12 Days of Mugger - Day 6

Mugger on a Stick

There was a time when Mugger played a lot of Nintendo 64. James Bond’s GoldenEye was his game of choice. A game of espionage and cappin’ a bunch of MoFo’z with any number of weapons of individual destruction.

We would play late until the night falling asleep on the controllers. It was fun and we played with as many as three or four people at a time. The Nintendo 64 console was at least 2 or 3 systems removed from the most current console, but it worked for us. One day I got a box from Mugger shipped UPS to our apartment in Burbank. I opened it up and it was a Nintendo 64 that he bought on Ebay for Kristen and I. It had one game. James Bond GoldenEye. He would typically beat up on us with consistency, even with his skill level set high and ours on low to intermediate,,,,and I think he wanted us to get some practice in before the next marathon. He wanted us to train and push him a little in his pursuit to be the best GoldenEye assassin he could be.

The point of this story relates to a letter and photo we got from Mugger not long after his deployment to Iraq thanking us for the hours of training on the Nintendo 64. You see, he and a Joint Special Operations Unit of specially trained Flight Surgeons had just captured Saddam Hussein and while he couldn’t say much about it or speak for the rest of the Unit, he felt that his skills were only sharpened and refined by the countless hours of late night GoldenEye. So in a small way, Kristen and I (and all of us that played GoldenEye) also assisted in the capture of Saddam Hussein.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, life was moving along as normal as possible when you have a family member stationed overseas. We had our gatherings, reunions and graduations etc, but the Lawrence Family never showed up without their Mugger-on-a-Stick. All group photos where taken with a life size 2 dimensional photo of Mugger’s Face glued on some backboard and taped to a paint mixing stick.

There were concerns that Mugger was going to miss AJ’s wedding last summer when he was called to Afghanistan, but fortunately his deployment was delayed and he was able to be there as AJ’s Best Man.

Not taking any chances though, my Uncle Weiner and AJ started work in the garage on a more advanced Mugger on a Stick. A life size three-dimensional Mugger robot prototype. This robot would serve the same purpose as the Mugger on a stick, but it would be bigger and better and more technological with AJ’s software programming advancements and Weiner’s directorial skills. This Mugger robot would come equipped with a mechanical catapult spring loaded-arm capable of pitching bean bags or bocce balls up to 25 feet in the backyard. It would be able to speak simple Mugger catch phrases like, “Got Crabs” , “Who needs a Natty?” and "Yeah Dad, that would be really neat.”

Truth is we’ve all grown accustomed to Robot Mugger here on the East Coast and we’ll hate to see him shut down once the real Mugger and his new bride move back here. Maybe we’ll teach Robot Mugger to play GoldenEye and send him to Portsmouth with the newlyweds.

12 Dias con Mugger - Dia 7

El Toreo De Tijuana

Once we exhausted all tourist possibilities in San Diego such as The Zoo, Gaslamp, Old Town and Seaport Village there was only one place left to explore…

South of the Border in Tijuana.

We crossed the borderline with much enthusiasm and hit the major Gringo attractions before noon. We had a couple margaritas, been serenaded and crooned by more than a few Mariachi bands… we'd been taken advantage of by retailers and brokers of overpriced souvenirs and merchandise very likely not made in Mexico. We did everything short of getting our Polaroid taken on a donkey.

And that’s when we saw the billboard with all it’s color and inviting-ness.. An advertisement for Bull Fights at the Plaza in downtown Tijuana. It involved leaving the other tourists behind, along with the gratuitously expensive margaritas and getting in cab. It involved a leap of faith and a little bravery…the kind of faith and bravery that you find at the bottom of your fourth margarita glass.

We pulled up to the bullring and the concerned cabbie reluctantly let us out. We purchased our ticket in the shaded part of the stands… it cost a couple extra pesos but we were riding first class south of the border. We settled in and before we knew it, vendors were walking through the stands selling ice cold Coronas for 75 cents. They also sold snacks that were either deep fried meat or vegetables with some peppers and salsa on top. We indulged with whatever was offered and it was all delicious. I even bought a Matador hat.

We didn’t know the rules of the Bull Fight, but what started out so beautiful and majestic ended with a dead bull bleeding to death and being pulled out of the ring by a chain hitched to a tractor. It was a little rough and for a minute or two we all sat there with our jaws dropped, pondering our new cultural experience. It was exciting and brutal, but there was nowhere else in Tijuana (or San Diego) where someone was going to continually bring us 75 cent Coronas, so we settled in. Some of us rooted for the Matador, some of us rooted for the Bull.

12 Days of Mugger - Day 8

Go West Young Vagabonds

In 2000 Kristen and I packed our stuff and moved out to California. I was going to be famous teleprompter-operator in Hollywood and Kristen would begin work for the Red Cross for whom she’s still with today. We lived in Burbank for several months before we heard that Mugger was being stationed out in San Diego to continue his pursuit of medicine. By this time, Kristen and I had Zero friends between us on the west coast, so we were beside ourselves with excitement to have some family nearby.

