BEYOND LEVITTOWN: Travel photos from Warren Zaretsky's current visit to Dalian, China.

Click on pix of Warren and friends to enlarge





His friend Tom moved to China from New York in 2004.

This leg of lamb with garlic and rosemary was made by Warren's friend Andy.

Xi lan hua he zha tudou -- Warren's favorite dish from his previous China stay; broccoli and French Fries. It could be found on column A.

Several photos of my high school classmate Warren Zaretsky have appeared in our travel series in recent months. A world traveler, who I refer to as "Wandering Warren", he is currently in China after spending some time in Thailand. He has emailed dozens of photos, and his shots of local food have made your blogger salivate on a regular basis.

He is now in Dalian, China where he taught English to Chinese students for two years in 2003-2005. While most teachers from the United States and Canada hang out with each other, the wandering one took the road not taken by most imports. He built ties with local people, to sample their lifestyle and culture. On his current trip, Warren reunited with some of his old friends.

Warren Zaretsky, class of 1960, is still full of wander after all these years

Click on pix to enlarge

World traveler Warren Zaretsky is among the most creative and humorous people your blogger has ever known. We graduated from Division Avenue High School in 1960 and it seems that he could not wait to get out of Levittown. For college, he went to Wayne State in Nebraska, never to return.

First we see Warren at age eight and then in a recent photo. Early in this century, he taught English in China for two years. I wish he would write an autobiography. Tomorrow he departs on a vacation that features visits to Ecuador and the Galapagos. The photos posted here are of Warren in Shenzhen Park, China, and Moscow.

Please check out Warren's comments that appear below.

• • •

Warren wrote: Yes, I've spent most of my 68 years wandering, creating and absorbing experiences -- east coast, west coast, three business careers, more than 30 countries, two marriages, a potpourri of multi-cultural amorous adventures of varying duration, two known children, three grandkids, a wonderful 90 year-old mother, two loving sisters, a supportive and best-friend kind of cousin, a handful of close friends, and a comfortable bank account. The bank account buys continued freedom to wander. The accumulated material possessions have been kept minimal and are expendable.

If I go quickly with my boots on, it's been fun -- If I linger a bit, I have my stock of memories to replay until I pull the plug. In the end, other than perhaps a few warm moments during visiting hours, all you've got is a silly backless hospital gown and your memories. So, to all I've encountered in my wanderings, I say thanks for the memories.

Warren Zaretsky, class of 1960, on location in Moscow

My globetrotting high school classmate, Warren Zaretsky, attended the very recently concluded Rob Nilsson Retrospective at the Moscow International Film Festival. I have absolutely no idea who Nilsson is but I enjoy travel pictures and Warren keeps me up to date on his numerous adventures. He has emailed me photos from all over the planet, including China, Spain, Canada and Costa Rica.

The Moscow photos include Warren in front of a statue of novelist Fyodor Dostoyevsky, behind which is the Lenin Library. A man with a sophisticated pallet, it would be difficult to imagine him eating at a Dunkin' Donuts unless someone else was buying. I happen to enjoy seeing signs adorning familiar food franchises in languages other than English. Remind me to show you my photo of a Kentucky Fried Chicken shop I shot in Vietnam.

Among Warren's pictures is one of a building with lettering that looks like your optometrist's eye chart. Since I am almost as worldly as wandering Warren, I was able to translate it into "Lenin". My guess was that the building is Lenin's tomb. Actually my guess was correct, confirmed via a Google search.

You never know where globetrotting Warren will be visiting next. Stay tuned.

Checking in with wandering Warren Zaretsky, class of 1960

My classmate Warren Zaretsky is one of my favorite people. You have to know him to understand his offbeat sense of humor. If your sense of humor is limited, you may consider Warren over the top, obnoxious, irreverent and at times obscene. I am a big fan of George Carlin, Lewis Black, Susan Silverman and Robin Williams. Like Warren, their edginess is a comedic buffet with wisdom between the lines.

Warren retired a year or so ago and we have shared many emails as he roams the globe looking for a suitable, inexpensive place to hang his hat. The photos he sends are worthy of a coffee table book.

He is back in New York City for awhile, figuring out where next to visit. The following are two of his emails and a postscript.

Written in July 2010:

I've spent most of my 67 years wandering, creating and absorbing experiences -- east coast, west coast, three business careers, more than 30 countries, two marriages, a potpourri of multi-cultural amorous adventures of varying duration, two known children, three grandkids, a wonderful 89 year-old Mother, two loving sisters, a supportive and best-friend kind of cousin, a handful of close friends, and a comfortable bank account. The bank account buys continued freedom to wander. The accumulated material possessions have been kept minimal and are expendable.

If I go quickly with my boots on, it's been fun. If I linger a bit, I have my stock of memories to replay until I pull the plug. In the end, other than perhaps a few warm moments during visiting hours, all you've got is a silly backless hospital gown and your memories. So, to all I've encountered in my wanderings, I say thanks for the memories.

