“One picture paints a thousand words.”

While that statement is generally accepted as factual, it also hints at the symbiotic and yet distinctive relationships between art forms.  As time-honored representational art bowed to Expressionism, photography began to emerge as an artistic genre in its own right.  Since its inception and throughout its evolution, photography has reflected social and political movements as well as the minutiae of daily life.  The power of photography’s power sells products, services, concepts, and even people; it bridges oceans, continents, and cultures.  Portraiture or landscape photography can make the breath catch in our throats for its beauty and unsurpassed honesty.  Only in the hands and heart of a true artist, however, does technology meld with creativity to produce photographs that are, at once, unique and universal.  In the world of the commercial photographer, Brownie Harris is such a photographer.

With more than thirty years of expertise, Brownie’s career began with assignments for WNET (Channel 13 in New York City), the PBS channel as renowned for its stunning photography as it is for its candid documentaries and stirring musical programs.  After twenty-three years in The Big Apple, Brownie and his wife moved to Wilmington, North Carolina, where he continues to practice his craft.

Throughout the course of his career, Brownie has photographed celebrities from all realms, including Senators, a former U.S. President, artists such as Miles Davis, Carly Simon, and Baryshnikov, and actors, including Paul Newman.  In capturing these individuals, he has imbued their portraits with hints of their personalities, inviting viewers to look deeper.   Brownie Harris’ work has appeared in Town and Country magazine as well as contributions to the ABC Pictures’ series, Army Wives.   Raytheon, UNISYS, General Electric, and NASA number among Brownie’s list of corporate and governmental accounts.

His clients are accommodated in the spacious, state-of-the-art, full service ILM Studio in Wilmington, South Carolina. Brownie’s prices are competitive and can be found on his website, as can samples of his photography.  For lovers of great photography and potential clients, it is a gallery that invites perusal.  

I suppose you have heard of Mr. Bojangles, who danced his way throughout the American South.  Bojangles was immortalized in song by artists including Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, and the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band.  Our story concerns another famous music man, a local boy made good, known as Banjo Joe.  I first made his acquaintance when he moved across the street from me several years ago, and gave me a little education concerning the instrument for which he is named.

Best known as an American stringed instrument, the banjo is most closely associated with Bluegrass and Country & Western music (remember the lively tune, Dueling Banjoes, from the film Deliverance?).  The instrument’s roots can be traced back to Africa, the Middle East, and Japan, where it is still found today.  Conceivably, the instrument was first constructed from a gourd, for the body, and a piece of bamboo that comprised its neck.

Various tribes in Africa named the instrument bangie, banjer, banjar and banza, while the Japanese called it the shamisen and the Persians, the tar.  In the early 1700′s, Africans were sold into slavery and brought to America’s Deep South to toil in the cotton fields.  With them, they brought music that helped them endure through their trials.  Sung “call and answer” style between the rows of cotton, this music would later become known as Delta blues.  When it went north, it altered somewhat, taking on the name of Chicago blues.

As Little Richard has said, “The blues had a baby and called it rock n’ roll.”  Indeed, they did, and rock’s siblings are gospel music, soul music, and jazz.  At the heart of all these genres lies the sounds birthed in the cotton fields, including the music presumably made on the African banjer.  By the time the instrument had moved into the Appalachian region of the U.S., it became known as “the banjo.”

Introduced in the 1830′s to mainstream America by the American minstrel performer Joel Sweeney, the banjo became popular in Southern music halls.  Sweeney’s band later brought the instrument to Great Britain in 1840′s.

The construction of a modern-day banjo consists of a neck connected to the body or “pot” made of a circular wooden ring, and a tension head similar to a drumhead that is fastened by a metal tone ring.  Originally fashioned out of animal skin, today’s banjo head uses synthetic material.  Banjos are made of four, five, or six strings, which are plucked and strummed to create the music.  Some have resonator plates; others have an open back.  While the six-string banjo is tuned and played like a guitar, other varieties feature tuning pegs or planetary gears, instead of the worm gear-tuning keys on the guitar.

The banjo is played in different styles.  The clawhammer method uses downward rather than upward strokes with the fingernails, while frailing uses the thumb to catch the fifth string to create a drone effect.  In the early 1960′s, Pete Seeger popularized the genre of folk music. Strumming the banjo, he combined the clawhammer method without the use of fingerpicks.  Bluegrass music favors the five-string resonator banjo played in several styles, including the Scruggs style.  This was named after musician Earl Scruggs, while the Reno style honored the music man named Don Reno.

Now that you know as much as I do regarding the history of the banjo, let’s turn back to our protagonist, Banjo Joe, whose story begins on April 6, 1935, when Joseph Dougherty entered this world.  At an early age, his father died, leaving his mother the duty of raising her family alone.  The Dougherty’s lived in a section of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania known as Manayunk, a very hilly section on the Schuylkill River.

Inhabited by working class people, the area was known for the Manayunk Canal and the thirteen knitting mills that had sprung up around the waterway.  After a long day’s work, the people of Manayunk often patronized the many saloons and bars in the area.  In years to come, these pubs would welcome the entertainer who came to be known as Banjo Joe.

While still young, Joe was enrolled in Gerard College. This was a school founded by Stephen Gerard, a Philadelphia financier who established the institution for impoverished, fatherless boys, such as Joe.  Here, the youngster was not only educated in academic subjects, he also learned to play the trumpet and violin; he also sang in the choir.  Thus did destiny set the stage for music to figure prominently in Joe’s life.

When Joe was 15, his mother presented him with a banjo as a Christmas gift, which she’d picked up at a pawnshop for the sum of $37.50.  A local barber kindly taught Joe the rudiments of playing the banjo.

Desiring to hone his skills, Joe joined the Uptown String Band that performed on New Year’s Day in the Mummers Parade in Philadelphia.  Of this association, he said, “I cut my teeth playing the banjo in this organization.”   After a few years, he was recruited to play for Avalon and other string bands before setting out on his own.

Playing at local bars and saloons in Manyunk, Joe met up with other performers.  With them, the banjo player formed an act whose repertoire included singing, telling jokes, and impersonations.  Soon, he became known as “Banjo Joe” throughout the neighborhood.

