My Last Cruise: 27 Years, 15 Voyages and a Final Look Back

Before I took my very first cruise, my sister warned my wife that I probably wouldn’t like it.

My sister was generally pretty accurate when it came to me.

She was wrong about cruising.

Over the past 27 years, I have taken 15 cruises. I’ve sailed on several different cruise lines, visited a lot of interesting places, eaten a lot of mediocre food, taken some memorable excursions, spent too much money shopping on excursions and, on more than one occasion, wondered why I was doing this to myself.

But I think I’m finished.

I’m about 95% sure that my recent 12-night Celebrity cruise to New England and Canada was my last cruise. At 74, I’ve reached the point where I can look back on more than two decades of cruising and say that I’ve had some wonderful experiences—but I’m also beginning to understand why my sister thought I wouldn’t like it.

My First Cruise

My introduction to cruising wasn’t exactly reassuring.

Our first cruise was on the Disney Magic. We had spent three days at the Disney resort, and the final three days of the vacation were supposed to be aboard the ship.

There was a weak hurricane in the area, which naturally caused me some concern. I was assured that we would avoid it and that the seas would be fine.

No sooner had we left port and sat down for dinner than the ship started rocking.

The weather and the motion of the ship got progressively worse. I remember staring out the porthole at the huge waves breaking against the ship. I was frightened and didn’t sleep that night.

It turned out that there were winds of 70 to 80 mph and extremely rough seas. At one point, the ship tilted enough that water came down the elevator shafts, and a number of cabins got soaking wet.

The next day I saw the Captain and asked him the obvious question: “Why did we go through a hurricane?

His answer was essentially that they hadn’t expected the weather to be as bad as it was.

Of course, we made it to the Bahamas the next morning. Where there are casinos and shopping…

That experience left me with my first lesson about cruising: When money is involved, passenger comfort and business considerations don’t always seem to be traveling in the same direction.

And yet, somehow, I kept cruising

Cruising Used to Be More Fun

Maybe it’s because I’m 74 now, but I remember cruising being more fun—and certainly more relaxing—10 or 15 years ago.

Perhaps that’s partly because I was younger.

I remember routinely taking the stairs rather than waiting for an elevator. Today, I look at a flight of stairs and think, Where’s the elevator?

My wife and I also have different mobility considerations now. On this most recent cruise, I rented a Rollator so she could get around the ship and participate in excursions. That added another expense and another logistical consideration to a vacation that was already expensive.

There is something about cruising that changes when you get older. Things that once seemed like minor inconveniences—walking long distances, climbing stairs, getting on and off buses, standing in line, navigating a large ship—become part of the calculation.

The Excursion Problem

I’ve also become increasingly skeptical about cruise excursions.

Too many of them seem to involve spending two or three hours sitting on a bus so that you can spend a few minutes looking at something before getting back on the bus.

If I’m visiting a country or an island, I’d rather actually experience the place.

On this most recent cruise, one of our excursions was a bus tour of St. John’s, Newfoundland. Unfortunately, it was Labor Day, and virtually everything was closed.

So we spent a good portion of the excursion riding around on a bus looking at places we couldn’t visit.

That wasn’t exactly my idea of sightseeing.

I’ve come to believe that some excursions are little more than tourist traps. You’re paying good money to be transported somewhere, told what you’re looking at and then transported back to the ship.

Perhaps I’m becoming more selective—or simply more difficult.

Less Staff, More Work

One thing that struck me on this cruise was how hard the crew seemed to be working.

Our room steward worked from approximately 9 in the morning until 9 at night, 7 days a week. He mentioned that he once had an assistant, but that position had been eliminated.

I have no idea how representative that is across the cruise industry, but it certainly gave me the impression that cruise lines are trying to accomplish more with fewer people.

The irony is that the crew members themselves were almost universally friendly and hardworking.

It can’t be easy dealing with thousands of passengers, many of whom are older, demanding and occasionally grumpy.

I also sometimes had difficulty understanding what crew members were telling me because of language differences. That’s not a criticism of the workers; communicating with people from dozens of countries and cultures can’t be easy.

A big complaint was customer service.

There were several occasions when I received incorrect information from customer service personnel on the ship. In my experience, the problem wasn’t a lack of friendliness. It was a lack of accurate answers.

Food: Another Casualty of Time

The food has also changed—or perhaps my expectations have.

