"Enough About Me"

I have a number of interviews I'll be posting in the next few weeks and most of them went like this.

Mr Pitt & Penance Hall Socks

"You're hired, Penance Hall. Hello!" Mr. Justin Pitt, Doubleday Publishing

Shortly before Mr Pitt's death, he sat down with the boys at Penance Hall and designed a sock that would stay up but that wasn't too tight. "Pitty," as the boys at Penance lovingly referred to Mr Pitt, and who  loved to say, "Stay up, but not too tight -- Sounds like a cocktail to me." And of course it is, Fino Sherry and Mezcal, shaken and served up with a slice of orange.  But I digress.

Mr Pitt promised a story of 500 words to The Trad about the Penance Hall sock but we wound up in a dispute over a non-compete clause that I thought was only right to include. I didn't think two years was too long for Mr Pitt not to write for anyone else. I was, after all, paying him $1 a word but he didn't think so and sadly things escalated. Finally,  after five years the matter was settled…with Mr Pitt's death.

Despite the contractual language, Penance Hall and Mr Pitt really knocked the cover off the sock with this one. Merino wool, in classic Ivy school colors, and only $20 a pr. Mr Pitt suggested they retail for $20 per sock, but the boys felt differently and agreed on $20 a pair. If you invest in their Kickstarter, they'll lock you in for life on the $20 deal. The fine print is around here somewhere.

As a quick aside, Mr Pitt, before his death, offered a personal tour of NYC to Kickstart investors with Elaine Benes but... that has sadly fallen through. Pitt is dead and Benes is no longer in NYC.   Instead, Penance Hall has offered up, for the paltry sum of $5,000, lunch (and all we can drink) with myself and G. Bruce Boyer at the Four Seasons as well as a shopping excursion with yours truly that will blow your nuts off.

So open your check books for a good sock. You would make Mr Pitt very happy.

Bobby Cole: Home's Point of View

"Few are like him. He is for late hours and smoke-filled rooms and maybe broken hearts. He brings solace to torch bearers." Hollywood Gazette


Bobby Cole (1932-1996)  was suggested as an overlooked Jazz performer by Dave in his comment from the Gene McDaniel's post a couple weeks ago.  Cole had a reputation for being a self destructive hard ass not to mention a serious drinking problem.   Consequently, I'm quite fond of him.

Cole was hired by Judy Garland for her TV series after the executive producer fired the musical arranger, Mel Torme.  There were rumors Cole and Garland had an affair.  Check out this clip from the show and you just might see it.





'Poor Butterfly'  condenses into a four minutes exactly what my childhood thought it meant be an adult.  My Ex was fond of saying my idea of being an adult was booze, Playboy magazine, cigarettes and big breasts.  But somewhere deep inside was a connection to a style of music that, while it certainly has, "booze, Playboy, cigarettes and breasts…" it also offers quiet intelligence, reflection and in the end, a home that is all about Growing Old.

NEW NEW NEW 1960

A Point of View 1966

Judy Garland at home at the Palace 1967
(accompanied by Bobby Cole)

Mr. Bojangles (single) 1968

A friend of Mr. Cole remembers his friend on the blog Ill Folks. It's loaded with remembrances and unique demos. It's also very funny. Fuck the Grammys -- I'm spending tonight with Ill Folks & Bobby.


The Omen

When daylight was still sleeping under the sea
And a few lingering stars in the heavens shone
Up from her pillow rose the blushing bride to be
It was the last time she was to sleep alone

Twas a handsome youth she buried her heart and her soul in
and she vowed to make the last tide just before noon
and it's been said that once the heart of a maid is stolen
the maiden herself will steal after it soon

She looked in the glass which few women miss
In which all women find time for a sly glance or two
A young butterfly fresh from a night flower's kiss
Flew between her and the mirror shading her view

Enraged at the insect for hiding her graces
She brushed him aside, and he fell, never to rise
Ah, said the girl, such is the pride of our faces
For which the soul's beauty and innocence too often die

Apologies & Forgiveness

Walter Cichon

I occasionly get thrown into dark places by friends who know not what they do. Wallace Stroby emailed a MP 3 of Bruce Springsteen's, The Wall, which was released today and unknown to me even though it's been played at concerts for years. It is an intimate poem to Walter Cichon, lead singer of the mid-60s Jersey Shore band, The Motifs. Later, a drafted Army ShakeNBake NCO who served with the 4th Infantry Division and was killed in the Central Highlands in early '68.