Joe’s first professional appearance occurred at the Head House in the Old Society Hill section of Philadelphia. At this venue, he entertained enthusiastic audiences for the next 21 months.  During this time, he caught the attention of Jack Downey and was offered a job at the new Downey Saloon, which was located in Philadelphia.

Striking out on his own, Banjo Joe gave personal appearances at private parties on the Main Line as well as local nursing homes and senior complexes. His lighthearted music and personality overflowed into the audience, who joined in on the refrains of the songs dear to their hearts.

Ever the perfectionist, Joe wished to distinguish himself from other banjo players by creating a new sound. Thus did he develop Banjo Joe’s Revolutionary Resonator Banjo: an instrument whose head was 56% larger than the normal banjo and included a fluted resonator.  The resonator added a mellow quality to the powerful, 125-year old history of the banjo.  Joe’s new sound was called, “The Riverboat King.”

Footloose and fancy free, Banjo Joe toured Europe.  From the pubs of Ireland to the beer halls of Bavaria, Joe went on to headline Dusseldorf, The Continent’s Dixieland Capital.

Alone on the road, Joe missed the love of friends and family he’d left behind, as well as the music that was uniquely Manyunk’s. This was not the music crafted of eight notes but the bustling sounds of the business district, the children’s carousels, the tolling of the church bells, rumble of the freight trains, and the whisper of the cool breeze from the river on a hot summer’s day.  Little did homesick Joe know that his next tour would change his life forever.

Returning from Europe, he was signed to play six nights a week for 15 weeks aboard a stern-wheeler in Marietta, Ohio.  This dry-docked ship had been christened The Becky Thatcher.  For the first three weeks of this gig, Joe also played at the Lafayette Hotel to entertain the dinner crowd just up the street from the Betsy Thatcher.

One evening, a young woman accompanied by her grandfather came to see and hear the entertainment.  Of this young lady, Joe said, “At first it was a passing fancy.  But when she came back many times and we made eye contact, I found myself captivated by her gorgeous coffee brown eyes, rosebud lips, and long brown hair.  I was hopelessly in love!  Her name was Ilene and the feelings were mutual.  She was attending Ohio State University, but there was a problem in our budding romance, as I was years older than she was.”

After Joe returned to Manayunk, he and Ilene maintained contact, for it was serious between them.  Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Joe proposed marriage and his beloved readily accepted.  With that, he returned to Marietta, Ohio to ask her family for her hand in marriage. On February 16, 1980, they were married in Mount Laurel, New Jersey, and resided in Manayunk.  Several years later, they moved to a quiet little town not far from where they were married.

2010 marks the celebration of Joe and Ilene’s 30 years of happily married life.  In addition to playing a mean banjo, Joe’s other interest is as an avid gardener.  He can advise you regarding the pH factor of soil needed to grow specific fruits and vegetables.  Banjo Joe is also available for entertaining private parties and visits to nursing homes, and I can personally attest to his abilities as a fine entertainer.

Inn 2007, I hosted a Pearl Harbor Memorial Service at the VFW Hall in Maple Shade, New Jersey.  Joe had volunteered his services, playing a medley of songs dating back to World War I.  These included It’s a Long Way to Tipperary, I’m a Yankee Doodle Dandy, and Over There, in addition to God Bless America. From an audience of post members, schoolchildren, and visiting dignitaries, Joe drew thunderous applause.

Like the locomotive and, indeed, the way of life depicted in the song The City of New Orleans by Arlo Guthrie, Banjo Joe is part of a breed I call “Vanishing America.”  He is truly a one-man minstrel show.  With his nostalgic songs and witty stories, Joe brings back the days when chivalry existed and life moved at a slower pace.  Sadly, that way of life has all but disappeared from our landscape.  Like the American cowboy, the American Indian, the buffalo, and Mr. Bojangles, the good old days are, to steal a very famous title from Martha Mitchell, Gone with the Wind.

At the turn of the 20th century, America opened her doors to throngs of immigrants from Western Europe.  To the New World, each group brought their unique language and culture, creating ethnic neighborhoods nestled side by side in metropolises such as New York and Chicago.  Eventually, the neighborhoods bled into each other.  People opened to and actively honored each other’s culture.  This melting pot became the greatest nation on the face of the earth.   Our story is about one of the people who contributed to our richly diverse national culture.

Born October 22, 1897 in Piacenza, Italy, Ettore (Hector) Boiardi entered the world as the second son of Giusseppi and Maria Maffi Boiardi.  At the age of 16, he boarded La Lorraine, a passenger ship of French registry sailing for America’s shores.  The young man landed at Ellis Island, in the shadow of the Statue of Liberty.  But one of a swarm of immigrants, he had very little money and no knowledge of the English language.  Determined to make a better life for himself, Ettore followed in his brother’s footsteps by securing work in the kitchen of the prestigious Plaza Hotel in New York City.  In time, he became its executive chef.

Positioned thusly, word of Ettore’s culinary expertise spread.  In 1915, he was selected to supervise the catering of President Woodrow Wilson’s second marriage at The Greenbrier in West Virginia.  Eleven years later, he ventured out as an entrepreneur, opening his first restaurant in Cleveland, Ohio.  Located at East 9th Street and Woodland Avenue, the chef christened his eatery Il Giardino d’ Italia (The Garden of Italy).

Many patrons enjoyed his cuisine; often, they requested recipes and samples.  Generously, Ettore accommodated his clientele.  Realizing the demand for his products, he set his sights on marketing them nationally.  Using a factory for mass production and touting the low cost of Italian meals for the general public, the chef’s new undertaking blossomed.

In 1938, he moved his operation to Milton, Pennsylvania to improve the quality of his line.  There, he grew his own tomatoes and mushrooms that numbered among the ingredients for his products.  Proud of his Italian heritage, he marketed his line  under the brand name of Chef Boy-Ar-Dee, spelling his last name phonetically so that his American customers could pronounce it easily and correctly.

