it was the inclusion of nuggets such as Tightrope and Face the Music’s One Summer Dream that made Zoom Live worth the price of admission alone. Admittedly, I have yet to make it through the recording in one sitting. While every note is pristine, the performance lacks the excitement I had grown used to either via the Live at Wembley video or the aforementioned Twilight bootleg recording from 1981. Jeff, while nearly legendary is just not a great front man. The setting, complete with seated cellists exudes more of a chamber feel than that of a concert, nearly to the point of sterility. I often wonder that if bootleg recordings had appeared as the tour progressed and Jeff had loosened up a bit if my opinion might not have changed.

Finale

The stars that shine so brightly

They call to me

I dream of how it might be…
Take Me On and On
From the album Secret Messages (1983)

The first ELO Part Two bootleg I had acquired was recorded in Los Angeles at the infamous Whisky-a-Go-Go in 1991. It was loud, it was raucous, and it oozed excitement. The musicians, well into their 40’s played with the energy and the enthusiasm of a band just starting out, which in essence is exactly what it was. The recording captures the raw excitement of a new band rising. (Loose ELO pun intended). Supporting their debut release, this disc featured four brand new tunes including Eric Troyer’s Thousand Eyes. One of my favorite tunes from the disc, this was another one that had sold me on the new ELO sound. I always considered Bev Bevan’s Heartbreaker among one of the best tunes in the post-Jeff repertoire, often comparing it with Out of the Blue’s “Night in the City.” Had they been taken a little more seriously, I think this tune would most definitely have seen some radio action. This disc has been met with a good deal of derision from older ELO fans claiming that it’s pop sensibilities stray far from Jeff Lynne’s original intentions. I agree wholeheartedly, and stand firm that this is not ELO! This band represented an extension of what Jeff had set forth two decades earlier, enhancing it with their individually personal signatures.
The result?
Nearly twenty additional years of Electric Light Orchestra music played for the masses, be it in a parking lot, a casino, or Carnegie Hall.
Still ignorant to the ELO back-story, I cannot fathom why Jeff, in re-forming the ELO brand could not reunite the ELO band! It is abundantly clear via the scant live recordings of the original lineup, that while Jeff was undeniably the brains of the outfit, Kelly Groucutt was its heart and soul. Notably, while not an original member at the bands inception, he was imminently the most recognizable and remembered band member long after their fade into rock and roll obscurity. Who knows what might have happened had the opportunity arisen for some type of collaborative effort in a truly reunited incarnation of the band?
Sadly, the world will never know.
Kelly Groucutt suffered a fatal heart attack in the days immediately following the German leg of the Orchestra’s 2009 tour, leaving in his wake a gaping hole impossible to fill. His dynamic stage presence and rapport with audiences both on and off that stage were awe-inspiring. Honest, sincere and genuine, he left us with the magic of music, and laughter in our hearts. I had the opportunity to speak with Kelly on several occasions. His talent’s far exceeded that of just musicianship. He possessed the natural ability to make people smile, make everyone around him feel welcome, while looking upon all of us, not as fans, but as friends. I am both humbled and honored; having met someone whom was not just a part of music royalty, but who stood taller than most, and faced the world smiling, either looking down from the top, or up from the bottom. Kelly, quite simply, you will be sorely missed.
I still envision in my heart an ELO reunion with Jeff at the helm, backed by the immeasurable talents of those who have carried on his legacy for the last several years. His music and that of his peers continues touch my life, the hunger inside of me craving for more.

Rise up and sound the sirens,
Send out the searching powers,
All we need is a few good men

Send the s.o.s. and red alerts

All across the universe

Calling your honest men
Honest Men
from the album Electric Light Orchestra Part Two (1990)

As I dwell upon this thought, I feel the embers of creativity welling up from underneath again, a vision of The Illusions, garishly attired, surrounded by the swirling cheesy effects of Wembley past, reaching through time, summoning those would be heroes, the innocent elite, to quell the dark rising in some far off dimension. The music calls to me once again, bringing with it the hope that together, the remaining leaders of two opposing Electric Light Orchestra factions may set aside their differences and work together as one, keeping the melody and dream alive so that future generations of long-winded writers not unlike myself may live to continue the tale.

From our mistakes,

It should be clear
No one should lose

what they revere
No One was Saved
Kelly Groucutt
A Little Light on an Electric Night (1996)

Rest in Peace, Dear Friend.

Tom Mortensen
April 2009

· Record biz talk for the opposite side of the small record with the big hole in the center.
· http://mortmaz.blogspot.com/2008/10/legal-ids-and-hitting-post.html

· The Beach Boys; my all-time favorite band, will be covered next in the musically clueless series.
· 1967’s Here Comes the Night appeared as an eleven-minute disco remake on The Beach Boys 1979 release, the Light Album.