Major Reed asked me to join him in his tent with Major Dunbar.  Reed had a 4th Infantry Division patch on his right shoulder from a tour of Vietnam in '67 and '68 as a young butter bar. Almost ten years later he was running the briefings for the corps commander and I was his starched up map pointer.  "Slap the map acetate, Tinseth…that way we'll keep these fuckers awake." 

Walter was reported MIA but only because his body had been hacked up by the NVA.  His unit knew he had been killed but it was impossible to identify him -- This is Walter introducing the song and singing lead on "Molly," the B side of The Motif's first and only single.  I like it better than the A side because you really hear Walter's voice…deep and spooky but fun with some major attitude and a melody that that reminds me of Sexy Beast.  Walter, who had a truckful of talent, had damned little luck.



I applied to West Point Prep School and my acceptance was delivered to me by a mail clerk in the back of the briefing tent.  Prep school was for enlisted men who lacked the GPA to get into West Point.  My history and english were just barely adequate but  science and math were a mile deep in a shit hole.  I told Reed and he congratulated me.  I told him I wasn't sure. 

 A year of prep and four in the academy meant five years of payback to the Army.  "10 years of my life in boots." I told Reed looking at the dirt floor of the briefing tent and at Reed's spit shined boots. What I really knew?  I seriously doubted I could make it -- Even thru prep school.





In this video, Springsteen refers to a newspaper article about Cichon sent to him by a friend. I'm guessing it's this 1999 Asbury Park Press  piece that is so  beautiful.  Although Bruce gets the branch of service wrong in the song, everything else is on.  The Wall, after being played by Springsteen at concerts around the world, is finally being released today on, High Hopes.  It's not Veteran's Day or Memorial Day…it's just the right day.

I join Reed and Dunbar in their tent.  Reed asks for my canteen cup and pours three or four glugs of Usher's Green Stripe while Dunbar asks if I want soda or water. At 19, I've never had scotch -- only gin, bourbon or beer.  "Water," I say and Dunbar leans over from his cot with an OD green plastic canteen and shakes a short glug out while I wonder where the fucking soda could be.  Dunbar tells me he was a drama major at Northwestern.  I have a hard time associating this man with performing Shakespeare.  

I ask Dunbar how a drama major winds up in the army.  Dunbar smiles, it's a warm smile on a big man with light brown hair that's cut high and tight.  Shaved sidewalls were not just a fad but had purpose in keeping hair out of head wounds. I see the actor in Dunbar.  Good looking, tall, loads of presence and charming.  I barely notice Reed is in the tent.  "I didn't think I could cut it," Dunbar says.  A lot of competition for a handful of jobs -- That, and I didn't really fit in."  "No shit," I thought.  

The Motifs played:

The Ship's Wheel, Hoffman House, Mell's Lounge, Buckwalds, The Cave, Playpen, Stanley Prinston, Big Ray, Little Vinnie's... the list goes on… The Jersey Shore will always be more limited by what it could be than what it is -- Like its inhabitants.  And maybe Walter, if he lived, would've wound up as an insurance salesman.  Or, maybe… he would've been the leader of  a rock and roll band.

Both Reed and Dunbar argue for prep school.  A PFC drinking with two majors offering career advice was not lost on me.  A couple days later Reed offered me to a detail that was setting up the corp commander's mess.  The tent came with a hard wood floor and a small bar.  I stole a bottle of Johnny Walker and knocked on Reed's tent pole.  Reed's face lit up when I handed him the bottle. "Where'd you get this?" It will be the very first time but hardly the last in the Army when I say, "You don't wanna know, sir."