During World War II, Ettore was honored by the U.S. War Department with a Gold Star of Excellence.  Although the chef did not see action, his company had produced millions of rations for American and Allied troops.   Struggling later with cash flow and other problems, Ettore sold his business for $6 million to American Home Foods, which eventually became known as International Home Foods.

For three decades — the 1940’s through the 1970′s — Chef Boiardi appeared on TV commercials, promoting his brand.  Although his last TV commercial aired in 1979, he never stopped working.  He continued to develop new Italian food products until he died on June 21, 1985. Ettore Boiardi came to America a poor Italian immigrant and left it a wealthy entrepreneur.  Through his hard work and desire to introduce the U.S. to part of his heritage, he left this world achieving the American dream and making his name a household word for generations. 

How many times have you met people bearing nicknames bound to haunt them for the rest of their lives?  This story is about one such person.

Like Forrest Gump’s mysterious box of chocolates, Roy Riegels had no inkling, in childhood, as to what life would hold in store for him.  Other than the fact that Roy was born in 1908, not much is known of his early life.  But, we do know this.  From 1927 to 1929, he played football for the Golden Bears at the University of California, Berkley.  His coach, Nibs Price, said that Roy was the smartest player he had ever guided.  Roy lived up to that praise; in his senior year, he earned the position of Team Captain, with All American Honors.

On January 1, 1929, at the Rose Bowl in Pasadena, California, the Golden Bears played Georgia Tech, more popularly known as The Yellow Jackets.  More than 70,000 eager fans swarmed into the stadium that day to cheer their heroes on.  Halfway through the second quarter, Riegels, playing center, snatched up a Georgia Tech fumble just thirty yards from The Yellow Jackets’ end zone.  In the thrill of the moment, dodging defenders and with the roar of the crowd in his ears, Roy was off and running — towards his own end zone … a full 65 yards away.

What should have been a stroke of luck turned out to be a catastrophe, as Roy dashed ahead at full speed, oblivious to his coach’s pleas to reverse course.  Benny Lom, a teammate and quarterback renowned for his speed, caught Roy at California’s three-yard line in an attempt to turn him around.  Alas, a wall of Yellow Jackets sacked him with the ball resting at the one-yard line.

Desperate, Roy opted to punt out of a bad situation.  But Vance Marco of Georgia Tech blocked the punt, allowing his team to score a safety and gain a 2-0 lead over California.

Needless to say, Roy was utterly devastated by his blunder.  At half time in the locker room, he broke down and refused to continue.  Wishing to empower his team’s captain, Coach Price told the other players that Roy’s mistake was one that anyone could have made and that there was still a second half to be played.  Play Roy did, but the final score rested at 8, Georgia and 7, California.  For this, Roy was ribbed until the day he graduated college.  Just as Hester Prynne was forced to wear her scarlet letter, Riegels was tagged with the nickname “Wrong Way.”

After graduation, he went on with his life. When World War II erupted, he enlisted in the United States Air Force.  After serving his country, Roy divided his time between managing his chemical company and coaching football at the high school and college levels.

During his coaching career, Roy penned a letter to a Paramount High School’s Jan Bandringa.  Bandringa, you see, had caused his team to lose a game 9-7 by … you guessed it … intercepting a pass and running it into his own end zone.   The coach told the boy, “For many years, I’ve had to go along and laugh whenever my “wrong way” run was brought up, even though I’ve grown tired of listening and reading about it.  But certainly, it wasn’t the most serious thing in the world.  I regretted it just as you do, but you’ll get over it.”

History repeated itself.  At the 1964 NFL game between the Minnesota Vikings and the San Francisco 49ers, defensive end Jim Marshall ran a recovered fumble into his own end zone.  Riegels sent him a letter stating, “Welcome to the Club!”

 In 1991, Riegels was inducted into the Rose Bowl Hall of Fame.  Two years later, on March 26th, 1993, “Wrong Way” died at age of 84.  1998 saw his posthumous election into the University of California’s Hall of Fame.  In 2003, his “wrong way” run was selected as one of the six “Most Memorable Moments of the Century” by a panel comprised of CBS officials and the College Football Hall of Fame.

When Roy Riegels quit this earth, he was proclaimed far and wide not for his military service, his coaching abilities, or even his entrepreneurial expertise.  Instead, he was known as “The man who ran the wrong way in the 1929 Rose Bowl game.”

The next time you meet a person with a strange nickname, such as Nicky Blue, Joey Bananas, or Pancho Pete, ask them how they came by that name.  It may reveal an interesting story!

We grew up in a neighborhood in South Philadelphia, bounded by Snyder Avenue to the north and the Philadelphia Navy Yard to the south and from Broad Street east to 7th Street.  It was an ethnically mixed neighborhood.  I lived in the 2400 block of Hutchinson Street, and he lived in the 2300 block.  As boys, we did not have a close friendship, even though we knew of each other.

We grew up during the Great Depression, but living in our neighborhood, as we realized many years later, was as close as you can come to Heaven.  As kids, we enjoyed the pleasure of playing in the streets without fear.  There was no television or home air conditioning or automatic gas heat, although we did have some modern conveniences, such as hot water, indoor plumbing, washing machines, and radio.  Life was much simpler then in an era when “spare the rod and spoil the child” was the order of the day.  Our parents worked hard trying to make ends meet.  It was here we learned family values, such as honor, duty, and respect.  The lost art of conversation still prevailed at family gatherings.

Then something happened that would forever change our lives.  World War ll erupted in Europe. Initially, the United States remained neutral, until December 7^th, 1941 when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor.  On that fateful Sunday, President Roosevelt announced to the Congress and the American people that a “state of war” existed between the United States and the Empire of Japan and its ally Germany.

With the Declaration of War, America rolled up its sleeves, as every man, woman, and child, pitched in to help the war effort.  The Draft was instituted to call up men needed for the Armed Forces.  Factories all over this great country set aside peacetime products and retooled to manufacture implements of war.

I was two years younger than he, and while I worked at the Philadelphia Navy Yard, as an electrician helper, he was drafted into the U.S. Army.  He trained in the Infantry and was later sent to England as a replacement, with the Third Armored Division, for the Invasion of Hitler’s Europe.

