Happy Birthday

Duluth, 1937

Duluth, 1945

Puerto Rico, 1951

South Korea, 1959

South Korea, 1971

Yuma, 1987

Ring-A-Ding In the New Year

Known as, "Ring-A-Ding Rhythm" in the US or, "It's Trad, Dad," in the UK, this little picture was directed by Richard Lester in 1962 and was turned on to me by fellow TCM obsessive, Main Line Sportsman sometime last night.  I hate to say, "last night" 'cause it's embarrassing I never heard of it.  Who cares.

It's a funky little film that mixes a fictional "Boy-Girl story with amazing B&W cinema vérité and you can see Lester's, "A Hard Day's Night" coming at you for a country mile.  It's a rough patch at the beginning but it manages to loosen up and the musical numbers are the reason to hang in there.

Bert Stern mentioned in a Lincoln Center viewing of his 1958 documentary, 'Jazz on a Summer's Day,' that it was his original intent to have a "Boy-Girl backstory with actual footage of the festival threaded throughout the film.  He eventually gave up on the idea, in large part, because there was no script and he was winging it without any idea of what to do with the story.  Lester, a sneeze in time later, seemed to pull off what Stern couldn't do with, Ring-A-Ding/It's Trad Dad.



Bizarre minutiae attends this film in spades, which really makes for a deeper appreciation. John Lennon wrote "Misery" for the "Girl" and  co star, Helen Shapiro, a uniquely attractive brunette with an even more unique and beautiful voice.  The Boy, Craig Douglas, is still touring, although in a wheel chair, and his performance, as a "local" introduced by Miss Shapiro in this clip, "Rainbow in Your Tea" is a show stealer. Then there's a bizarre appearance Craig makes in a very rare clip (that's what they say) of Russ Conway's television show, Russ Conway & a Few Friends:



Sweet, Jesus.  If I were a designer, I'd rip off this entire clip, shoot it in B&W at the Oak Room in the Algonquin and use it to feature my new line.  It certainly beats Lincoln Center.  Happy New Year.

Hello, Death

Marty Feldman & Spike Milligan in The Undertakers from Marty Feldman's Comedy Machine

I've always been a dreamer. One of the earliest dreams I remember having was when I was 16 and having sex with Angie Dickinson on a bumper pool table. Lots of excitement and wonder but with plenty of anxiety and frustration. Ever have sex on a bumper pool table? It's not easy.

I've been thinking of death a lot lately. I had a dream where Dad and I are sitting at this rustic table on a hard scrabble hill overlooking an Italian village.  We're sharing a bottle of white wine and Dad's eating pasta. In front of us is Death. He's 10' or so and in the black hooded robe but instead of a sickle, he's got a hoe and he's chipping away at the hard dry dirt and digging up skulls. Each time he uncovers one, he picks it up and tucks it into his robe.

I hear a cell phone ringing and look at Dad who's slurping up pasta and ignoring Death. 'Is that you ?' I ask. Dad shakes his head without looking up from his bowl.  I look at Death and he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out a flip phone.

"Hello,"Death says. "Hello?...Hello?...Hello?"

Death shrugs and returns the phone to his sleeve. Death's mobile rings again.

"Hello? ... Hello?... Hello?..."

I turn to my father, "Death sure is a pain in the ass," I say.   Dad puts his fork down and looks at me, "No shit. "

Dead in Panama

Jungle Ops Training Center (JOTC) at Ft Sherman, Canal Zone

JOTC barracks reflected in crew chief's visor

Bravo Company, 1/325, 82nd Abn Div, on the Rio Chagres

Unloading LST

Rising Sun over Limon Bay

One of the strangest conversations I ever had with Dad, and there were some strange ones, concerned my being killed in Panama.  Dad was informed by my mother, who,  according to Dad, seemed to be on another planet.  She approached him in our backyard where he had set up a radial arm saw and spent as much time as he possibly could cutting wood and avoiding people.

"John's dead." she said.  "What?" he said, turning off the saw.  "John's dead.  It happened early this morning." He was stunned.  How could it have happened? And then he remembered I was in Panama.  He knew it could have happened any number of ways and plenty ran through his head.

He looked at her and said, "Our son's not supposed to die before us."  She cocked her head, "What are you talking about?"  "John," he said.  "You said he was dead."  "No," she said. "My uncle -- John -- he died this morning." "Oh," he said. She turned and walked back into the house.  He switched the saw on and grabbed another piece of plywood.

