I’m not a Starbucks fan.
I know a lot of people who are. They don’t mind spending more money for a cup of bitter burnt coffee. Okay! So you say that it isn’t burnt or bitter and that you love it. Good. Continue to spend your hard earned money to make Howard Schultz from Brooklyn richer than he already is.
I am very happy and proud knowing that a kid from Bay View Houses — my former home, way, way back in Canarsie — is successful, but for my morning caffeine I’ll stick to McDonald’s.
Mr. Schultz is an interesting man. For one week only last month he instituted a program whereby his employees, from coast to coast, were to discuss race relations with the customers.
You read that correctly. We were all taught very early in our careers that when in business, never discuss politics or religion with your clients. With the many events that have occurred these past few years, add the topic of race relations to the list. I have my thoughts, and there is no doubt that you have yours. In our discussions, while you are holding a steaming-hot cup of Java Chip Frappuccino with a shot of soy milk, caramel flavoring and a double shot of espresso in your hand, I may differ with your thoughts on a particular matter. My view might even make you angry enough that I may end up wearing that steaming-hot cup of Java Chip Frappuccino with a shot of soy milk, caramel flavoring and a double shot of espresso.
Mr. Schultz, you didn’t think this through. The smart decision was to discontinue the program.
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If you were among the thousands of northerners who made their way south to escape the miserable, rotten, nasty, awful, cold, snowy weather, there is the possibility that if you love entertainment as much as I do, you might have seen, met and enjoyed the talents of the handsome Gilbert Lenchus. Mr. Lenchus is a writer, producer, director, comedian, and actor with a robust, resounding voice that can be heard in the last row of the balcony.
When we met, his single gift that impressed me as much as any other was his enormous understanding of current events and his gigantic knowledge of trivia. My friend Hank and I were able to keep up with him but were finally stumped when he asked us “Who rode on horseback in 1775 to inform the colonists about the British attack on the American militia?”
“Easy. That’s Paul Revere,” we said.
“No! Look up the name ‘Israel Bissell.’ ”
Bissell is a Yiddish word. Add a first name like Israel, and there’s a possibility that this twenty-three year young postal worker, who called the colonists to arms during a remarkable four-day ride across five states, was a member of my tribe. Okay, Mr. Lenchus. While everyone gives credit to Paul Revere who shouted, “The British are coming. The British are coming.” Let’s give a standing ovation to Israel Bissell who probably shouted, “The Yiddish are coming. The Yiddish are coming.”
• • •
A piece of two-day Priority Mail was brought to the post office on March 3. For several reasons, this item was not delivered until March 24th. I was told that the 11-day delay was partly due to the snow.
I am StanG