I remember being much more impressed by the food on cruises years ago. On my last several cruises, I’ve found the presentation, variety and preparation noticeably less impressive.

The dining-room staff works extremely hard and generally tries to accommodate special requests.

But they aren’t cooking the food.

If the menu isn’t very good or the kitchen isn’t turning out particularly good meals, there isn’t much the waiter can do about it.

I’m not expecting five-star restaurant food on a cruise ship. But when you are paying what cruises cost today, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to expect better.

The Stateroom Gets Smaller as You Get Older

Our stateroom on this cruise also seemed particularly small.

Maybe the stateroom hadn’t changed.

Maybe I had.

I felt claustrophobic at times. There wasn’t much room to move around, and the bathroom was so small that taking a shower required a certain amount of caution and balance.

We also had a problem with the toilet flushing. It took three or four calls before the problem was finally resolved.

None of this ruined the cruise. But when you’re paying thousands of dollars for a vacation, these little irritations add up.

And Then There Is the Cost

Cruising isn’t cheap…

The cruise fare is just the beginning.

There’s travel to and from the port, insurance, excursions, gratuities, drinks, internet, casino money and all the other extras that somehow find their way onto your account.

On this cruise, I paid about $250 for internet access.

I don’t remember paying anything close to that on some of my earlier cruises. Perhaps I did and simply blocked it from my memory.

A can of soda was $5.99, and there was an additional dollar gratuity each time I ordered one.

Fortunately, I discovered that iced tea was free.

There is something satisfying about defeating a cruise line’s beverage pricing strategy with a glass of iced tea.

Maybe I Should Have Stayed in the Casino

Interestingly, on my last two cruises, we actually won some money playing the slot machines.

Looking back, I probably would have been better off skipping one or two of the excursions and spending the money in the casino.

At least the slot machines were honest about taking my money.

And occasionally they gave some of it back

Twelve Nights Was Too Long

The final indication that my cruising days may be over was the length of this cruise.

It was 12 nights.

I was ready to go home after eight.

That never would have happened to me years ago.

There are only so many activities on a cruise ship. You can play trivia a few times. You can see the shows. You can sit by the pool. You can eat. You can gamble. You can walk around the ship.

Then you start doing the same things again.

Perhaps some people can cruise for a month and never get bored.

I’m apparently no longer one of them.

So Why Stop Now?

At 74, stopping seems prudent for a variety of reasons.

The logistics are more difficult. The walking is more difficult. The cost is higher. The cabins seem smaller. The excursions seem less appealing. And after eight or nine days, I’m ready to sleep in my own bed.

Most importantly, I don’t feel that I’m missing something by staying home.

That’s probably the biggest difference between now and 20 years ago.

When you’re younger, you often look forward to the next trip.

When you’re older, you sometimes look forward to getting home.

The Good Memories Remain

Despite everything I’ve written here, I don’t regret the 15 cruises I’ve taken.

Far from it.

I’ve seen places I probably wouldn’t have visited otherwise. I’ve met interesting people, experienced some beautiful scenery and had plenty of laughs. There were cruises that I thoroughly enjoyed and would happily repeat—if I could somehow go back 15 years in time.

And that’s really the point.

My best memories of cruising are mostly from the earlier voyages, when I was younger and when, at least in my perception, the cruise lines seemed more interested in making passengers happy.

Maybe the cruise lines changed.

Maybe I changed.

Probably both.

Either way, 27 years and 15 cruises is a pretty good run.

So if this really was my last cruise, I’m not going to complain.

I’ll remember the good meals, the interesting ports, the casinos that occasionally paid me back, the beautiful views and the many miles we’ve traveled at sea.

I’ll also remember the rough seas, the crowded buses, the tiny bathrooms, the expensive soda and the $250 internet bill.

And somewhere in the back of my mind I’ll remember my sister, who predicted all of this before I ever stepped aboard that first Disney ship.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong after all.

She was just 15 cruises early.

Most Memorable Rec Game: The Agony of Victory

Image from AI

In July 2021, I was wrapping up a pickleball meetup at River Road and getting ready to head home. It had been a warm, humid evening, and I was looking forward to sitting down, relaxing, and enjoying a couple of cold drinks.

Just as I was about to leave, Reuven Cohen asked if I wanted to play one more game.

