By Barry Clifford: A Man Called Frank Sinatra

As a child I thought ‘old blue eyes’ was for, well, old people with blue eyes and any other colour as well. I kinda came round a bit a month before my 13^th birthday when ‘old blue eyes’ released the song: My Way. Since then it has been a slow but sure affection of who Frank Sinatra was and always will be.

Some people have that certain poise, spark, charisma, chemistry, and sometimes you can’t even put your finger on it, yet Frank had all these things together. His jokes did not have to be funny, you just knew he had something else in his arsenal that very few others had just waiting in the wings and so you waited. It could have been the black suits, white shirts and black tie that did it, but that was a bridge too far. The way he held a drink might have been it but Dean Martin always looked like he did it better, and Dino told a joke that always went down more than Frank’s did. That all changed when Frank started to do what he ultimately did, and what you expected him to do, that was better than anybody, and simply sang. He sang with such an intensity and feeling unmatched yet imitated by many right to this very day.

His song’s like My Way, and New York New York are veritable national anthem’s of many countries and the inspiration to those to try to make it wherever they are, and in the end, remember the trying of it most of all, win or lose.

As he got older, in the September of his years, he would not allow himself to give it up; it was just too much fun. As the voice grew weary I rooted for him in those live recordings to do it what seemed could not be done. He did not matter in the end if he did not hit the note or forgot a word here and there, for you were not just listening to a song, you were watching The Frank Sinatra show and all what that meant. So, just in case I missed this legend in my lifetime, I went to see him in his when he went to perform live in New York around 1993.

The opening act was Shirley Mc Lane in a physical dance routine that defied her years and Frank came out to defy his. I was in a minority of an almost exclusive concert hall of Italian Americans that roared and applauded at this Italian American icon. One of their own but everyone else’s too. He was larger than life.

As the curtain went down for the second and last time that night, I knew that I had witnessed something special: A man who was a legend in his own lifetime and ours, at least those of a certain vintage, and one that will endure in many other lives yet to come.  

By Barry Clifford

Barry Clifford: Sign Your Own Cheques

                                               

The actor, Kirk Douglas, now a sprightly 97 year old, was utterly broke when he was in his mid fifties. His lawyer/ adviser, who had power of attorney over his affairs, cleaned out his bank account by getting loans on properties that Kirk had owned. By the time Kirk found out it was too late and the lawyer gone. Along came the movie, One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, that saved Kirk and the rest is a happy history.

A carbon copy of this story happened to Gabriel Bryne, the Irish talk show host, who was around the same age as Kirk when it happened to him. The only marked difference was that it was Mr Bryne’s accountant that time around. If you must trust in God when it comes to money, make sure no one else is involved when it comes to parting with it, or when it is about to be shared with someone else other than your wife. Succinctly put: sign your own cheques, and no harm to read the fine print while you are at it as well. 

Bernie Madoff comes to mind; king of all the conmen. The actor, John Malkovich, said he was ‘ruined’ financially by the scam that the infamous Bernie was running. His simple statement spoke volumes for him and for too many others.

In the movie Scarface, the main character bemoans the fact that he just gave €10 million dollars to a very dodgy bank and all he got was a piece of paper in return otherwise called a receipt. He could have been easily referring to the latest line of Bankster’s in the media as well that took drug money to launder for murderous dealers like Scarface. Bangsters cheating gangsters- can you spot the difference.

A good conman will try to transfer his guilt be telling anyone that would listen that he only ever conned a greedy man, that is ultimately him.  The only note of caution must be: never trust anyone with your money, not even yourself, for a healthy skepticism will ensure that you will not run away with your own hype before someone else runs away with your own money. 

By Barry Clifford    

Photo Minute: Can You Spot The Snow Leopard

Immigrants: sure who would want them?

Ireland today is not the country many migrants left behind, and not the one an Irish American might come to expect in coming here for the first time. It is as cosmopolitan as any other westernised country today and that is a good thing.

Apart from the gene pool being stirred up a bit the economy has not only got a much needed shot in the arm, it has sustainability just to survive, for without people there is no economy. My accountant pointed out to me a few years ago that the collapse of the Celtic tiger would have been much worse had these immigrants left these shores with the Irish ones. Immigrants: sure who would want them?

Well, whether we want them or not, we most certainly need them. There is more. They buy Irish goods, sustain Irish jobs, and accept democracy, as flawed as it is here, as the best democracy that many of them have ever enjoyed, especially if you had come from Romania.