I will ignore Reed and Dunbar's advice mostly because I don't know or trust them.  For years it will sail across my horizon as a huge ship of regret, not that I think about it every day -- Only when I see a bottle of Green Stripe or hear about someone from the 4th Infantry Division. 

Happy Birthday, DB

Belated birthday greetings to old friend and frequent Trad contributor, DB. Dave did an hysterical impression of a fly in high school using two halves of a tennis ball. In the 38 years since then, he has changed little save the minor hair loss. I do hope he lost the ruffled shirt.

Discovering Gene McDaniels

After expressing my intense dislike of  Frank Sinatra over a pre-Christmas dinner, I was asked who my favorite "Crooner" was. Was it Mel Torme? "No," I said while thinking Mel was more obnoxious than Frank.  "Tony Bennett?" I shook my head and added, "Only if it's Alec Baldwin doing Bennett." "Well…who then?"  I thought for a moment and finally blurted, "Harry Nilsson." My dinner companions feigned an ersatz, "Hmmm, interesting…" and returned to their Welsh Rarebit appetizer.

If I had only seen Gene McDaniels.

Hidden away in the white watusi world of Dixieland Jazz and Brit Pop that is, "It's Trad Dad," which I do love, is the elegant performance of Gene McDaniels lending soul to an equally white watusi Bacharach and David standard, "Another Tear Falls." It's timeless, smokey and sadly too short -- McDaniel's creamy but blasting vocal gives me goosebumps.

My cynicism was not at all surprised when I discovered Gene McDaniel's singing career never took off the way it should have.  But Gene wrote the hit, "Compared to What" for Les McCann and in this video shortly before his death in 2011, he goes into fascinating detail about his struggles and his eventual success as songwriter and music producer.

I'm just beginning to discover Gene and have no business writing about his career or music.  But if you, like me, never heard of Gene and are as moved by "Another Tear" as I am, then you'll have an answer when asked who your favorite crooner is.

Eugene McDaniels Website

Wrong Pitti - Right Sbagliato

The Tweets & Instagrams coming in from Pitti this year are like a 155 artillery barrage. And while this year's street fashion is consistent with years past, I'm seeing a lot more images of folks eating and drinking. Which is what I'd be doing 24/7 at Pitti.

For those of us stuck in this 'Witches Tit in a Brass Bra'  deep freeze, click on the You Tube video below and watch the charming and erudite, Maurizio Stocchetto from the Bar Basso in Milan show you how to make a perfect but wrong, Negroni Sbagliato   That is, a Negroni but with Prosecco instead of gin -- The smart cocktail for anyone sitting at a bar 24/7.

Nothing Lasts...

...except memories.

Help Is On The Way

The Beatles film, "Help," for many years, has been self administered as a cure for getting over the post holiday depression that will settle in. Eight foot piles of brown frozen snow in a client's parking lot and lunch at Ruby Tuesdays in a flat western suburb will be plunged even further down the black hole with the blood-red cellophane Hallmark of Valentine's Day.  It's enough to make anyone drink but my client has a thing for Bailey's Hazelnut with shots of Jägermeister.

Back at the office, your new revenue goal is upped 40% without any corresponding monetary increase -- Only an inference you won't have a job if you don't make it by a man named Rick but who you call Dick.

At home, your welcomed by a wife who is back from a three day business trip with a freshly waxed 'hooh-hah,' which she admonishes you for questioning because she has always liked the cool feeling, this despite she was in St Paul where it's twenty below and it'll be another eight months before the two of you have intimate relations again.

Somberly… and with lead feet, you walk to the flat screen, dig out the Blu Ray DVD and slip "Help" into a black tray and punch the remote.  Backing away from the TV, you stare at the screen and, since you've seen it more times in one month than you've had sex with your wife all year, you smile and feel like you're 15 again... because you are.

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.

My Boxers...