Our opponents would be Rodman and Tony—both younger, faster, and far more athletic than Reuven and me. I figured it would be a quick game before heading home, so I agreed.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

The game stretched on for at about an hour. Reuven and I jumped out to a surprising 7-0 lead, but Rodman and Tony quickly fought their way back. From that point on, neither team could gain much separation. Every point felt important, and every rally seemed to last forever.

By the time the score reached the teens, I was running on fumes. My legs were heavy, my shirt was soaked, and I was wondering why I hadn’t simply gone home when I had the chance. Reuven, however, wasn’t about to quit. He kept encouraging me to hang in there.

Against all odds, we pulled out all kinds of crazy winning shots to a 22-20 victory. Keep in mind, this was not rally scoring…

Two older guys had managed to outlast and outplay two younger athletes.

Several players had stayed to watch the match, and judging from the looks on their faces, they were almost as surprised as I was.

The celebration, however, was short-lived.

When I got home, my body staged a full-scale rebellion. My calves cramped. My feet cramped. My thighs cramped. Even my arms cramped. I could barely move without pain. For a while, I seriously considered a trip to the emergency room, except for one problem—I wasn’t sure I could get there.

It took hours, plenty of fluids, and a great deal of care from my wife before I finally recovered.

We’ve all heard the phrase, “the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat.”

That night, I learned about something else entirely:

The agony of victory.

(This is the first in what I hope are articles, opinions, posts and essays from the perspective of an older pickleball player.)

Lessons from the Final Moments

We rarely know when we are sharing the last conversation, the last laugh, or the last look with someone we love. Sometimes death announces itself with months of warning; other times it slips in like a thief, stealing a life in the space between heartbeats. Over the years, I have stood at the bedsides and shared the dinners that turned out to be final moments. These are the stories of my aunt, my sister, my stepfather, my mother—and of a Valentine’s Day in childhood that taught me the lesson I carry still: tomorrow is never promised.

Aunt Irene’s Peace

My Aunt Irene was plagued with poor health, especially heart issues in her fifties. She endured multiple heart attacks—just as nearly all her brothers and sisters did, including my father, who died at 35.

For years, Irene feared death, understandably so given her condition and the string of family losses she had endured. Then, one day at a family function, she pulled me aside with an urgency I’ll never forget.

She told me she no longer feared dying.

During one of her heart attacks, she had what the medical profession would call a near-death experience—but to her, it was entirely real. She said she saw and spoke with loved ones who had already passed, including my father, with whom she had been very close. She described it as a place of pure peace, tranquility, and happiness.

Because of that experience, she was no longer afraid—and she wanted me to understand that I should never fear death either. My father gave my aunt his house when her marriage failed and she needed a home for her and her three children. I think she felt duty bound to pass on something that would guide me as I got older.

She died peacefully a few months after sharing her feelings with me.

My Sister’s Ominous Reading

In January 1995, my sister Sandra died at just 38 years old during brain surgery to remove a growing tumor near her optic nerves. The main fear had been the risk of blindness. I don’t recall any great concern that she might not survive the surgery. A few months before the surgery, she and some of her friends had gone to dinner, followed by a visit to a psychic.

The psychic read cards for each of her friends with ease and everyone marvelled and laughed at their future predictions—until it was Sandra’s turn. The psychic’s demeanor changed. She looked unsettled and while staring at the cards said she could not see Sandra’s future. Sandra’s psychic session ended abruptly. I hold no firm beliefs on psychics or their practice but I found this a cautionary tale. Was it coincidence? Or a warning? The unsettling moment stayed with Sandra’s friends long after she was gone.

One Last Look

Two days before her surgery, my wife and I hosted Sandra, her husband, her daughter, and my mother for dinner. Sandra showed no visible fear and instead focused on how long her recovery would take. However I was deeply worried, but Sandra teased me when my wife mentioned I’d gone to Mass earlier that day. I had not been at Mass in years and had no great belief in prayer.

When dinner was over and Sandra left, she got into her car and stared at me for a long, deliberate moment as she drove away. My wife and mother noticed it too. At the time, our greatest fear was that she might go blind; I thought perhaps she was memorizing my face just in case.

We shared that one last look before she died.

My Stepfather’s Last Words

In his final months, my stepfather’s body was ravaged by cancer. He lost 100 pounds, was confined to bed, drifted in and out of awareness, and could no longer communicate. Hospice care became his world.

