The Wheel Comes Full Circle

Eight or nine autumns ago, I met Rick Birman for the first time. We were playing a rather large open air gig at the Ziv Towers in Ramat Hahayal. Rick Birman came up to me at intermission and introduced himself, saying that he was enjoying our music. Rick was a well known pianist here in Tel Aviv, and knowing that he was in the crowd made me very nervous during our second set!

This was the beginning of a great friendship that was cut short by Rick's untimely death on Dec. 25th, 2003. That evening Rick phoned and invited me to attend a gig with some really good musicians, telling me that he would be sitting in with them. But I was on my way to Haifa with my own quartet, heading to a gig organized by Baruch Weisman. We talked briefly about bossanova rhythms and agreed to meet the next afternoon (Friday) at one p.m.

That night Rick got up to play piano at the gig in Tel Aviv, and according to those in the audience, played like he hadn't played for years (turns out he had also invited a lot of his friends that evening). In the middle of one of the tunes, his frail body gave way and it was impossible to resuscitate him.

Six years have passed and for those of us who called this remarkable, somewhat eccentric man our friend, time has stood still. Although I only knew him during his last years, we forged a great friendship. He introduced me to many female vocalists (he had a thing for lady singers), including the 14 year-old Marina Blumin who went on to fame.

He was as a kindred spirit.

On Jan. 10th, we will have our annual memorial jazz evening, featuring many of the singers and musicians he accompanied during his final years. This year, the event is at Mike's Place, a warm cozy bar . The wheel has come full circle. The bar is situated right at the Ziv Towers, where I met Rick for the very first time that autumn evening.

Also, you can view my older blog post about Rick Birman

Mahane Yehuda Shuk - Jerusalem

Mahane Yehuda - The Jerusalem Shuk

A Walk Down Memory Lane

The famous shuk of Mahane Yehuda in Jerusalem has undergone some major facelifts since I was a student in the early seventies. Still, the stalls are much the same, as well as the espirit of the people selling their varied wares. Nowadays, it's not just fruits and veggies, fish and meat, but also coffeehouses, fancy shmancy candles and halva to die for (if you eat enough you probably will, too).

If you go there (and I recommend that you do), please seek out Uzi's stall. This Yemenite healer will sell you a radioactive-green-looking gat drink (his version of Viagra), an almond concoction from the time of Maimonides (still tastes great), and rejuvenate your face with an etrog spray that he himself rubs in. He guarantees that it will erase the creases of time. I don't know whether or not it worked, but just wandering around Jerusalem this week made me feel thirty years younger, and turned all my wrinkles into 'winkles'. A gantze mechayeh.

My First Start-Up

Us kids at the house, 1963

My First Start-Up: Still going strong at fifty!

I have been back to my home in Ottawa only a few times over the past forty years. So when I met Nicole, a scientist from Ottawa at the recent American Society for Microbiology (ASM) meeting in Philadelphia, I implored her to take a few photos of my old home.

So here is the picture of the place we grew up in fifty years ago. The house is much the same as it was them, except that the lawn is fairer, the trees are much larger, and the window frames have been replaced. When I looked at the picture, my eyes clouded. 616 Chadburn. I wonder who lives there today.

I also asked Nicole to take a picture of the apartment building across the street. I wanted to see whether "Scully's mark" was still there after almost fifty years. As a child, I had a friend named Scully who was the first entrepreneur that I ever met. Scully always had new ideas, many about making money. Once he suggested that we go down to Industrial Avenue and cut some bulrushes, and then sell them as decoration from door to door. We went and slew a bunch of bulrushes, but alas, neighbours (I am using the Canadian spelling here) were hesitant to purchase them in their natural brown condition.

"No problem", said Scully. We'll paint them gold and black, that way we can charge more money and they'll be irresistible". We bought some paint and dipped our first bulrush into the black can. It came out black indeed, but the bulrush had sopped up quite a bit of paint and refused to dry, even after an hour on the pavement. "No problem", said Scully. "What we need is to whip the bulrush around our head, the paint will fly off from the centrifugal (centripetal?) force. He proceeded to take the moist, black bulrush and whip it around his head, much the same way that David prepared his slingshot for Goliath. And indeed, when Scully loosened his grip, the bulrush flew into the air.

Unlike David, however, his shot did not hit Goliath's forehead, but rather flew into the brick apartment building across the road, leaving a noticeable, ugly black mark. Scully's mark. For years, we hid the fact that our start-up was responsible for this scar on the neighboring building. But with time, it became one of my favorite tales.

So here, you see it still. Fifty years on. My first start-up left its indelible mark. Thanks for the memories, Nicole!! And yes, we did sell a few painted bulrushes.