...lie perfectly content under khakis,
but under jeans, not so much.

They make it easy to pee and
I even remember a girl friend
pulling them down with glee.

Now I pull them down
I see a pudge of flesh
from 21 years
of sitting behind a desk.

Dropping them over a right knee
there's still a gash
left over from a Yamaha 600
motorcycle crash.

Freckles on my thighs
never let me lie
that some of my hidden hairs
are red.

Tartan patch boxers
stolen by a one night stand.
Quid pro quo?
I don't think so.

A sister-in-law announced
over Xmas dinner
I'd spend my last $50
on a pair of green silk boxers.

Maybe, they've been with me
since the army deemed
they fit me
but I'd add
a red Olde English
monogram.

If it's all the same
to those who bury me
I would only ask
you prepare me
in Logsdail itchy wool boxers.

An eternity
I swear...
Must come
with some debonair
and I hope someone in Heaven
will scratch me.

Hungover? I Gotta Cure For That...

Click image to enlarge

I'm indebted to M Magazine for a lot of things but this hangover cure of garlic soup stands in the top 10 of M Appreciation. Days like today?  It might well come in first.

This is a tad more complicated than a rare blue cheese burger on dark rye and a fountain Coke but it really isn't that difficult... although peeling garlic with the shakes can be a little tricky.

You also might smell like garlic for a couple days and that's okay if, like me, your idea of Hell is other people. I'm trying to find a cure for other people but, until I do, this soup ain't a bad place to start.

Merry Christmas

Written in 1988 for soprano, Jessye Norman, ‘Christmastide’ has always stood in the way of my motto, “Not as good as it was - Better than it will be.” It is amazing, quiet, erudite, humble, peaceful and simple.  Although, I am sure you will never hear it on the radio.  

Green and silver, red and gold

And a story born of old.

Truth and love and hope abide,

This Christmastide, this Christmastide.

Holly, ivy, mistletoe

And the gently falling snow.

From a simple ox’s stall

Came the greatest gift of all.

Children sing of peace and joy

At the birth of one small boy.

Let the bells ring loud and clear,

Ring out now for all to hear.

Trumpets sound and voices raise

In an endless stream of praise.

Green and silver, red and gold

And a story born of old.

Words: Jane McCulloch   /   Music: Donald Fraser

Please Come Home...

This is the only Christmas song that has really moved me.  I understand it also  moved Darlene Love…into a bigger house.

Bootsy & Voysey

London, 2001:
She was standing next to an early '70s Triumph Spitfire with blinking emergency lights.  Broken down during afternoon rush hour and taking up an entire lane in a traffic circle somewhere in Mayfair.  Cell phone to an ear, she looked exasperated and... on hold.   Red shoulder length hair bounced as she turned her head just as the cab I was in passed by.  She was dressed in a white silk blouse,  boot cut  jeans and suede paddock boots.  I'll never forget her -- Not that I think of her everyday.

But I was reminded of Bootsy when I saw these -- Maloles Lola M87 -- Sounds like something from Formula 1.

Doris Leslie Blau is a rug dealer in NYC and I've fallen hard for their English Arts and Crafts rugs since they first emailed me a sampling late last Summer.  There's a wide line between American and English A&C.  Not a fan of the former but a big fan of the latter. And while their A&C collection is not for the weak of heart or GS-5 park rangers, there are some fantastic deals on their web site…like this wonderful navy and red kilim. 

If you're thinking of something special for a lady friend and you're pressed for time, DLB has created a story for you.  The Maloles echoing the  CFA Voysey rug.  Maybe you could buy her a Triumph Spitfire as well.

Maloles Lola M87 Boot $430 here

1910 Arts & Crafts Rug (12'7" x 10'8") $45,000 here

Triumph Spitfires for Sale  $4,500 - $32,500 here

A Friday Belt - Bing, Bitters & Braces

Been doing a lot of walking and not much drinking in the last six weeks.  Consequently,  pounds have shed away but that's not why I'm walking and not drinking…so much.  Much of it has to do with health -- the drinking.  Some of it has to do with work -- the walking.  However it happened, I made several discoveries:  Lowa approach boots being the walking bit with Bing being the not-drinking bit.