On his last day, I had to put an oxygen mask on him because the visiting technician was too shaken by his condition to do it. I secured the mask, and to my shock, my stepfather lifted it, looked me directly in the eyes, and asked, in a clear, steady voice, “What’s next?” I was stunned and offered that the mask would let him breath easier.

He hadn’t spoken coherently in months. He was comatose. Yet, in that moment, he seemed alert to fully understand where he was—and what was coming. He passed away a few hours after his last words.

A Fleeting Return

My mother’s final years were spent in an assisted living facility. Dementia robbed her of clarity, recognition, and the gentle temperament she had always carried. Most days she didn’t know me, my sister, or even her best friend of 50 years.

Visits were often an exercise in quiet heartbreak. But one afternoon, perhaps a month before she died, she surprised me. She knew exactly who I was. She spoke with complete lucidity, telling me she was scared, that she missed her home, and that she hated being a burden. She even apologized for her condition—as if she had caused it.

For a brief, shining moment, she was herself again. I thought of taking her home. But within minutes, the light in her eyes faded, the fog returned, and she was gone from me once more, though her body lived on a few more weeks. I remember that I cursed God for what had been done to my mother and to all the other helpless people that I saw in that assisted living home.

The Valentine’s Day Card

In the winter of 1960, when I was seven, my parents were heading out to a Valentine’s Day party. I had made a card for my mother and gave it to her gladly. I had also made one for my father—but I was angry with him for some reason, and I withheld it.

As they put on their coats, something inside me changed. I handed my father his card. He opened it, smiled, kissed my forehead, and said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

But I never saw him again. He died that night of a heart attack at age 35.

I have often thought of that moment. Had I let my anger win, the guilt of my last act toward him being one of rejection would have been unbearable. Instead, I learned—at the age of seven—that tomorrow is never guaranteed, and the chance to make amends may never come again.

In all these moments—some peaceful, some mysterious, some unbearably sad—the same truth emerges:
Life is fragile. Goodbyes can be sudden. And sometimes, in the quiet between breaths, there is a chance to speak the words that matter most.

So say them now—while you still can.

My Favorite Christmas Gift

I have no idea of the number of Christmas presents that I have received in my life. I do recall that the Christmas presents when I was very young were relatively modest. My memory of these pictures are that I was age 6, and were taken a few months before my father died of a heart attack. I was very excited to receive possibly my first piece of technology, a pocket watch.

My recollection was that my parents were very surprised when I was in first grade how quickly I picked up basic math and knew how to tell time. The picture on the left shows my happiness at getting a pocket watch and the picture on the left shows how dapper I looked with the pocket watch.

I must confess that Christmas is pretty much a sad day for me. Most of my family members have died, including my parents and my sister who is shown at age 2. I vaguely remember that we used to get a small Christmas tree and that I would help put tinsel on the branches. There was a Christmas village surrounding the base of the tree as well as a Lionel track and train set. There’s nothing like this smell of a real Christmas tree!

Summer Requiem

“Nobody on the road / Nobody on the beach / I feel it in the air / The summer’s out of reach / Empty lake, empty streets”

Boys of Summer, Don Henley

73 summers have come and gone. How many summers do I have left?

Summer inspires so many remembrances of lost family and friends who shared picnics, swimming, birthday parties and vacations. Though summer fades, my love and gratitude for the joy shared in those moments never do.

Life is what is measured between summers.

The gentle sound of ocean waves softly lapping against the shore calms my heart and soothes my soul.

As summer fades, I find myself yearning for the waning light, the warmth it brings, and the endless possibilities it once promised.

Oh, if only I could capture the memories of my youth—riding a rickety boardwalk roller coaster, savoring the sticky sweetness of cotton candy, stealing glances and shy smiles on the boardwalk, and diving for a spike in a game of beach volleyball.

Summer inspires the beginning of so many love stories. There is no better season to be in love.

I am a child of summer, born under the sun’s warm embrace, comforted by soft breezes that once swayed the curtains as I napped in peaceful contentment.

Running in Flow

“My favorite athletic moment wasn’t part of any competition. I must have been around 30 years old when I went out for a long run. At that time, my running pace was probably around eight minutes per mile. I didn’t have a particular route or distance in mind; my usual runs were between 3.0 to 3.5 miles. I remember how, if I missed a few days of running, I didn’t feel like myself—I became anxious and discontented.

