Reinke Faces Life

They say that you are what you eat. I’d assert that you are what you sing.

Bear with me as I try to prove that assertion.

Now, folk singers, were, at that time, the modern equivalent of the troubadours of the Middle Ages. The words they sung had to be intelligible, unlike today. And, they would usually hit home and you’d attach to them. Invest them with a special meaning.

We were both Mitch Miller’s spiritual children. We both had different memories of the show. Her’s more special; mine less so. For her, it was family time. Although it was followed by the mandatory Gillete Friday Night Fights, which is probably the one time her Father, Jack, got to watch what he wanted. For my part, it was happy times since my maternal Grandmother loved the show, probably only second to Lawrence Welk.

My life had dragged me to the Red Garter, which was like Mitch Miller with beer and peanuts. I wandered into it somehow. It was down the street from the folk song’s spiritual home Gerdie’s Folk City. I was in the village because you could play chess for money, and modestly I was good enough to usually win. Especially if I could play Queen’s Gambit Declined; I had a PhD in that.

(Humorous aside, after my laying off Chess for decades, Luddite decided it was a good idea for us to play Chess. Remember he already had gotten from the Universe one lesson about “books and covers”; guess he needed another. Without thinking, I riffed off the first ten moves on QBD Exchange Positional. My absolute favorite if I could get to it; usually against those who never studied. He sent the message: ‘Wow, you have me stuffed.’ If he only knew how many people I inflicted that on to earn a profit. I told him I had once upon been rated. Not that he knew what that meant. But I did. At that time, I was smart and knew my limitations. And moved on to Gerdie’s. It’s in my book)

So I spent a lot of time in Gerdie’s. Did you know Beth Middler was frequenter? SO I saw this gorgeous blond take the stage and sing ‘Suzzane’. Old then, she had a beautiful voice. Wasn’t hard on the eyes either.

(There was some debate was who had the better single voice: Streisand, Lady Kazan, Beth Middler, or Judy Collins. The marketplace decided it was “barbara streisand”; I’m not so sure of that. Not that I was a qualified voice judge. I knew what I liked.)

So I attached to Suzzane as I dated. I was looking for that girl who would understand one weird fat “old” white guy injineer.

For some reason, Gerdie’s was closed one night. (Fire?) So I moved down to the Red Garter. It was “lively”. The next week, I brought some fellow injineers. It became our hang out.

(Little did I know Our Girl was there. Ships passing in the night. Unseen. For some reason, maybe the Universe had a “cloaking device”. Used it say, “all in due time, children, due time”. I know I would have noticed a hottie like her with a bevy of gal pals. Either my radar was off or that cloaking device was effective. It later turned out she knew all of my friends.)

So during this time, I was working the 4-12 at AT&T on Varick Street. In my section, I listened to a lot of Judy, PP&M, and a bunch of others.

Waiting for “the fullness of time”.

Our second date was at the Red Garter. And, I was hooked. After that, we also would hit Gerdie’s. Fridays at the Garter; Saturday’s Gerdie’s; Sunday’s at Feeney & Addie’s — pizza, beer, and music — in Bayonne (She had early curfew on Sundays).

Any place with music. She loved it as much as life. Her Mom had yelled her about grades with: “If you knew your lessons, as well as you do those songs, …”

We treked to concerts that were great and reflected our rapidly merging tastes: Dylan, Ray Charles, Kingston Trio, Pete Seger, Phil Ochs, Richie Havens, Burl Ives, Joan Baez, Cher, Simon & Garfunkel, just to name the ones I can think of. (I should have saved ticket stubs like Pattie Fife did.) Eventually, it became best represented by PP&M.

In the period after that refused July proposal, “don’t think twice” became the theme song and she’d say: “It’s just too soon. Keep trying. Maybe you’ll get lucky.” It was on the radio. So I had no control over it, but it seemed it got played a lot. We’d laugh that I had PAYOLAed the radio station to play it for our dated. Wish I could have.

But, determined to “win fair maiden’s hand”, I played “follow me” a lot. She’d always say: “That’s not going to work.” But she’d sing along. “For Bobby” would get the response “It would be nice to have a partner and children”. Psych warfare.

Well about 18 February 68, psych war won out.

(It was a Saturday afternoon. I came to pick her up for the obligatory Saturday night date. We weren’t pinned or steadies or any of that, but she did have my MC ring. I don’t know why the apartment was empty. But it was.)

A month before, it was the grades that finally won her over — an A (Yup, one of TWO I had in college), four Bs, five Cs. (No D’s, unheard of.) For a 2.6. She was pleased but was worried about the last semester and if I really would graduate. She was a witch about the details before she’d say yes.

So, I said “Before we go I have something to show you.” I had written a computer program and printed out all my grades and the calculations that demonstrated that in my last semester, if a I just showed up and passed — C’s in majors; D’s in minors, I would graduate. Final index 2.010308! In June 1968. I had Dean Somebody’s signature note “Yes, I agree you’ll graduate. I’m surprised, but you’ll make. This girl, Evlynn, has had a positive impact on you.” (She knew the Deans from the Engineers’ Balls. It was an obligatory howdy. But she’d remember the names. Funny, they remembered her too. And, spelled her name right too! Maybe that’s what it takes to be a “dean”.)

