Protecting Your Stuff, 1983 Edition

 In 1983 I was living in a studio apartment on Amity Street in Brooklyn. Those were the days of dirty subways, crumbling neighborhoods and enough crime to keep me on edge. Fortunately, the NYPD had its “Operation Identification” program enabling citizens to get their identity on to personal belongings. If stolen and located, they could be traced back to the rightful owner.

The identifying detail was your Social Security number, etched with an engraver in specified areas of personal property.

Over 40 years later, I marvel that I took advantage of this program, involving an identifier now guarded with great attention. Identify theft—what’s that?

The instruction form had a list of valuables, along with a table of items I marked, details about the manufacturers and serial numbers, and where I had marked the item. The sheet explained:

When this form has been completed, file it in a safe place. If any of the items listed are stolen or lost, notify the Police Department at once and show this form to the investigating officer. Information shown here will enhance our chances of recovering your property and returning to you.

My list shows what I considered property with enough value to warrant an etching. I showed admirable attention to the manufacturer and serial number. Most items were electronics. Consider:

• Camera flash, Canon 177A
• Phone answering machine, Record-a-Call
• Camera #1, Canon G-III QL
• Camera #2, Canon AE-1
• Typewriter #1, IBM Model IIc
• Typewriter #2, Royal Quiet Deluxe
• Iron, GE Light & Easy
• Photographer’s lamp, Smith-Victor (red)
• Big stand fan
• Stereo turntable, Technics 
• Stereo receiver, Kenwood
• Stereo speakers (2) Realistic
• Menorah
• Home computer, Timex 1000

This list carried such incredible importance that for over 40 years I stored it in a document folder with my birth certificate, my wills, passports and old drivers licenses. Don't you dare mess with my GE iron! Hands off my phone answering machine, which played such a crucial role in my go-go 80s lifestyle. The list lingered there for decades after it had any practical value, so I finally transferred it to a less secure document storage folder.

Security measures have evolved over the decades. Nobody puts their Social Security number on items; I hope not, anyway. AirTags are useful for tracking valuables. Approaches now are more about photographs, invoices, model numbers, safes, insurance, and home security systems. I doubt anybody etches anything at all.

All the items listed above are long gone except the menorah—some things are built to last, priceless in their own way. On its base, I can still very faintly see the magic number, along with “NYC.”

The 50th Reunion: The Lovely, Melancholy Task

Last month I attended my 50^th high school reunion in Mission, Texas. Camera in hand I devoted myself to the lovely, melancholy task of documenting that town I knew and how it has grown and evolved from a town of 11,000 to 90,000 now. Nobody asked me to record the town. That’s just what I’ve always done.

Former Conway, Dooley & Martin building.

What Dublin was to James Joyce, Mission is to me.

I strolled around downtown Mission to see the commercial district. The Spanish-style building where my mother worked for Conway, Dooley & Martin Insurance Agency now houses a healthcare provider. Ghosts hovered over North Conway Avenue, the main drag, as I overlaid businesses long gone: David’s Pharmacy, Rexall Pharmacy, First State Bank (where I had a passbook savings account paying a fixed 5 percent! Sign me up for that!), Later’s Supermarket, Dondlinger’s Appliances. Dr. Martin and Dr. Livengood, who made house calls. The Border Theater, a historical landmark, is still there but I don’t see movies playing.

The tracks.

I wandered in the 95-degree heat toward the railroad tracks that split Mission into north and south segments, rails of both commerce and intense symbolism. I’ve got photos going back to 1975 of the tracks. They always drew me. I was in luck: I saw a line of 10 rail cars on the regular tracks and six graffiti-scarred ones on a weed-grown side track. From different angles I captured background elements that added context. The most notable was the venerable Our Lady of Guadalupe Catholic Church, an anchor of Mission’s skyline and society for over 100 years. I shot palm trees in the distance framed in the space between two cars.

Palm trees amid railroad steel.

Across the tracks and down South Conway Avenue, to the “Mexican” part of town. Heading south, I passed Mission Feed and Hardware Supply, and Mission Western Wear. They’re old-time retailers. South Mission was always intensely photogenic. The Leo Pena Placita Park was locked up, so I couldn’t get in. It honors Mission veterans, highlighting those who died in service. The place looked rundown, needing lots of TLC in keeping with its solemn purpose.

Driving a distance from my hotel, the Bungalows on Shary Road, I rediscovered the Valley I remembered: wide vistas, towering Gulf Coast clouds, fields, mobile homes. What I had been so oblivious to as a teen now looked utterly familiar, timeless, serene—the home I had.