Cutty Sark - Not Just for the Big Girl's Blouse

Cutty Sark by F.M. Tinseth, oil on canvas, 1976

Cutty Sark in Flagler College dorm room, 1983

Cutty Sark in September Esquire, 1961

Rare Cutty Sark tie on even rarer yellow university stripe oxford, 2013

Cutty Sark by A. J. Tinseth, 2013

My old man was very proud of his Cutty Sark.  His painting...not the Scotch. He was a gin martini  man through and through and Beefeater gin was his go to.  I don't ever remember him drinking anything else except beer, of which he gave no brand his loyalty, or the occasional glass of wine, which, if he knew anything, he learned from me.

His Cutty Sark painting was about an image - he knew - was instantly recognizable...at least by himself and his peers in the officer's clubs he frequented. My connection to Cutty Sark is through Berry Brothers and Rudd.  A wine merchant in the Pall Mall area of London, I was first introduced to the 300 year old merchant via their catalogs a London friend, Vodka Ronnie, kept by his toilet.  Not the most glorious of beginnings but Vodka Ronnie had very good taste in wine.

Barry & Rudd, as it's more commonly known, came up with the idea for a light blended Scotch as they were wine merchants and I assume didn't want to blow their customer's palettes outta the water with a double barrel Islay. Their target customer were Septics (Septic Tank- Yank) who were about to get back into Rub a Dubs (Rub a Dub- Pub) as Prohibition was coming to an end. With the Septic in mind, a 20 single malt blend was used with mostly Big Girl's Blouse Speyside (Glenrothes) being the predominant malt.

"Whis-KAY" as it's pronounced over there also sounds a lot like "Cut-TAY."  When I hear one, I think of the other.  I'm not sure why.  It's a Lemmon-NAY Whis-KAY.  Light and dry and being that it's not too dear, I think it's best to be mixed, which I did, with a $20 bottle. I  tried it with Polar Bitter Lemon (find it - far better than Canada Dry) and it wasn't bad. I mixed it with lemon flavored seltzer and thought it completely changed the Cutty with the soda giving it a rounder and fuller taste of a scotch double the price. Impressive for those like me who are mean when it comes to their Whis-KAY.

I used it to make a Side Car replacing the brandy with Cutty -- A favorite of the tasting and something I look forward to ordering in a Rub a Dub, "Make mine a Cut-TAY side car, To-NAY." If you're thinking a Manhattan -- I wouldn't -- Although I did.  There's just not enough backbone to the Cutty. Having said that, if you're a beginning Scotch drinker, this is the tricycle for you, in much the way Barry & Rudd always intended it to be, even if you are a big girl's blouse; I wear a 14.

"You Don't Take the Last of a Man's Anything"

I came home on leave and took a beer from the fridge. Couple minutes later, I heard him come in the front door, walk into the kitchen, open the fridge and close it. He came out to the porch and saw me drinking his beer. "That's my last beer." he said. I looked at the can. I looked at him. "You don't have anymore?" He looked at me and I saw his jaw tighten. "You don't take the last of a man's anything. Do you understand?" I got up full well knowing I was gonna have to replace a can of Black Label with a case of Heineken.

Veteran's Day

My Fantasy, Ft Bragg, 1979

His Reality, Vinh Thanh, 1967

My father sent small B&W Agfa prints home during the war. His comments from that time were written in ink. I wrote a screenplay based on his experiences in Vietnam and during a visit in the 1995, I gave him all the photos I had from Vietnam and asked if he would share any memories with me. We sat on my patio after dinner and smoked and drank. He flipped through the pictures saying little. The next morning at breakfast he returned the pictures with comments printed in pencil.

Clip Ons

A coincidence? I don't think so.

Army Issue 1964

Was Dad a Hipster?

Between a Father and a Son: Madras or Marinade

July 3, 1988

He didn't have much use for my madras sport coat. But, he started me on the road to a flank steak marinade that always reminds me of his grilling aesthetic. Mostly soy sauce. A cup or two. A glug of bourbon or two. Pour over a scored flank steak for at least six hours. Overnight is even better. In the years that have gone by, I've added a tablespoon of toasted sesame oil and a teaspoon of powdered wasabi. But the soy and bourbon are the guts. Madras will come and go but his grill is eternal.

Happy Father's Day

The Old Man's in the Angora V-neck. Korea, circa 1970. Information Officer for the 2nd Infantry Division. Shortly after my father died, I was contacted by the man on the right.

I was a young Lieutenant in Korea and your father was my boss in the information office. He was a great guy and I’m sorry to hear he’s gone. He gave me the freedom to do what I wanted to but also kept me out of major trouble. I enjoyed the year I spent with him in “Freedom’s Forgotten Fighting Frontier.”

Part of our job in Korea was to print the division newspaper. It was type set and printed by a Korean firm, the type setters understood NO English so a p,d,q,b all looked the same to them. As a result we spend a great deal of time proof reading. These pictures were taken at a picnic held by the Korean printing firm. The young lady was the only member of their staff that spoke any English. I’m the kid in the straw hat.