On Jan. 5, 2011 he wrote:

I leave tomorrow heading back to NY. Though San Miguel de Allende is a charming, historic and quaint Mexican town, it is as I thought it would be -- too many gringos. Why leave the US to be with the same Americans you don't care about hanging out with when you're there in the US?

I think mainly just because it's cheaper, and if you have little or no money, you can have other people around you who are even poorer than you, that you can look down on and feel superior to... so it makes you feel better about being not sooo poor and not at the bottom. To be sure, there are also a few wealthy folk and celebs with million dollar mansions who spend a few weeks a year, but what does that mean for the price of frijoles?

Also, why live someplace that's a six or seven hour drive to the nearest beach or horse race track?

Lastly, I enjoy seeing antiquity and history, but I don't want to live in history; to me "quaint" is nice to visit, but it's mostly just another word for old, non-functioning, inconvenient and dirty.

WARREN GETS THE LAST WORD
Just a few days ago, at age 67, I had my first Colonoscopy. The procedure itself, since it's done under anesthetic, was a non-event; not even worthy of a "Kodak moment" and certainly the video wouldn't get a top-10 listing in TV Guide.

The prior day's preparation, however, is a vile and torturous experience. Drinking two liters of something called "MoviPrep" would have turned John McCain into a blabbering traitor... and I'd have rather they inserted a dozen dung beetles up my ass.

In the end, I was hoping I could look at the positive side and learn some profound life-lessons from having been totally cleared of 68 years of accumulated crap, but I just couldn't get my head into it.

Christmas Eve report from wandering Warren Zaretsky, class of 1960

By Warren Zaretsky

It was Christmas Eve and I felt like the last survivor of the Alamo. The neighborhood kids had me surrounded, I was under siege. Bombs bursting overhead outside the garden walls, gunshots, rapid fire machine gun blasts of firecrackers and whistling rockets split the night air.

A dozen dogs barked with a vengeance. Some wise-ass tossed a cherry bomb over the wall and into the yard, then another. It was legitimately scary and I wished I had a gun. Then suddenly it stopped. Either they were out of ammunition, reloading, or they had fixed bayonettes and were coming over the wall. I waited, just behind the patio door, a kitchen knife in each hand and one clenched between my teeth. The best I could hope for was a Mexican stand-off.

Remember the Alamo, Christmas in Mexico, and me.
______________________________________________
Yes, that's wandering Warren in the Santa suit.

Substitute teachers were at times harassed at Division Avenue; It was often cruel but 50 years later the residue is some wry humor

Frank Barning, 1960
Some of us guys were absolutely cruel to substitute teachers. It was an art form at Division Avenue High. One day, we had this prim and proper woman substituting in one of our classes. She was trying to hold a raucous group together and doing fairly well until Eddie Byrne started this slow, deep, penetrating laugh. He went on and on until the teacher, checking her class roster, politely asked, “Mr. Byrne, what is the problem?”

Without hesitation, Byrne replied, “Lady, you look just like an owl.”

The poor woman gathered her things together, put them in a briefcase, got up from her desk and started to cry. Also without hesitation, she opened the door and left the classroom. None of us ever saw her again at Division.

Byrne, known as Kookie (as in lend me your comb), a few years later went to prison for murdering his father in law in East Meadow. Maybe the owl lady got off easy.

I also remember the time that Bill Stanley raised his hand while a sub was teaching. "She looked at her chart of students and said, "Yes, Mr. Stanley." His reply, "It's 65 degrees in sunny WINS land." He was listening to a transistor radio and just had to share the news.

Tom Urban, 1960
I think most folks remember me as a cut-up/ buster in high school. I remember one very cute lady teacher (Ms. Duffy??) just out of college. She became a regular at DAHS.

I sat next to the windows on the Division Avenue (West) side of the building and they were open on a beautiful spring day. I noticed a pack of dogs chasing one female that was obviously in heat. I think there were three or four other wise guys near the window and we stood up and started clapping in unison and added a chant, Go! Go! Go! Go!

Our cute newbie teacher obviously was interested in all the fuss and walked back to the windows to check out the action ( two dogs locked in amorous embrace). She turned purple with embarrassment and with a slight tremble in her voice, asked us to sit down right now!

The class erupted.

Rich Humbert, 1960
One substitute calling attendance pronounced Raymond Wenz's name as Raymond Wang...you can imagine how that was received.

Also a substitute called Mrs. Kling had similar control problems and lost it when someone wrote on the board "KLING KONG"

One more is Mrs. Fleckenstein who tolerated no foolishness in true Teutonic style. She just needed a helmet with horns. She was armed with a ruler she applied liberally.

We were cruel. I substitute taught high school math for a semester a few years back and in doing so got paybacks for my little cruelties.