(Yes, I actually hit that “high point” on the nose. Never do too much to get over the bar. No matter how low. Just over by a smidgen. On a technical note. It was NOT possible to get a lower index and still graduate.)

Although, I confessed to her that I was realy worried. She drew in real close and got real serious: “What’s the matter?” With as doleful a look as I could muster, “I may not win the anchor pool and I won’t be able to afford to get married.” She slapped me across my face — hard, exclaiming “You are a clown!”, and then laughed herself sick about how I had sucked her in. When she calmed herself down, she went to the ladies room, and freshened her face from the tears. When she returned, I said “So, I guess it’s official now, we can get married? We’ve satisfied the Moms.” She said very quietly: “Yes”.

(For those of you worried about the “anchor pool”, I won it. Over $900. Intended for the poor soul who barely graduated and would have a hard time finding a job. Yup, that was me. “Poor Soul”. Oh, btw, I also had the highest starting salary in the class. A fact that made Dean What’s His Name shake his head. AT&T promoted me to shift supervisor when I notified them that February I’d fulfilled the requirements for graduation. Upon graduation, and giving them a copy of my diploma, I was again promoted to Programming Supervisor. I was already one of their best programmers in the Treasury Operations Division. Programmers were as scarce as hen’s teeth. They gave me a programmer’s class date. Had to be retrained the Bell System way. But, that had to be deferred until after the USAF. Needless to say we were rolling in dough. At least, I thought so until I hit Wall Street. All through our lives, we used to say “Computers have been very very good to me.”)

At that point, our music taste changed: “blowin in the wind” and “cruel war” became our theme songs.

Graduation, extra courses, the summer of 69, draft, formal engagement, enlistment, and it was all a blur.

In the lead up to 01 February 70, “leaving on jet plane” became our theme.

Things worked out, and 19 December 70, our theme changed again “hawaiian love song”

On the trips to and from Washington, Cher’s “i got you babe” echoed along with “we ain’t got a barrel of money”.

(Air Force pay was shitty. Her brother did our income tax and would laugh wickedly as he’d give me the forms to sign. I’d say: “Laugh now; this too shall pass.” Boy, how she worried about money then.)

Our Girl was the music of my life.

Now the song is “Nothing Lasts Forever” by Judy Collins

*** begin quote ***

Nothing lasts forever you should know that by now Good times, Heartache You’ll get through this trouble though you may not know how Your heart won’t break If you have a vision of your destiny Tears can’t stop you Hidden in your heart is everything you can be You’ll be fine Nothin’ lasts forever, Nothin lasts forever, Nothin lasts forever

*** end quote ***

Yes, you are what you sing. Especially when you have Our Girl as your partner.

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Our Girl had been working at Weldotron for awhile. The 401k became a hot item for retirement planning. One of the honchos at Weldotron decided they’d convert from a defined benefit plan to a define contribution plan. Our Girl was not happy. As a Bell System girl, she knew that pensions were important not to be on dog food in your old age. She knew several retirees who had Bell System pensions and some that didn’t. So working on Wall Street, I told her I’d look into the options, but given the stiff penalties for screwing around with pensions I was confident it was on the up and up.

So the number crunchers went to work. Inventoried everyone who was a participant. Did the age adjusted distribution. Then the you know what hit the fan.

(In a surprising fit pique, Our Girl was upset. One of the women lied about her age when she was employed. So, the woman was three years older than the woman told everyone. Thus, was then entitled to more. When the list was produced, Our Girl, who was younger and worked for them longer, got much less than the “liar”. “The woman should be fired for lying.” No matter who explained, including me, or how many times it was explained, she just refused to accept it. Based on an age adjusted calculation, all employees shared “equally”.)

(Boy, was she pig headed! She ranted on that for years.)

So, then the new plan was “turned on”. I told her that now she had the right to make additional after-tax contributions to her 401k account. She wasn’t to sure about it since NO ONE else was doing it. But, I urged her to do it. (She was still saving in her passbook savings account at this point. Although not too long after this, she went to a money market account.) She went to HR, who went to various honchos, who went to the plan attorney, who went to the plan operator. Once Our Girl was onto something, she was unstoppable. Eventually it was opined that she could contribute proportionally up until the plan hit the “highly compensated executives” limit. Since no one else was doing it, she could essentially put in as much as she wanted. (Even two CPAs didn’t know this, but she did. Thanks to the head of 401k plans at Shearson.)

So, spin the VCR up a decade or a decade and a half, Weldotron was spinning the bowl. And, the 401k has to be shut down. Everyone has to identify where they want to roll it over to. No big deal.

Then about two weeks later, Our Girl gets the mail and finds me grousing how the 401k plan screwed up. “The fools sent me a check.” I looked at it and said: “It says post tax contribution. It’s yours.” “No, it’s wrong.” “OK, call them”.

(She calls. Long conversation.)

She calls to me in tears. (You know “my dog died” level of crying.) I asked: “What’s wrong?” I literally had no idea what could possibly be wrong.

“It’s mine. I can’t take it. It’s too much money. How could that be?”

I explain compound returns during a hot market over decades!

“What will I do?”

“Whatever you want, hon. It’s yours.”

“Let’s give ⅓ away. Save a ⅓. And go to Vegas with the rest.”

So that’s what she did. It was a great trip! But we didn’t spend anywhere near a ⅓. It was a BIG check.

(It was very cute. Guess you really had to be there.)

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