I remember when your Dad got the Topcon RE Super. I remember thinking how huge it was. He was proud of that camera and took some good pictures. As I said before I enjoyed knowing and working with Major T, he did a great job of keeping everything in perspective.

It's strange to see him in photographs I've never seen before. It's even stranger to see him so relaxed. I think I saw him smile three times -- and that wasn't so much a smile as a grimaced smirk. My first reaction was not hard to understand. He was relaxed and happy because he was away from his family. Thousands of miles away.

And it hurts to think that. So, I came up with another theory. He was tired of the bullshit in Special Forces. He was frustrated with the strategy in Vietnam. But he loved to write and he loved photography. He was finally doing what he loved to do, publishing a newspaper and a magazine. Far, far from home.

Trad Farfalle Westerns

Cue the Ennio Morricone sountrack, slam down a shot of Mezcal and fire up a Parodi with the strike of a sulfur-tip match. Through June 21st, the West Village Film Forum at 209 W Houston is running a Spaghetti Western Festival. Film director, Alex Cox (Repo Man, Sid & Nancy & his own Spaghetti Western, Straight to Hell) reviews lesser known titles running here.

Franco Nero in director Sergio Corbucci's, Django (1966)

The Old Man loved Spaghetti Westerns and I remember being heart broken when he told me real guns didn't sound at all like the 'Spee-Teez' Italian sound effect. Isn't that the point? Nothing is real in a Spaghetti Western. Not even Clint Eastwood. Check out, 'Mrs Eastwood and Company' if you don't believe me.

Film Forum from The Brooklyneer

I caught the 1PM showing of 'Fistful of Dollars' today but not before grabbing a Kimshi hot dog ($6) and a beer ($1 special with the dog) at The Brooklyneer just across the street. Beat the hell out of a flat Coke and popcorn. Cheaper too.

Lee Van Cleef in The Big Gundown directed by Sergio Sollima (1966)

I took a film class at the most progressive of my four high schools. "Film & the Liberal Arts" was taught by a bearded hipster named Bridgman. I liked him a lot. I'll always owe him for turning me onto the very odd and dark, "The Traveling Executioner" with Stacy Keach.

Franco Nero & Tony Musante in The Mercenary by Sergio Corbucci (1968)

Maybe that's where I get my odd taste in film? Anyway, I wrote a paper on Spaghetti Westerns for the class. He didn't think much of them and thought even less of Clint. I didn't think much of his favorite, "The Seventh Seal." But, the Italian Western will always share a place in my heart with my father.

Tony Villeri's, The Price of Power with Giuliano Gemma - Italian Trailer here

The sound effects of a gun shot or a punch. A popped cork of a straw covered bottle. The thin dime ring of a spur. Stubby fingers with bitten dirty nails wrapped around a pistol grip. That lone whistle over taken by Morriconne's horns, choir and drums as they swell to a moment...

Dad sits next to me in a theater. Neither of us saying a word. And for a couple hours -- We're getting along -- just fine.

It Says More About Me Than I Care To Admit

Special Forces Recruitment Ad - 1976

I sat across from Army recruiter Dusty Rhodes in early May of 1976. A wooden name plate flanked by SFC chevrons was centered on his steel desk. He chain smoked Parliaments that he put out in a giant Army issue glass ash tray and two finger typed at a computer terminal.

"No, doesn't look good. You're too short."

"Too short?"

"Yeah, you gotta be five-ten to be an MP. I thought it might have changed by now but no luck."

"You mean it might change?"

"Sure. Hispanics are suing for discrimination. That sort'a thing. Could be next month or next year."

I stand. Shake Rhode's hand and head for the Air Force recruiter down the hall ignoring the Old Man's advice, "Join the Air Force as an MP and you'll be freezing your ass off guarding B-52s in Minot, North Dakota."

In the hallway is a poster. The understated graphic lends guts to the words, "It says more about you than you'd ever say about yourself." Words of comfort to a boy whose father always said, "You can't do anything right" and a mother who complained, "Nothing makes you happy." I'll be a Green Beret and everything will change.

MGB Ad - 1971

Little did I know the power and deception of Madison Avenue. Not to mention the plagiarism.

Crazy? Take This Test...

From Special Forces Briefing, Ft Bragg, NC, 1978

Back in 2005, pal and crime writer, Wallace Stroby was looking for back ground on an ex-Army character he was developing for a third novel. Rather than winging it and creating a complete joke (Jack Reacher comes to mind), Stroby consulted my father who was kind enough to cc me in on their correspondence.