A can of Bing can keep me going for four hours and five miles.  I kid you not.  It helps to like blackberries - And I love blackberries. At only 40 calories and 8g of carbs,  it's got a bite and a wild tartness that will keep the kids away. Which is good news at roughly $2 a can.  Last week I saw Fee Cranberry bitters and immediately thought of adding it to Bing.  It's amazing.  Four healthy shakes of  Fee, since I'm such a bitter man, and I swear there's vodka in there.  

And since the Friday belt - sans hooch - can't include a belt, I dug out the Reindeer braces. In the seven or so years I've owned them, they've been worn to three Christmas parties where they stayed under a jacket.  No one knew about them  -- but I knew they were there… just like low back pain. If you see a grimace - offer me a drink.

Memories of Rowley at Christmas

O'Toole On The Ould Sod by Gay Talese

Peter O'Toole, Esquire Magazine, August 1963, Photo by Brian Seed

"When my father would come home from the track after a good day," said Peter O'Toole, leaning against the bar, "the whole room would light up; it was fairyland. But when he lost, it was black.  In our house, it was always either a wake...or a wedding."

My Esquire, purchased from the double maduro - double corona chomping used magazine vendor on the upper west side, is yellowed and crumbly. Gay's profile of O'Toole, and it reeks of beer, cigarettes, whiskey and how I like to think I'd handle that kind of success at 31, can be read here.  It's a pisser of a story.

It's the Seaplane, Boss!

It's that time of year again…  no, not Christmas… but that year... 1968.   It always happens -  Conservative and understated is kicked aside for wild color and free love.  Not that love has been expensive recently.  Ever date a 25 year old?  Twenty minutes into dinner and she's asking you to bed while taking a selfie and blowing in your ear.  Whatever happened to three dates?

The conservative and understated loved their mad dash of Go-To-Hell color on the golf course and at the resort.  But Seaplane Shirts are pitching a different color to a different customer.  There are shades of the '70s Disco Nik Nik but there's more of the  tasteful aesthetic you see in Findland's Marimekko and the bold block pattern of Souleiado from Provence.

Schuyler Brown's idea was to create colorful shirts for men to wear to work.  If you think about it, we're still in the Dockers, golf shirt and Cole Haan kilties thing with most men who don't have to wear a suit to the office.  That and the the rolled up denim, gingham, Red Wing look that I swear was borne from so many of today's designers watching Jethro Bodine from their play cribs.

Brown could have made the shirts in China and asked a couple hundred bucks but he had an even bigger agenda.  That is, to change how the retail model works.  A lotta people talk about it doing it but once they get a whiff of a 500%, 800% or even 1,000% markup -- Thanks to China -- They always come up with an excuse why they couldn't find a US maker.

By going direct, and buying last fabric remnants, Brown can have a shirt made and sell it, sans the retailer, direct to you while still making a profit.  We're talking $49 to $65 a shirt, and you can buy directly from Schuyler, or go to Amazon.com, who handle his inventory and where his shirts may also be had with free two-day shipping fro Prime customers.

Seaplane Shirts is hitting all my buttons.  Made in the US, tasteful and overboard all while doing business with as few hands in the middle as possible.  Schuyler told me a story of how, in 1917, his maternal grandfather inherited a plowline factory in N.C.  One day he saw a tractor and knew he was in trouble.  So he figured out how to braid rugs with a lot of the same equipment; for nearly 100 years the company has made a substantial contribution to employment in Montgomery County.

I think Seaplane has seen the future as well.   Most men don't realize that's what happens when they buy an Alpha sized shirt for $250…But if they knew how much the mark up was, and most importantly, who was getting most of the money…Well, no man likes to be a chump nowadays --  Especially the guy who takes a girl on three dates.

Seaplane Shirts
Website Here
Amazon Site Here