The way it was in any country is always subject to change and here is no different. Celtic tiger days aside, and those who never went beyond the crossroads of their town or village, this country still enjoys a general feeling of well being that is not just a state of mind. I have seen other immigrant people, who, when they came here first, were highly suspicious and wary of what this country was about; a couple of years later those same people had adopted many of the same mannerisms and behaviour that has marked the Irish here and abroad: easy going, decent, with a sense of mischief and fun. It is what sells the country in the first place despite scenery that would melt any hardened soul. In the end, most people are generally good and just want to get along and take care of their families.

The other reality: there is no one distinctly Irish now or ever really was, and that terms of reference applies to all countries. Historical gene pool statistic’s in the round will trace us right back to mainland Europe, Asia and Africa before that. In the last thousand years alone, we have been invaded by the Vikings, the Normans, and the British and a few minor others here and there. Some left but more stayed and that is as uniquely Irish as we were ever going to get. 

Now, we have Irish Polish accents with all the others and some the other way round. All of their children though will think Irish first with a hurley in one hand and a shamrock in the other. Some will leave again but many will stay and then it starts all over again.

By Barry     

Letters Of The Day: Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus (Born 61- Died 113AD)

Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus,(61-113AD) usually known as Pliny the Younger, was born at Como in 61 A.D. He was only eight years old when his father, Caecilius, died, and he was adopted by his uncle, Pliny the Elder, author of the "Natural History." He was carefully educated, studying rhetoric under Quintilian and other famous teachers, and he became one of the most eloquent lawyers of his time. While still young he served as military tribune in Syria. On his return he entered politics under the Emperor Domitian, and in the year 100 A.D. was appointed consul by Trajan. Later, he was governor of Bithynia in Asia Minor.  He belonged to the senatorial order, the highest social class.

To Acilius; The atrocious treatment that Largius Macedo, a man of praetorian rank, lately received at the hands of his slaves is so extremely tragic that it deserves a place rather in public history than in a private letter; though it must at the same time be acknowledged there was a haughtiness and severity in his behaviour towards them which showed that he little remembered, indeed almost entirely forgot, the fact that his own father had once been a slave himself. Macedo was bathing at his Formian Villa, when he found himself suddenly surrounded by his slaves; one seizes him by the throat, another strikes him on the mouth, whilst others trampled upon his breast, stomach, and even other parts which I need not mention. When they thought the breath must be quite out of his body, they threw him down upon the heated pavement of the bath, to try whether he were still alive, where he lay outstretched and motionless, either really insensible or only feigning to be so, upon which they concluded him to be actually dead. In this condition they brought him out, pretending that he had got suffocated by the heat of the bath. Some of his more trusty servants received him, and his mistresses came about him shrieking and lamenting. The noise of their cries and the fresh air, together, brought him a little to himself; he opened his eyes, moved his body, and showed them (as he now safely might) that he was not quite dead. The murderers immediately made their escape; but most of them have been caught again, and they are after the rest. He was with great difficulty kept alive for a few days, and then expired, having, however, the satisfaction of finding himself as amply revenged in his lifetime as he would have been after his death. Thus you see to what affronts, indignities, and dangers we are exposed. Lenity and kind treatment are no safeguard; for it is malice and not reflection that arms such ruffians against their masters.

To Marcellinus: I write this to you in the deepest sorrow: the youngest daughter of my friend Fundanus is dead! I have never seen a more cheerful and more lovable girl, or one who better deserved to have enjoyed a long, I had almost said an immortal, life! She was scarcely fourteen, and yet there was in her a wisdom far beyond her years, a matronly gravity united with girlish sweetness and virgin bashfulness. With what an endearing fondness did she hang on her father's neck! How affectionately and modestly she used to greet us, his friends! With what a tender and deferential regard she used to treat her nurses, tutors, teachers, each in their respective offices! What an eager, industrious, intelligent reader she was! She took few amusements, and those with caution. How self-controlled, how patient, how brave she was under her last illness! She complied with all the directions of her physicians; she spoke cheerful, comforting words to her sister and her father; and when all her bodily strength was exhausted, the vigor of her mind sustained her. That indeed continued even to her last moments, unbroken by the pain of a long illness, or the terrors of approaching death; and it is a reflection which makes us miss her, and grieve that she has gone from us, the more. Oh, melancholy, untimely loss, too truly! She was engaged to an excellent young man; the wedding-day was fixed, and we were all invited. How our joy has been turned into sorrow! I cannot express in words the inward pain I felt when I heard Fundanus himself (as grief is ever finding out fresh circumstances to aggravate its affliction) ordering the money he had intended laying out upon clothes, pearls, and jewels for her marriage, to be employed in frankincense, ointments, and perfumes for her funeral.

Photo Minute: Eat Or Be Eaten

Video: Acts of Kindness Caught on Camera in 2012