June 6^th, 1944 the greatest Allied Armada ever assembled, crossed the English Channel and stormed the beaches of Normandy.  The German Army well entrenched, threatened to drive the Allies back into the sea, but by the end of a day that came to be known as “D-Day the Longest Day,” the American and Allied Forces managed to gain a beachhead on Fortress Europe.

Arriving in Normandy 13 days after D-Day, the Third Armored Division moved up to the line, for their “Baptism of Fire.”  Here at St Lo, the advancing American and Allied forces were stalled in what was to be called the Hedgerow country.  French farmers had planted hedges that surrounded their farms.  These hedges planted centuries ago, became a formidable defense for the German Army, who zeroed in on every opening with mortar, cannon, and machine-gun fire. 

A plan, dubbed “Operation Cobra,” was devised to break out of St Lo area. It called for the saturation bombing of the Hedgerow country in order to allow the American and Allied forces to break through.  On that fateful day, the sky was black with Allied bombers as wave after wave systematically dropped their bombs and opened a path for the advance of the stalled Allied and American armies.

Following the break out at St Lo, the Third Armored Division raced across France, in pursuit of the fleeing German Army.  In a pincer attack they closed the Falaise Gap, trapping thousands of the enemy and causing their surrender.  In their rapid attack, they crossed the Seigfried Line, to become the first to enter Germany.  They penetrated into German soil, reaching the town of Stohlberg.  It was here they were ordered to return to Belgium to help stop the German attack called “the Battle of the Bulge.”

On January 3^rd, 1945, near the town of Floret, Belgium, the hand of God touched him who was to become my lifelong friend.  It came in form of an enemy shell, ending the war for him.  As he lay on the battlefield with massive wounds of the arm and leg, the Medics who had picked him up informed him that he had “Million Dollar” wounds and would be returned to England for surgery and rehabilitation.  After his recovery, he was returned to his unit.  By this time, however, the war in Europe had ended and, in a short while, he would be going home.  With the defeat of Germany, and the introduction of the “Atomic Bomb,” World War ll ended on September 2^nd, 1945 and with it came the return of the veterans of World War ll.

As the South Philadelphia neighborhood boys came home, they started to congregate at the corner of 10th and Ritner streets.  It was here that a long and lasting friendship began.

In the spring of 1951, we married two girlfriends, I married Madeline (Midge), and he married her dear friend Thelma.  He was our Best Man and Thelma was our First Bridesmaid.  A few weeks later, Midge and I would be the First Bridesmaid and Best Man at their wedding.

In the years to follow, they would become Godfather and Godmother to my first son born in 1954.  And, just a few years later, we would both relocate to the town of Maple Shade, New Jersey.  We continued a close friendship over the years, until Midge suddenly passed away on May 27 1975.

With her passing and the need to care for my two sons without the aid of a wife, my life became very hectic.  I altered my work schedule to allow me more time with my boys, and I didn’t have much time to socialize with friends.  In essence, I dropped out of sight.  With my children grown, I remarried eight years later and resumed my life.

In the fall of 1986, I got a call from my good friend who asked me if I had interest in attending a reunion of the “Boys of 10th & Ritner,” an offer I enthusiastically accepted.  This first of what would become regular meetings of all the old gang was a huge success – so much so that we held them every six weeks for more than 10 years!

We would meet at Sam Cobblestone’s Bar & Grill in South Philly on designated Tuesday evenings.  Here, we reminisced about growing up in the old neighborhood, told jokes, and related tales about our experiences in World War ll.

In 1987 I retired and, following a period during which I traveled about the country, took a part-time job with a local liquor store.  On occasion, my friend would stop in and shoot the breeze with me, discussing plans to attend our next meeting and any other news he happened to know.  

It was during one of these visits that I introduced him to my manager, Bob Sparks.  As usual the subject of World War ll came up.  Bob indicated that he also had been in the War and mentioned that he had trained together with Tony Lanciano from South Philly.  This coincidence almost blew our minds, for he had mentioned the name of one of the old gang.

On the 50th Anniversary of D-Day, he came to visit me at work.  He looked a little distraught as we discussed the Normandy Invasion.  Then suddenly, all the memories came back and welled up inside of him – then came pouring out.  Taking him aside, I calmed him down.  Then, I said to him, “50 years is too long to carry this burden, and it is time that you let it out.”

It was then that I came to the realization that, in all the years I had known him and all the times we had been together, I had been standing in the shadow of a real American Hero.  At that moment, I decided to set the record straight and give him the recognition he so richly deserved.  And so, whenever he was in the store, I would introduce him to customers upon whom I waited, saying “I want to introduce you to a real American Hero, from Normandy to the Battle of the Bulge where he was wounded.  This is one of the guys who kept you from doing the goose-step.”

As they would look at him in awe, he would laugh and say, “Don’t listen to this guy, I was only doing my job.”  Like all heroes, he did not consider himself one.  Yet, he held five Medals – Good  Conduct, Combat Infantryman’s Badge, the Purple Heart, World War II Victory, and European Theater of Operations (ETO) with five Campaign Stars for Normandy, N. France, Rhineland, Ardennes, and Central Europe.  And, the memories of his experiences in the War haunted him for the rest of his life.

But, it was not merely the memories he carried with him.  Many years after completing his service, he fell down a flight of stairs during a visit to a relative’s home.  Following an emergency room visit and thorough examination, he was released, but not before being approached by the radiologist on call who queried “do you know that you have a piece of steel behind your right knee?”  In response, my friend stated “it’s probably a German shell fragment, I guess they didn’t get all of it out.”

Like all heroes, he was matter of fact about his injuries, wounds from which he suffered both physical and psychological pain for the remainder of his life.  Yet, he never spoke of either the memories or the injuries.

They say “old soldiers never die,” and I pray that this is true.  For, the hero of whom I am proud to have spoken was my good friend and Best Man, Vincent {Jimmy} Tedesco.  On June 19, 2003, he took his memories and injuries with him to his earthly grave at Brigadier General William C. Doyle Veterans Cemetery in Arnytown, New Jersey.  Yet, I believe that his spirit lives on.