I visited St.Peter’s Novitiate southwest of town, built in 1912 as a seminary. In the 70s I walked around and photographed this stately building and surrounding greenery. Then a fire destroyed it in 2009. Seeing the skeletal ruins on top of a hill, isolated behind a high fence, shocked me. It stands like an ancient ruin of Rome.

The hillside offered a panoramic view of fields and roads, rolling down to Mexico about a half-mile away.

The unceasing wind gusted through the quiet where I could hear birds chirping. The place encourages meditation. Perhaps the novitiate’s remains are a miracle, the defiance of faith over the calamity of fire.

St. Peter's Novitiate.

Later a friend and I drove to the National Butterfly Center, a 100-acre wildlife center and native species botanical garden. This was new to me. We slathered on sunscreen and checked out the trails and butterflies. On the drive back we drove parallel to a stretch of the rust-colored border wall, which reminded me of sculptor Frank Serra’s monumental work Tilted Arc, a relic of New York in the 1980s. We didn’t stop to take photos because the Border Patrol has eyes in the sky and everywhere else. Why ask for trouble?

But, I saw some encouraging signs in town, such as a bookstore/performance space, Vellichor Books and More, perfect for open mics, and a vintage store that had Jewish books and even art. I especially liked the Mission Historical Museum, in the old city hall. I had donated copies of town and high school newspapers I had written for to the museum. To my delight, one exhibit had a photo of a school band from 1930. It includes one girl, kneeling, with a saxophone. I told the museum staff who she was—my mother, Shirley Lissner when 10 years old. I know because I have a copy of that very photo.

Who knows, maybe the museum will exhibit photos I’ve taken, or recordings of my open mics about Mission, or posts from this blog, Mission2Moscow. What’s commonplace now may be valued and revealing in the decades ahead. But that future is in another country.

My mother with the saxophone, 1930. 

MHS '76 at 50: The Reunion in Haikus

In June I attended my 50th reunion at Mission High School in Mission, Texas. I go to all of our reunions, typically having the longest trip to get their from the Northeast. In 1996 I got a ceramic angel to protect me on my travels from New York and, now, Boston to Miller International Airport in McAllen. 

I wrote this piece for the monthly poetry open-mic at Whitelam Books in Reading, MA, where I now live. Haikus give me a framework for writing poetry, otherwise everything I write would sound like a combination of Led Zeppelin lyrics and Edgar Allan Poe's works. 

Fifty years out
Texas reunion beckons
Back to MHS

Mission High School
Maroon and white, Eagles fly high
I couldn’t wait to leave

But loyal alum
always return to my roots
Long flight to McAllen

Guarded by the
ceramic angels a gift
for the distant traveler
in 1996

My first impression
Blazing hot, fierce Gulf Coast winds
Turn on the AC!

Settle at the hotel
on Shary Road, fruit groves gone
Strip centers sprawl

Friends gather at night
Half century to cover
Tito’s Vodka helps

Tour ranch with pal
Edward, expert guide to raw
land’s unmarked roads

History, critters,
cactus, windmills, barbed wire, ponds
“This land can kill you”

Unforgiving land
“Don’t get lost, no cell service here,”
ruts dug by stagecoach wheels

Friday 70s party
I wear a “Ford ‘76” shirt
Cowboy hats, hippie chicks

Old and new faces
Chats settle into patterns.
Grandkids, work, sore backs

Playing tourist at
Butterfly Center, a treat.
Drive past border wall

Historical museum
Tour with David and Lois
Land sales, orchards, roads

Photo with my Mom
1930, school band
Playing saxophone

Warriors, workers
Mexican revolution
Rio Grande and railroad tracks, dividers

Drive to St. Peter’s Novitiate
Built in 1912, burned 2009
Wreckage fenced off and haunted

Saturday night at last!
Event center, dinner dance
Phone cameras flashing.

Hilda’s video series and
Forever flowers
Honor the departed

Too many, too many.
Lena, Laura, Letty,
Olalla, Joe, Nacho
Tavo, Richard
A rose for each of dozens

Deacon Javier Garcia’s benediction
Joe Valadez’s Tejano
crowd pleasing
song “Te Lo Juro”

My champagne toast
in commemoration
Salud, compadres

Kudos to the organizers
Dalia, Sylvia, Frances, Nora,
Genie, Janet, Hilda
Flawless

Bittersweet moment
Sunday morning Taco Ole
Last chance for last thoughts
So we said it; surprises
Final photos
Next journey, McAllen to Dallas to Boston
Home to Reading

An angel for the distant traveler, from 1996.