Bob Castro, 1960
Since we had developed the reputation as being rather tough on substitutes in general, one time they sent Al Tarney, who was an English teacher by trade, but they knew that nobody would screw with him.

He assessed the situation and immediately gave everyone a study hall, but all those who didn't want one (basically all the guys) were invited to come up to the front of the room and talk football until the end of the period. I also remember going through two substitutes one time before the third finally got control of the situation.

Warren Zaretsky, 1960
There was this particularly nerdy substitute teacher and he was a pain in the ass monitoring us at lunch. At the table were Jim Healy ("the instigator"), Arnie Mark (Jim's co-conspirator), Tom Marshlevski, Pete Cybriwsky, Richie Glaski, Tom Paturzo and me. Jim and Arnie bet me $10 that I wouldn't hit the sub with a container of milk. I timed it perfectly to when he was in the doorway under the clock, tossed the container to hit the wall just above him, and splatt... it rained the milk down upon his head.

The entire table was taken to assistant principal Aiello's office. After much conversation, I thought I would be clever and said: "Well, Mr. Aiello, if what you need is a scapegoat, rather than punish all of us, I'll say that I did it." Whereupon, my thick-headed, slow-witted, save their own ass "friends" all chimed in with various versions of "that's right he did it" ... "glad you admitted it, Warren".

I got suspended for a day, Jim Healy got rich instigating people to invest in the stock market, I heard that Arnie Mark co-owns a bar, they still owe me the $10.

Pete Weiss, 1963
I don't have anything on substitute teachers, but I remember one incident with a student teacher. It was senior year and the class was "Cit. Ed." - American history - and the teacher was Richard Erbacher.

Erbacher was a good teacher, well-respected, but was not the most masculine in his mannerisms and voice. Some may have speculated about his orientation, but I don't remember it ever being discussed.

In one class during which the male student teacher (name not remembered) was present, at some point Erbacher must have brushed against the chalk shelf of the blackboard or dropped an eraser, as there was a large patch of chalk dust on one of the legs of his dark suit pants. One of the students said, "Mr. Erbacher, what's that on your pants?" Before he could reply, I shouted out, "He dropped his powder puff."

The class went nuts, the poor student teacher groaned and buried his face in his hands, while Erbacher came over to me, grabbed me by the shirt collar and marched me out into the hall. He backed me up against the lockers, kept poking his finger into my chest to punctuate his tirade, delivered in a loud stage whisper, about disrupting the class, especially with a student teacher present, etc. but - he was laughing the whole time.

The weird thing is I really liked Erbacher (no, not like THAT) and to this day don't know why I did what I did.

Jon Buller, 1961
Once, when we had gotten advance notice that a substitute teacher would be coming to one of our classes, I made it a point to get to the class as soon as I could. The sub was not yet there, and I drew a small picture on the blackboard of a sinking submarine. I think this served as a silent rallying cry for the class, and we were especially badly behaved.

At one point the sub got so irritated that she said, “Have you ever seen someone livid with rage?” This was met with a big outburst of laughter. Then she slowly turned towards the blackboard and looked at the sinking sub. “Oh, I get it!” she said.

Now I sometimes teach after-school classes in cartooning to kids. When they misbehave I sometimes feel that I am getting paid back for my sins when I was their age.

Cartoon by Jon Buller

On the road with Warren Zaretsky in Mill Valley, California

Warren graduated from Division Avenue in 1960 and has survived 50 years of the road not taken. His pathless path has led him to Mill Valley, just north of San Francisco. The following is his email received today.


The Mark Twain line, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco" holds. It's gorgeous green to look at, and/but there's fog rolling over the mountains every morning until about 11:00, and the temperatures run about 60-75. Last night I went to the Throckmorton Theatre in downtown Mill Valley and saw the every Tuesday night comedy show, Mark Pitta & Friends, with surprise guest Richard Lewis (the biggies come here to try out new material). 3 out of the 4 comedians were terrific. Lewis's best line about MV and its inhabitants was about how proud the parents were when their child said his first word: Rissoto.
Tonight I have a ticket to see the Met's film production of Franco Zefferelli's production of Puccini's Turandot, at the Sequoia Theatre... around the corner from the central park, anchored by the "Book Depot" coffee bar and flanked by Whole Foods, featuring grayed male chess players, 30-something backgammonites, 50&60-something women apres yoga class discussing their fav' plastic surgeons and bemoaning Obama gone flacid, and a few 18-20-somethings with spiked hair and carefully torn jeans, mellowed out on marijuana and staring into their privileged trust-fund nothingness. In short, a compressed, picture-perfect, year-round, left-wing Hamptons, that god nestled between Muir Woods and Sausalito, just 9 miles across the Golden Gate Bridge to San Francisco. I lived here from 1986-90 and the biggest change I notice today is that pizza has been replaced by flatbread... with goat cheese and fennel sausage.