And, so that he does not remain among the nameless who took the risks, paid the price, and returned to build the greatest nation in the history of our planet, I wrote this tribute.  To my good friend Jimmy and to all the Jimmies whom I did not know, I salute you!

“Some men are born to greatness, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.”

When Shakespeare wrote that line, he failed to mention women as well as those who pursue greatness with a single-minded purpose.  But we must forgive him, for not even The Bard could have seen Janet Evanovich coming.  A native New Jerseyan whose early life seemed plebeian, Evanovich transformed herself into a prolific author of best selling novels as well as a company unto herself.

Born in South River in 1943 to a machinist father and a mother who was a homemaker, Janet progressed from high school to Douglass College at Rutgers University, where she studied art for four years.  Nevertheless, Janet was no artist; instead, she turned her hand to writing. In 1964, she married Pete Evanovich, who became a Doctor of Philosophy specializing in the field of Mathematics.  Staying home to raise their children, Alexandra and Pete Jr., Janet focused on her writing.  After three books and a ten-year search for a publisher, she could not land a contract.  When someone suggested she try penning romance novels, she produced two, with no better luck.  Needing to contribute to the family’s coffers, Mrs. E. joined a temporary employment agency, working as a car salesperson, an insurance adjuster, a waitress, and a secretary.

After several months as a Jill of All Trades, Janet received an offer to publish one of her novels for the sum of $2,000.  With this windfall, she quit the business arena to pursue writing on a full time basis, generating twelve romance novels, including some under the pseudonym Steffie Hall, now being reprinted under Evanovich’s real name.  Having churned out a dozen romances, the author grew bored with the genre and ventured into the realm of mystery.  She stepped wisely, cultivating relationships with seasoned law enforcement professionals who armed her with information concerning the business of crime fighting.  Thus was born Janet’s most popular character, Stephanie Plum, who has razed her way through fourteen hilarious novels.

Hailing from a semi-normal middle class family in “The Burg” (the Chambersburg section of Trenton, New Jersey), Evanovich’s protagonist is the quintessential anti-heroine. Divested of her two-timing husband and downsized from her job as a lingerie buyer, our gal is skating on thin ice as the first novel, One for the Money, opens.  She and her pet hamster will be out on the street if she doesn’t land a job soon.  Desperate, Steph turns to her cousin Vinnie, who owns a bail bonds office in Trenton.  When Vinnie refuses to hire his inexperienced relative as an agent, she does what every good Jersey girl would do: she blackmails him to secure the job.  Pretty, tough, and more lucky than competent, Stephanie always manages to catch her man.  She catches them like flies: the good, the bad, and the ugly.

Joe Morelli, her smoldering hot, all-suffering boyfriend is a former bad boy turned good cop.  Once burned, Steph is in no hurry to remarry.  This is good news for Ranger, her drop dead gorgeous, self-appointed savior and would-be lover.  In addition to serving as a bails bonds agent, the mysterious Ranger owns a state-of-the-art security firm, replete with a loyal team of muscle men.  Ranger and Joe both come in handy, as the hapless Stephanie can’t stop landing in hot water in pursuit of Vinnie’s fugitives and the more hardened criminals whose misdeeds intertwine.  These span the gamut of the taxidermist who hides incendiary devices in his craft and blows them up to get Steph off his back, to the sadistic boxer, to the steroid-popping bad guy upon whom our bounty hunter turns an industrial stapler … in a most indelicate spot.

Alternately helping and hindering her as she blows up cars, gets kidnapped regularly, and sets funeral homes afire is a cast of characters.  The stars in this cast are the blustering and well-meaning Lola, a plus size former prostitute whose life Steph saved from the boxer, Connie, a smart pistol packer who runs Vinnie’s office as well as Vinnie, Sally Sweet, a transvestite rock star wanna-be who drives a school bus during the day, and of course, Grandma Mazur.  Always up for an adventure, Grandma wears day-glow Spandex, packs a Glock, and uses local funeral homes as pick up joints.

Along with these folks, the Plum tales are peppered with South Jersey scenery: Trenton, not the shore … although there was that episode where Grandma was hijacked in an Atlantic City casino.  Greasy spoons and donut shops, strip malls and mega-malls, adult “toy stores”, and the ever-clogged, ever-smogged Route 1 populate Mrs. E’s novels, as do bawdy innuendoes and enough laughs to split your sides.  If you call The Garden State “home”, you can relate.  If not, and you like fast-paced mysteries that will have you wiping your eyes with laughter, check out one or all of the Plum novels.

Fleshing out the tales featuring Joe Morelli and Ranger, Janet has created a sub-series of thrillers, such as Plum Spooky, which are set during specific holidays.  In these, an odd, hunky, and endearing hero Diesel further complicates Stephanie’s considerably less than sane life.

In addition to the Stephanie Plum series, Janet Evanovich has written many other books, including Metro Girl and Motor Mouth, which reflect her fondness for NASCAR and life around the racetracks.  For aspiring authors, she has also penned, “How To Write.”  Helping to manage her extensive career are her husband and her children as well as her son-in-law, P.J. Heller.  Perhaps as a result of covering so much of New Jersey, Mrs. E. now lives with Pete Sr. in New Hampshire and Florida.  Her hobbies include reading comic books and watching happy movies.  And, like Stephanie Plum, she loves Cheez Doodles®.

For a complete listing of Janet’s works, please visit http://www.evanovich.com.  It’s worth the visit as her novels are just plum good!

It is an honor for WriteOnNewJersey to have communicated with Mark Chernoff, Vice President of Sports Programming, CBS Radio and Operations Manager of WFAN, past and current home to some of sports talk radio’s most distinguished luminaries in the genre’s pantheon.   He has graciously answered questions about his career in the medium, including his background and perspectives on music and talk radio.  We at WriteOnNewJersey will address each of the two hemispheres of Mark’s extensive career in separate articles.  The first, written by yours truly, will concentrate on sports and the second, written by Kathleen Felleca, will center on music.