Then, one Saturday morning, something remarkable happened. I set out and ended up running about 10 effortless miles. It was as if I was in a state of flow; I had no idea I could run that far. I even felt like I could have gone another 2.5 to 3 miles if I had wanted to. I tackled uphill and downhill segments, varying my pace effortlessly. My body, mind, and spirit were completely aligned. It was a rare moment of synergy that I’ve seldom felt in any other activity.

If I had a time machine, I would gladly go back to that moment, that place, just to experience that level of health, happiness, and contentment again.”

June 30,1952

Sturm und Drang

Words that never were true
Spoken to help nobody but you
Words with lies inside
But small enough to hide
‘Til your playin’ was through
Words The Monkees

Lately I feel like I resemble this remark by the satirist Mort Sahl: “a very likable guy who makes ex-friends easily.”

(8/10/2021: Text conversation between S and I on her invite for me to join a birthday party for two members in a private pickleball group called Kilmer)

(About an hour later, I receive this text…)

S: Hey Eric, I see you haven’t joined Kilmer yet. We are celebrating Pete’s birthday and Dave’s on Wednesday if interested in joining.

Me: I will stop by and I will bring some snacks for the party. Thanks again for the invite and I’ll see you tomorrow night. I was thinking about soft pretzels and some chocolates. But I will defer to you if I should bring something else.

S:That’s perfect! Very sweet of you. Don’t bring too much. It’s your first time coming and you are also our guest.

(Minutes later, I receive this text from S, rescinding the invitation)

S: Hi Eric, I circumvented our system and didn’t check first with everyone which is our usual policy. Pls hold off. I’m sorry.

(Since I was “disinvited,” I tried to handle this as gracefully as I could. I felt bad for S. I knew she wasn’t behind the disinvite.)

Me: Thanks again for the invitation to join. But I am going to take my name off the list. I sense that there could be an “issue“ and I do not wish to upset the dynamics of a very good group. I will see all of you at various meet ups and look forward to playing with all of you then. I will wish Pete and Dave a happy birthday the next time that I see them.

S: If things change please let me know. It would be really great to have you.

(In October 2021, a party was scheduled at the pickleball courts where I host Meet-ups. I am declining an invitation to the party and am addressing my text to the individual who was responsible for my invitation to the August birthday party being rescinded.)

P., “Thanks for your invite to the Kilmer Halloween party but I regretfully decline. In August, S. had invited me to a birthday party for Pete and Dave. Since I am friendly with just about all of the Kilmer group, I accepted. I discussed with S. what to bring and I looked forward to the get together. Unfortunately S. contacted me later and apologetically asked me not to come as there was an issue with me being invited. I was disappointed but I did not want S. to feel more awkward so I told her I would not go. I did wish Pete and Dave Happy Birthdays when I saw them on the courts.

It’s a shame that someone in the group felt to exclude me. Besides the competition in Pickleball, what may be most important are the social connections and friendships we develop in the sport. I try to make and keep as many friendships as I can.

Because of the disappointment I felt at missing the earlier Kilmer party and not wanting to risk being told at the gate for the Halloween party that I am not welcomed, I decline your invitation.

I hope your party goes well and the attendees have a great time…”

(Text by P to the community Pickleball Group where both she and I belong. She admits to being the person who did not want me at the party and she attempts to explain why.)

P: I was uncomfortable about Eric attending the party at Kilmer because of comments directed at me during River Road meetups, which I kept private. Air cleared.

(I had asked her why I was denied entry to the party after being invited. I already knew she was responsible.)

P: Eric, you’d fear entry to the party would be denied? How dare you say or anyone believe this disparaging remark aimed at people you play with at RR (including my Tuesday meetup) Hainesport, & Jeff Young every week. This feeble ploy to gain sympathy should be above you.

(Turns out I was not invited to a surprise party for P in March 2022. I was disappointed I was not invited but I was angered to find out that I was deliberately excluded. As far as I knew I had very good relations with the rest of the Kilmer Group except P., who I thought I was rebuilding a past friendship with.)

( I was friendly with F. She was a member of the Kilmer Group and I enjoyed our conversations and playing pickleball together. There was an issue with the RR pickleball courts and she seemed upset with me on how I handled it. I sent her a text explaining my rationale and I included this wish below…)

Me: Don’t want to lose your friendship.