From: phred
To: Wally
Subject: Of Looney Tunes & Real Nutzos
Date: 11 May 2005

Looney Tunes goes with the territory of Special Ops people, cops, and similar "elite" (as they see themselves) in order to maintain the "glamorous" image portrayed in film and novels. Generally, this involves relatively harmless "prankster" stuff. The cop at a party who crawls under a glass-topped table to see if the woman sitting on it is wearing underwear. The SF guy who crawls up in the rafters in a bar and takes a "dump" over the ceiling fan.

But, then, there are the real Nutz with severe mental problems. At one point, you refer to the character as feeling "...no one is fit to judge him or his actions." That may be, but it's also characteristic of psychopaths and sociopaths, and then it becomes a real danger. In Special Forces, for example, precautions were taken to "weed out" the real nutz.

I remember taking a variety of psychological tests, including the Minnesota Multiphasic. Problem is/was that psychos are able to lie so successfully that they're most difficult to detect -- and can even beat a lie detector. I had such a nut on my first team. Was able to get rid of him before he did serious harm.

I understand that the shrinks are getting better with more effective tests than the simple multiple choice versions that attempted to catch people contradicting their previous answers. Here's a sample:

A woman, while at the funeral of her mother, met a man she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy she believed him to be just that! She fell in love with him right there, but didn't ask for his number and could not find him. A few days later she killed her sister.

Question: What is her motive in killing her sister?

Answer: She was hoping that the man would appear at her sister's funeral. If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath or sociopath.

By the way, if you got the answer correct, please let me know so I can take you off my email list -- unless that will piss you off, in which case I'll be extra nice to you from now on.

You Know Film, Boy?

Topcon Super RE

Known in the states as the Super D. Bought by the old man in Korea in '70. He didn't like Nikons. They used leather for the film advance mechanism. Topcon used a chain. The camera lens is a hunk of 58mm glass and can open as wide as 1.4 -- Low light with Tri-X? Amazing what it could do.

Was kicked off the year book in '73 for arguing with the head photographer. Told him his Nikon and his pictures sucked. Retreated to dark rooms built by the old man. A bathroom in Hampton, VA. A basement in Colorado Springs. A dream retirement dark room off a Florida room.

Dad designed and built a custom print washer outta plexiglas. Piped stereo in. What felt like an hour was five. Time flew in the dark but we never worked together. I guess we liked being in the dark alone.

At 17, I apprenticed for a photographer who grabbed me in the crotch. Before that happened, I learned to use his 8x10 view camera and Hasselblads. Also learned to print Cibachrome. Man, Cibachrome's brilliant colors and plastic sheen finish was addictive. But not enough to stick around a perv who hailed from one of America's richest banking families.

Broke into the studio during a rain storm late one night. Grabbed a 3 ring binder of my negatives and never went back -- Except a year later. A portrait in my Army khakis and green beret. To prove a point. "Grab my dick now, motherfucker. I'll bite your Adams apple out and spit it in your face." He took the portrait with the 8x10 view and Panatomic 32.

I love film -- Rolling that sweet smell onto a stainless steel reel. You never forget, you know? It's like driving a stick. But no one seems interested in doing that anymore either.

'His Mother' & 'Contemporary Gothic' at the Mint

"Don't do the crime if you can't do the time..."

American Giant has offered up three black T shirts for field review. Two large and one extra large. If you'll comment on how you propose to do your field test and agree to report the results in two weeks -- I'll send you one.

American Giant Black T-Shirt $25

A lot of people in the apparel business will tell you it's impossible to manufacture in the U.S. anymore. Actually, what they're really saying is it's impossible to make a 600% to 1,000% markup manufacturing in the U.S. anymore. Man, that's criminal.

A year and half ago, Avery Lucas designed a canvas trouser for The Trad and I featured it here. Button fly with side tabs, Avery contrasted dressier details with humble canvas fabric. We found a U.S. manufacturer who'd make it for $60. We'd sell it direct for $120. A trouser twice the quality at half the cost. What happened? That's a very long story.

I sat down with American Giant CEO, Bayard Winthrop and in less than five minutes our heads were both going north and south over the issue of insane mark ups. Winthrop's idea is simple. Basic tops made in the U.S. and sold direct. He explained that men are a lot more comfortable ordering apparel on line. Especially if it's well made and well priced. I don't think he's onto something -- I know he is.

Sweatshirts ($60) and t-shirts ($25) are thick-solid and well made. I've seen old, made in USA, Russel sweatshirts going for $100+ in Manhattan's "Vintage" boutiques. Clearly, that's drunken sailor money and some will argue $25 for a t-shirt is too. I'll only say this. I have an affection for black t-shirts.


Dad wore 'em,



I wore 'em,



Sgt Nick Penis wore 'em,



Mayne wore 'em,





and Baretta wore 'em.


I could wear 'em all year long -- But I'll need to know, "where can I go where the cold winds don't blow."