A resident of New Jersey and a graduate of Rutgers University Graduate School of Business, Mark has been a distinguished figure in radio for more than thirty years.    He began his career as a DJ at WNNJ in Newton, New Jersey; later, he progressed to responsibilities as the station’s Program Director.  His second stop was WDHA in Dover, New Jersey, where, for seven years, he served as Program Director.   Mark’s next move brought him to WNEW-FM in New York City for four years, leading the area’s prominent music station.  After a brief stint in Washington DC, Mark returned to the “Big Apple” as program director for WXRK-FM.   Four years later, he joined WFAN as Program Director of this extremely popular sports radio station, where he currently resides.

On a personal note, I have known Mark since our days as undergraduates on the banks of the Raritan River.  He is a wonderful person with a fantastic wife and two children who make him proud every day of the week.  Mark’s love of radio was evident at Rutgers.  He spent a great deal of time working diligently at the University’s radio station, where he began to learn the ropes.  I am not surprised that Mark has been extremely successful in the radio industry.  And so, here goes… 

How did you get started in radio?

Building on the love for radio that I had developed as a kid, I joined WRSU, Rutgers University’s station, in 1970 when I was a freshman at the college.    After graduating in 1974, I attended Rutgers Graduate School of Business, from which I received an MBA.  However, I was much more interested in radio than I was in anything else.   While still in graduate school, in late 1975, I began working on a part-time basis at WNNJ in Newton, New Jersey.   About a year later, I was offered and accepted a full-time position there, thus forsaking a career in accounting.  

What qualities do you need to achieve longevity in radio?

That’s a tough one.  For me, my love for just being in the business was a big factor.   As with achieving longevity in any profession, I suppose that talent played into it as well.  Knowing how much I really wanted radio as a full-time career, I persevered.  I sent out many audition tapes until I finally received a positive response; this led to an interview and then a job.  Once in the business, I discovered the true meaning of teamwork when I found that I needed to learn and do everything (job related) that I was asked to do.   I worked in the sports department, news department, and on-air as a DJ; I also learned the skills required to be an effective manager.  Oh yes, when asked to clean the building for an extra $25 (the station was located in a small house), my wife and I did that as well.  She also worked at the station; that’s where we met.

What are the keys to your success in the radio business?

I love the business and I love the people.  I’ve worked with many talented radio hosts and managers.  I have always felt that as a manager, I should let the talent do what they do best, in their own way.   Howard Stern, Don Imus, Mike Francesa, Scott Muni and so many others with whom I have worked —they all knew how to succeed.  I just wanted to be there to offer assistance, when needed and offer ideas, if asked. 

What are the highlights of your career?

There are too many highlights to really choose, but working with the talent I’ve already mentioned and so many others at great radio stations such as WFAN, WNEW-FM, WXRK (K-Rock), and WDHA have made every day so interesting.

What are your career disappointments?

Honestly, I can’t really say that I have any.

What advice would you give to a college student who wants to break into radio?

I would strongly advise the student, “Become involved in your school’s radio station. Spend as much time as possible learning about all of the different departments (programming, accenting, engineering, etc.).  Balance this experience with the demands of schoolwork and studying.   Of course, you must also know how to navigate your way around the Internet, including keeping pace with constantly changing technology.”

What advice would you give someone starting out in the radio business?

I would counsel anyone and everyone that searching for a job is, in and of itself, a full time job.   it’s challenging; for all the people out there seeking, there are few available jobs.   I would advise an applicant to ensure that his/her resume is both honest and explains what he/she does best; qualifications should be highlighted.   Before applying for jobs, I would recommend getting the names of the people empowered to make hiring decisions and directing the resumes accordingly.   Also, I would tell the candidate to follow the station’s protocol with respect to the submission of the resumes (traditional mail, e-mail, etc.).  And, one final word of advice.  In radio, the job search is similar to training for the Olympics or any big event:  stay focused to get what you want.

What qualities do you look for in a sports talk radio personality?

I look for personalities who are entertaining and know the material.  It’s as simple as that.   Sometimes, the hard part is identifying who is and who isn’t talented.

What is your starting team of sports hosts?

Boomer and Carton go on the air from 6 – 10 AM, followed by Joe Benigno and Evan Roberts from 10 AM -1 PM.  Then Mike Francesa takes the helm from 1 – 6:30 PM.  After Mike, Steve Somers comes on from 6:30 PM-1 AM (with ballgames usually taking up 3 ½ of Steve’s hours on most nights).  Our overnight hosts are Tony Paige and Marc Malusis.

Please briefly describe why you wanted these hosts on your team.

Mike Francesa:  there isn’t a better sports talk host to be found.  Boomer and Carton:  a sports guy and a radio guy together … it works.  Joe Benigno and Evan Roberts:  a mix of experience and youth makes for passion in midday broadcasts.   Steve Somers:  just a lot of fun; he’s been here since Day One.  Paige and Malusis are local hosts who know how to entertain the listeners during the overnight hours.

How did you come to choose Boomer Esiason and Craig Carton for the morning show? 

Following Imus was going to be difficult.  We decided to refocus the show more on sports, with the entertainment topics of the day serving as a backdrop. Also, to make a long story short, we put Boomer and Carton together in a studio to audition for the show, and they were great.

Did you encounter problems getting them together?

Surprisingly, none.  One thing that wasn’t a problem but might have been was the question of who would take the lead doing formatics, taking the calls, etc.  Again, there were no issues with these guys; they get along both on and off the air.

At what point did you know that you had a hit show?

When the first ratings book was published.  I will say that I heard chemistry between Boomer and Carton from Day One, but held back my enthusiasm until I saw the actual ratings.

Did you expect the rapid success of this pairing?

I didn’t, but was thrilled about it!

What are some of your greatest sports memories?

What would become my greatest memories occurred in 1964, when I was kid sitting in front of the TV, watching the Yankees and  Cardinals duke it out in the World Series.   Mickey Mantle hit a home run off Barney Schultz, giving the Yankees a 2-1 win in the bottom of the ninth.   What a game!  On a very personal level, my best memories revolve around watching my kids play sports, including college and high school baseball, soccer, and lacrosse.  I loved cheering them on as well as their teams.  I loved going to each and every one of their games.

What are some of your most disappointing sports memories?