By the time it was all over we would wear out I-5 from San Diego to LA and vice versa. I still remember the first visit from Mugger to our little apartment in Burbank. With the exception of a few pub crawl visits to State College and graduations etc, we really hadn’t spent much quality time together since we were kids and I think I detailed what type of quality time that was in the earlier posts. Just before Mugger’s visit Kristen was making a grocery store run to Ralphs and asked me what he liked to eat. I told her he seemed to like fruit roll ups from what I remember.

We were new still new to LA so we explored much of the city together with Mugs. Malibu, Santa Monica, Universal Studios and any number of dive bars and pubs from Pasadena to North Hollywood.

An Officer & a Gentleman

Same could be said for San Diego. We’d take turns visiting each other on the weekends. The Navy put him up in a little place in San Deigo’s Motel Mile called The Vagabond Inn. It wasn’t much to look at, but this was over ten years ago and we were coming from a little one-bedroom apartment in Burbank, so it might as well have been The Ritz. We had a pool, Captain Morgan, a hot tub and an unlimited ice supply. We really needed nothing else. For about a year or two we were tourists in our own towns. A couple cans of Tecate with lime and a fruit roll up and we were the Kings of California. The final two photos below are of our infamous reenactment of An Officer & a Gentleman. The one shot is me asking Kristen if she ‘wants Jets?!!’ The other is obviously the final scene when Richard Gere whisks Debra Winger from her factory job to end the movie. The Vagabond Inn had cable, but clearly we didn’t need it…

The Grasshopper - Day 9

Buy me a Grasshopper Good Buddy?

I’m certain that within these high school and college years the best Mugger stories could be told, but the truth is we didn’t see each other much. Once the Lawrence Ankle-Biting Caravan moved south to Richmond it was only the occasional holiday that I saw my cousins. When I went to college, it wasn’t even that.

Looking at this picture to the right, I’m guessing by Mugger’s Theo Huxtable sweater and my combination of Hugo Boss sport coat and thrift shop t-shirt, it may have been early to mid-nineties. (93 or 94 maybe.) I don’t remember the reason for the gathering or the picture being taken, but apparently it was a rare enough occasion that someone though of snapping a photograph.

(On an unrelated fashion note, I still have that sport coat, much to my wife’s chagrin, …and Mugger has since donated all his Huxtable sweaters to his Father, who enjoys them thoroughly to this day.)

Like I said, I have little to no stories of Mugger’s High School exploits, but I’m sure AJ and the Midlothian crowd could fill in some gaps whilst we’re in Estes Park next week.

One story Mugger and I often tell is our first drink out together after he turned 21. I’ve only ever told this story aloud and it relies heavily on the pitch and vocal punch line, but we’ll see how it translates to the written word…

There were a number of places in South Wilkes-Barre I could have taken Mugger for a couple drinks to celebrate his 21^st birthday, but one of the more unique places was a little joint that our grandfather used to hang out at….it was called Boris’ Café. The kind of place where they changed the drapes from red to white in the spring and the old fellas tending bar wore tuxedo shirts and bow ties. It had its regular clientele and the median age was about 65-75 years old.

There was no place like it. It was South Wilkes-Barre meets Goodfellas and you could get a draft beer for 25 cents. 35 for the good stuff. I knew Mugger would get a kick out this place and since they knew our family, we were unlikely to be killed. We took a seat at the bar and settled in and ordered a couple drafts. We made our way to the drink-menu on the bar, which didn’t exceed a buck and a half for the most exotic mixed drinks.

And here is where we made our wrong turn. Both of us being still pretty young and mostly college beer drinkers at that time, we didn’t know our mixed drinks. We looked through the extended menu and for some uneducated reason settled on ordering two Grasshoppers. We had never heard of this drink. The bartender was a man that looked like he retired 25 years earlier. His name was Fast Eddie. This is not an embellishment, that was his name and he couldn’t hear worth a crap. That or he just couldn’t believe what these two young men were ordering before him. He took our order and quickly returned with two of the most girly green frosty drinks that could have been available on that bar top menu we studied so thoroughly.

We tasted our minty green crème de menthe cocktails as the embarrassment started to settle in. They were both cold and refreshing, but we just wanted them to disappear just the same.

It was about this time that a punchy tough looking dude stumbled into the bar. He was a local boxer from the area named Billy Murratto and went by the ring name Lightning Billy Murratto (this name is an embellishment by the way). This dude looked like he was hit in the face with a Toyota. He was looking for funding and some sponsorship for his next fight at the Scranton CYC and he was bending everyone’s ear at the bar. We didn’t understand a word the pug was saying and that was half the entertainment, as he sounded like a combination of Leon Spinks meets Lou Ferrigno, but he was fascinating and that’s when we took our eyes off of the prize. Instead of concentrating on making our Grasshoppers go away, we watched and listened to Lightning Murratto make his way down the bar. Some folks were giving him a couple bucks for his under-card bout just to move him along. As he got to us he was still slurring some gibberish about needing some extra cash to train etc, but it was all so hard to decipher….and then Lightning looked down at the bar-top inquisitively, eyebrow raised and in a voice that was as crystal clear and baritone as a Radio DJ, he pointed at our Grasshoppers and said, “What the F#@K is that?”