A few days after I sent the text, I noticed that she had unfriended me on Facebook. Recently I saw F on the pickleball courts. Maybe my imagination, but she seemed to be avoiding me. However later we wound up partnered in a game. After the game ended, we had this brief conversation:

Me: F, why did you unfriend me on Facebook?
F: I don’t know what you are talking about. I did not unfriend you.
Me: (Showing her Facebook profile on my iPhone) It now says ‘Add Friend.” You deleted me. I just wanted to know why. You can leave our friendship but please don’t lie to me.

F denied that she did anything but her denials were hollow.

There are lies that may hurt my feelings and then there are lies that also insult my intelligence. While I am disappointed by the first lie, I am enraged by the second. So if you are going to take the opportunity to lie to me, at least do me the favor of taking the time to make your lie a plausible one.
EAB

***

She was Circe to my Odysseus. And like Odysseus, I resisted the siren’s call…

***

If there is no honesty, loyalty and trust in a friendship, there is no friendship.

Deceit is hurtful; from those we considered friends, devastating.

The Price is Right (1970s edition)

I have maintained a personal journey since I was 16 years old. Here are some golden oldies on my entries on what prices used to be fifty years ago…Note gas prices…

March 17, 1973

A haircut cost me $4.25 today. I can remember when they were only two dollars. People are rightfully angry at rising prices and costs. Where does one begin to hold the line?

August 9, 1973

Pair of glasses cost me $44.

Friday, March 22, 1974

Bought an $85 suit on Monday. Pretty snazzy!

Saturday, December 7, 1974

Bought a 1973 Maverick. Price $2118.

Wednesday, January 29, 1975

Gas prices for regular run about $.47 a gallon right now on the average.

Tuesday, July 31, 1979

Prices:
Flounder $2.29 a pound
Eggs one dollar a dozen
Bread $.53 a load
Steak $2.49 a pound
Pepsi 64 oz. $.99
Lettuce $.59 a head
Milk $.86 for a half-gallon
Hamburger $1.99 lb.
Movies $3.50

Saturday, April 12, 1980

Price trivia:
Gas $1.27 per gallon unleaded
Egg McMuffin, hash browns, OJ $1.94
Sunday Inquirer $.60
Sunday Courier $.35
Gatorade $.69 a bottle

Waxing Nostalgic II

“The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.”

― Milan Kundera, Ignorance

The Andy Griffith Show, Hogan’s Heroes, Match Game 75, Barney Miller…these are all 1960 and 1970 television shows enjoying a revival. Many viewers, generally in the Medicare and Social Security eligible categories, are eschewing current produced media fare for TV shows of their younger years.

Why? The reasons may vary but for many it’s a portal to a simpler time with less stress and drama. People need a break from Covid 19, Trump rants, smarmy Fox commentators and an endless stream of violence, disasters and deaths on their TVs and computer screens.

I too pine for simpler times and have compiled a short list of memories, places and people that take me back to a simpler time.

Cherry Hill Mall food court with Nathans, Arthur Teachers and Bassetts Turkey
Drive-In movies
Emma Peel
Local minor league hockey (Jersey Devils, Ramblers)
Walter Cronkite, Peter Jennings and Chet Huntley
Extensive coverage of college and high school sports by local papers
Fish’s (Abe Vigoda) asides on Barney Miller
Summer League Basketball at Wood and Memorial Parks (Cinnaminson NJ)
“Missed by that much”
Pat Paulsen running for President
Gladys Ormphby and Tyrone on Laugh In
Barbi Benton
U.S. Pro Indoor Tournament at Spectrum
Chief Jay Strongbow
Lindsey Nelson and Ray Scott announcing college and professional football games
Old Republican party (Everett Dirksen, Hugh Scott, Gerald Ford)
Apologies
Soupy Sales
By Saam and Richie Ashburn broadcasting Phillies games
Petula Clark
Diving horse at Steel Pier
Sparklers
Tinsel
Hill Street Blues
John Larroquette’s (Dan Fielding) leers on Night Court
Mike Wallace interviews on 60 Minutes
Playboy interviews
Sport magazine
Archie Bunker
Phyllis George
The Grassroots

Reader, how many from this list do you remember and know?