Nothing in particular.  There were many “losses” that bothered me for a bit, but as time passed, the sting disappeared.   It was very frustrating, for example, watching the Mets lose on the final day of the 2008 baseball season and not get into the MLB playoffs.

What are your predictions for the Yankees, Mets, Giants, and Jets?

I’ve learned not to make any predictions, as they’re likely to be wrong, so I just keep my thoughts to myself.

Do you think the Phillies will have a repeat performance as World Series Champions?

I’m a New York sports fan through and through.  Because my son works for the Cleveland Indians, I root hard for that team.  Otherwise, my answer here is obvious. 

Do you ever miss not being at a radio station that plays music?

I’ve been lucky throughout the years.  Not only have I had the opportunity to be with WFAN since 1993 but also, CBS has been great to me; they have often given me music stations to work with as well.

Please name the sports personalities and professional athletes with whom you have enjoyed working, and explain why.

A lot of them!  I don’t want to be a namedropper (it’s bad enough that I singled out on-air talent earlier!)

Could you provide us with interesting or funny stories about sports talk show hosts or professional athletes that you have known over the years?

Oh, I have many stories but again, I really don’t want to single anyone out.

Trying to find a good film nowadays is akin to hunting for good music on the radio.  Like a hit-and-run driver, commercialism runs unchecked on the silver screen.  Brokered by gratuitous violence, characters ripped from the pages of comic books, and of course, sex, Hollywood promotes young, improbably gorgeous actors in an effort to make audiences forgive the lack of talent and the dearth of decent scripts. La-La Land is particularly hard on mature women who all too rarely serve as frontrunners in box office smashes.  Meryl Streep is one of those rare talents transcending Hollywood’s myopia.

Born the eldest of three children in Summit, New Jersey, Streep was actually raised in Bernardsville. After graduating from Bernardsville High School, she pursued a B.A. in Drama from Vassar College and eventually earned a Master of Fine Arts degree from Yale School of Drama.  Roles on New York City stages followed her prestigious education.  These led to film opportunities that she parlayed into an extensive and illustrious career.

Reams have been written about Streep’s earlier roles, including the ex-wife turned lesbian who rattles former husband Woody Allen’s manhood in “Manhattan”, the once ignored housewife and rising corporate star suing Dustin Hoffman for custody of their child in “Kramer vs. Kramer,” the coffee farmer battling geographic and marital odds in “Out of Africa,” and the white water rafter who turns the tables on two escaped murderers in “The River Wild.”  Like a fine wine, Streep has improved with age; unlike a good vintage, she has – thankfully – not mellowed.  With each successive role, she makes a better case for the confidence, skill, courage, and brass ovaries of mature women who are as flawed as they are strong.  And, she is unafraid to accept roles in which her characters may be construed as unpopular.

Witness Streep’s portrayal of Miranda Priestly in “The Devil Wears Prada.”  For those unfamiliar with the film, Streep was the she-devil in the title.  The editor of a thinly disguised true-to-life fashion magazine, Miranda ran her publication the way that Julius Caesar ran the Roman Empire.  Regal, icy, and undeniably au courant, Miranda struck terror into the hearts of her minions and couture designers alike.  Upon her whims hung careers.  Alternately terrified of and awed by her, no one in Miranda’s sphere of influence could fault her exacting standards, exquisite fashion sense, or “never say die” attitude. When her marriage dissolved under the demands of her job, Miranda shed a tear and moved on.  When a competitor tried to cut her off at the knees, Miranda was one step ahead of her, sacrificing the long-awaited promotion of a trusted employee to solidify her own spot at the top of the food chain.  And when her highly competent assistant, played by Anne Hathaway, left her high and dry during Fashion Week in Paris, Miranda Priestly allowed herself a moment’s surprise and disapproval before facing the paparazzi with aplomb.  Streep’s character embodied the adage, “Never let them see you sweat.”

The actress took that adage one step further as the nun in charge of a Bronx elementary school during the racially charged 1960′s.  While the sets of “Doubt” characterized the austere atmosphere of a Catholic school, Streep, wearing a habit reminiscent of Pilgrim women, embodied the character of a disciplinarian who took no nonsense from students and nun-teachers.  A former lay person widowed before taking the veil, Sister Aloysius Beauvier ran her school with an iron fist and the wry awareness that her domain was subservient to the commands of priests and bishops.  Despite the male-dominated pecking order, the nun locked horns with a well-liked priest, Father Brendan Flynn. Played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, the priest came under suspicion of sexually abusing one of the 8th grade students: the school’s sole black pupil.  Denying any wrongdoing, the priest insisted that he was merely reaching out to a troubled youngster.  Further complicating the plot was the boy’s mother’s confession to Sister Aloysius that her son was gay and would have been killed in any school other than the good sister’s carefully controlled institution. 

Armed only with her convictions, the sickening notion that a child had been harmed while in her care, and not an ounce of hard evidence, the sister set a trap for the priest.   In a game of cat and mouse set with psychological traps, she bested the Father, forcing him to request a transfer to another school in Brooklyn.  At the end of the film, Sister Aloysius confided to the young nun who had begun the inquiry that she was not sure that Father Flynn was actually guilty.  The penance for putting her convictions into action was to live with her own doubts.

Meryl Streep has capitalized upon her talent in portraying strong women on the silver screen, reaping praise from the critics, admiration from her fans, and the respect of her peers.  She holds the record for the most Academy Award nominations (15) as well as the most Golden Globe Awards (6) ever received by an actor, tying, in the latter category, with celebrated performers Jack Nicholson and Angela Lansbury.  Perhaps Streep has taken to heart Helen Gurley Brown’s advice that women who behave rarely make history.  Or, it would seem, great films.

Had James Dean ventured into the realm of music instead of film, he might have been Bruce Springsteen.   And had he lived through that fatal car crash, the actor might have evolved into the man that the Jersey boy would become.

Charismatic and deeply committed to their art, both men catapulted into the public’s consciousness as anti-heroes.  Dean, of course, was the original anti-hero, the paradigm: the nightmare role model that post-war WWII Middle America had never seen coming.  A restless soul who smoked too much, drove too fast, and whose emotions ran deep, James Dean’s mortal sin was his unvarnished honesty in questioning the status quo instead of simply going along with it as generations before him had.  When Dean died, he did so as the “Rebel Without a Cause:”  the character that had put him on the map.  His legacy passed to an emerging generation that did have a cause — positive social change — and that rallied, in the ’60′s though to the present day, to accomplish that change.