Whatever money we saved on our budget mixed drinks we ultimately gave away to Lightning Billy just to make him leave us alone, but the humiliating knockout punch was already delivered. We chugged the rest of our grasshoppers, nibbled on our fresh mint sprig garnish and moved on to the next whiskey bar. Our Grandfather Trevor would not have been proud of us that evening at Boris’ Café. We have never had another Grasshopper drink since that night.

Keep Your Eye on the Ball - Day 10

The Rise of the Ankle-Biters

I was the eldest kid in the family by a couple years. I didn’t belong in the smoke filled mushroom-clouded kitchen of the grown ups playing cards and drinking beer topped with black pepper. I didn’t want to be upstairs with now expanding pack of sibling and cousin agitators.

My Dad, at about this time started referring to this little mob as the ankle-biters and the primary ‘game’ I remember playing with my sister and cousins was called ‘Kill Jimmy.’ Anyone with kids or nieces or nephews know a variation of this game. It involves a closed bedroom door and a bunch of kids trying to kill each other by any means necessary. When an occasional dresser would fall or someone would cry in pain or hurt feelings there would be a disapproving voice at the bottom of the stairs followed by a short intermission.

Kill Jimmy was fun but it often spilled out of the house and could spontaneously commence at any given moment. In general, there is a complete unawareness that little people can cause pain to bigger people. I know this better now that I have an infant that touches me oh so gently on the face with her fingers and then follows it with an attempted fishhook through my lower lip.

One afternoon in Mountaintop when the ankle-biters were in their prime my Dad was taking us through the fundamentals of Wiffle Ball when young Mugger approached bearing the skinny yellow officially-licensed wiffleball bat. The bat was about as tall as him, but he was a wily coordinated dude even back then. He choked up on the bat as instructed, raised it above his shoulders, established his target and swung as hard as he could. By the time he was working through his follow-through, he had hit me in the groin about as hard as he could with the bat. Before I folded, I grabbed his face and threw him as far as I could. Before Mugger even hit the grass, my Dad grabbed my face and tossed me as far as he could. I think the lesson was to pick on someone your own size, or something like that, but after being double ambushed by both parties, big and small the moral of that lesson has always been lost on me.

This was Mugger’s (and my own) earliest known combat training.

Tomorrow

The Formative Years

12 Days of Mugger - Day11

Telephone Cords & The Birthday Wish Mugging

This photo is interesting for a couple reasons. It’s typical of a lot of weekends growing up in Wilkes-Barre & Mountaintop. Guessing by the candle count, I’m gonna say it’s my sisters 6^th birthday and like any one of these birthdays you could see Mugger starting to jockey into position... shoulder-to-shoulder with the intended celebratee’. . The reason his eyes are closed is because he’s at that very moment filling his lungs with air to hit those birthday candles and get a piece of those birthday wishes. He was a notorious sharpshooter when it came to trying to blow out someone else’s candles.

The other reason this picture is significant is because you can see the dangling telephone cord just behind them. A lot of people don’t know that Mugger, at this early age, gave my parents the first portable phone on their block. ‘Bout ten years before anyone else had one in fact. It was around this age when he found a scissors and severed the telephone cord in a couple different places. With the sheers sitting at his side he watched TV in the next room. A dangling limp phone cord was in the kitchen but he denied the act till the end. I think he would still deny it to this day... You were able to take that phone anywhere in the house after that.

The 12 Days of Mugger -Day 12

In 12 days we board a plane to Denver, CO for the wedding of Mugger & Michelle. In each of the days leading up to our departure I plan to post a photo or two and tell the story of my cousin Mugger as I remember it. You all will have your own versions, memories and anecdotes of this fine and often curious individual, but you’ll have to get your own photos and blog to tell that story.

A Mugger is born

I’ve been calling my cousin Mugger for so long that it in no way sounds odd. More than occasionally I can see that friends not in the know will pull Mugger aside and ask why some of us are calling him Mugger. It’s a fair question and the answer is quite simple.

Only a couple months after Mugger was brought home from the Hayna Orphanage in Nanticoke he celebrated his first Halloween. His parents (Weiner & Gummy), themselves not unfamiliar with peculiar nicknames, dressed young Mathew as a little bandit,,,,or Mugger. They armed this mugger with a squirt gun and a makeshift fabric mask. The name stuck.

For years we would call him Mugger. His parents, extended family and those at school.

It became such a concern after a couple years that this name wasn’t going away and for this reason they moved the entire family from Northeastern Pennsylvania and settled in the greater Midlothian Territory in the Deep South. They dropped the name Mugger and his new friends and acquaintances at school were introduced to him as Matt.

There are a handful of us that never let go, including his father and much of the extended family. Overseas, Fantasy Leagues and in Emergency Rooms throughout, he is sometimes now formally known as Dr. Mugger.