Born into a working class family in Long Branch, New Jersey roughly nine years before James Dean met his fate on that California road, Bruce Springsteen appeared to have come into the world with a chip on his shoulder.  Later tagged with the title “The Boss,” Springsteen despised the moniker due to his innate mistrust of authority figures and “fat cats.”  In school, both Catholic and public, he was the odd man out, butting heads with nuns, lay teachers, and even his fellow students.  The moment that Elvis Presley invaded his living room, at the tender age of seven, this rebel found his cause — music!  Ed Sullivan’s film crew may have disguised the worst of Elvis’ gyrations, but they could not conceal the raw energy pumping through him, fueled by rock n’ roll.   Little Bruce was hooked; at thirteen, he bought his first guitar and never looked back.

As an upcoming, butt-busting singer-songwriter-guitarist, Springsteen played clubs and college circuits, primarily in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village and Philadelphia, in addition to some dates in California.  He is, however, most closely linked to venues in his native New Jersey; particularly, the Stone Pony in Asbury Park.  As omnipresent as saltwater taffy at the Jersey shore, rich and familiar imagery of the Garden State runs through Bruce’s music — as does his gripe with The Powers that Be.

Signed to Columbia Records in 1972, the hometown boy launched his first album, Greetings from Asbury Park, to commercial disappointment; ditto, his second outing, The Wild, the Innocent, and the E-Street Shuffle.  Reviewers likened Springsteen’s brand of rock, which married blues, jazz, folk, soul, and a touch of church music, to Bob Dylan’s poetical lyrics, Van Morrison’s sound, and Robbie Robertson’s gravelly, everyman’s voice.   While this most honored heritage should have left Springsteen in good standing, and while the music press applauded his energy and urgency, it also painted him as unoriginal.   It was not until Springsteen launched his third album, the anthemic “Born to Run” that he became a true rock n’ roll icon.  Ironically, Bruce hated the “wall of sound” that his manager/producer, Jon Landau, had pushed for.  In typical Bruce fashion, once the record had been mastered, The Boss tossed it — the work of more than a year — into a trash bin, insisting to Landau that it would have sounded better had he cut it in a club.  But even Bruce’s angst could not halt the steamroller of fame.

“Born to Run,” the album’s title cut, did for Springsteen what “Rebel Without a Cause” did for James Dean.  The story of a young man desperate to escape his small town and convince his girlfriend to run off with him, the song steams with Bruce’s need to break free of middle class life in New Jersey, likening his flight to being “sprung from cages on Highway 9.”  Almost orchestral and crescendo’ing to Springsteen’s screaming guitar, E-Street’s modern Big Band sound is the perfect counterpoint to Bruce’s admission that he’d rather “die on the streets tonight in an everlasting kiss” than face a life of mediocrity ruled by The Establishment and accepted by his peers. Upon its release to FM progressive-rock radio, the song’s urgency touched the hearts of America’s youth, who embraced it as their anthem.   More than three decades later, its energy and universal theme continue to uplift, anger, and haunt audiences of all ages.

As Bruce matured, so did his music.  Reflecting his growing political awareness and later, his activism, it retained its “rage against the machine” perspective as well as its images of New Jersey.  “Atlantic City”‘s stark and relentless opening drum underpins scenes of violence in Philly and a gang war brewing on the boardwalk.  Onto this landscape steals the singer: a man under siege by a rotten economy, clinging fast to the hope that “everything that dies one day comes back.”  Riddled with “debts no honest man can pay,” he takes the ultimate gamble, earning a little money by doing a favor for a man dealing on the wrong side of the law.  It’s enough to take him and his woman to Atlantic City, where he’s convinced himself “the sands turn into gold.”  As the song draws to its conclusion, Bruce cries out an invitation:  “Meet me tonight in Atlantic City.”  Driven by Max Weinberg’s muscular drumming, The Boss’s voice swells, transforming that invitation into a command for a last-ditch stab at salvation.

“Born in the USA,” the title track from the album of the same name, is, if not Bruce’s most politically-charged song, then certainly, his most misinterpreted.  Climbing to #9 on Billboard’s Hot 100 singles of 1984, it joined six other songs from that album to achieve the same Top 10 distinction.  Although it does not contain direct references to the Garden State, this bitter dirge mourns the loss of Springsteen’s fellow New Jerseyans:  friends who perished in the Viet Nam War.  The song infers the guilt of a callous government:  ours.   Bruce pushes the chorus, “Born in the USA, I was born in the USA!” through his lungs as if he were standing atop Mount Rushmore, bellowing for all the world to damn well hear him.  Derailed by the song’s title, its zealous delivery, and/or the photo of its creator’s blue-jeaned bottom on the cover of the album, with the American flag trailing from a pocket, certain Republicans assumed Springsteem to be a nationalist, and attempted to recruit him in support of Ronald Reagan’s Presidential campaign.  Although Bruce politely refused the offer, it didn’t stop Reagan from alluding publicly to the modern-day protest singer as a bastion of America’s heartland.

As Bruce’s first marriage to model-turned-actress Julianne Phillips was dissolving, his music grew darker, returning to the Jersey of his youth to stand it on its ear.  “Tunnel of Love” from the album of the same name uses familar symbols as double entrendres.  Set in a funhouse ride, the tunnel of love with its dark twists and turns becomes a symbol for a marriage rocky with fear and mistrust.  The complex melody, alternately spooky and bright as a carnival, rises and falls like the car barreling through the tunnel to its inevitable end.  The background includes the sound of an actual family riding a roller coaster in Point Pleasant.

It would take an encyclopedia to relay every song that The Boss has penned and performed in his extensive career.  Although his sound has evolved from anthemic rock to more introspective material, and although his music has gained audiences around the globe, Bruce Springsteen remains the voice of a brash, tough State clinging to its proud heritage even as it moves forward.