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.

Halladay's No Hitter

First of all, we were there. Exactly one week away from Kristen's due date and we were sitting in right field watching Roy Halladay pitch no hit ball for nine innings. We weren't sure if we'd get to this game despite having the tickets for weeks, but Kristen is feeling great and wanted to go since it was an early game.

You could tell Halladay was dealing outside himself and from another place altogether by the third inning and my biggest concern was the rain. I didn't want a lengthy rain delay to kill his first postseason start.

We were undercover and couldn't see much of the dark sky above us through the early innings, but I did get a couple pictures before it got too dark.

Mike Schmidt said this morning that this post-season no hitter was the greatest moment in Philadelphia sports history. Personally, for me, nothing will compare to winning the series two years ago, but this is why you go the games. You go for all the obvious reasons, the entertainment and to see your team win, but you also go with the hope that you'll see something you've never seen before. A postseason no-hitter is something that nobody has seen since 1956. We could go to every regular and post-season game for the rest of our lives and it's unlikely we'll ever see it again.

A little disclosure here. Roy Halladay pitched a perfect game to a mostly empty stadium in Florida earlier this summer. Kristen and I watched it on the couch and were happy to have witnessed it on TV. (I've heard my dad talk about listening to the last Phillies perfect game on the radio in the backyard back in 1964.) Well, the Marlins and MLB decided to sell the unsold tickets for the Halladay Perfect game AFTER the game was over. They knew that baseball geeks in general and Phillies geeks in particular would buy them. I did buy one of those tickets. It was a cheap upper deck seat and frankly by the time the ticket arrived in the mail I felt a little silly for having bought it. I tucked into my book of ticket stubs and have not told anyone about it until right now.

The point is that I wanted to witness that moment live. Last night wasn't perfect, but you'd be hard pressed to convey that to anyone I was seated near. It was special and fortunately I took my camera. The shots are from 18 rows deep in Right Field, but you can see what's going on.

Yes, it'd still be pretty sweet to win this playoff series and maybe win another WS and we will no doubt be wrapped up in life's more important games and adventures in the days to follow, but this was fun man.

We talked about baby names a couple months back and settled on our short list in about 10 minutes. Last night we might have added Hallie Day Harris as another option. Whatcha think?

For my 57 Facebook Friends...

Greetings Friends on Facebook. Just wanted to let you know that I’ve just created a new Fan Page for Jim Harris Studios. I’ll send out an official invite through Facebook, but I just wanted to post this in advance. Yeah, the guy who has made just one post in the past 15 months on Facebook is now looking for Fandom. Kristen has kept me on top of the Facebook happenings though.

Interesting thing is that at this point and time, I’m actually Friends with all my Friends on Facebook. I never included my high school or college info in my original profile so everyone that has found me has done so in a very organic way. I only have 57 friends, but as I look through your square face profile pics, I realize that I have a very realistic representation of my friends.

The new Fan Page will highlight my photography in general with a likely emphasis on my Wedding and Event work. It’ll launch in conjunction with my new website which is expected to be up later today.

Fact is, of my 57 Facebook Friends, I have photographed every one of you at some point or another. I’ve shot the weddings of 16 of my 57 friends and with the exception of one or two of the 57, I have photographed your weddings, engagements, kids, anniversaries, graduations and/or portraits. 10 of you have a profile picture that I photographed up now. It’s pretty cool.

One of the reasons I’ve been less-than-participatory in Facebook is because I already have two websites, two blogs, 5 or 6 email accounts, Youtube and a recently added Twitter account. (I have yet to Tweet yet too!) This is my personal blog. Until recently I’ve had it attached to my Fine Art Photography JimHarrisImages website, but since I’ve now linked that site with my business site, I decided to un-attach my personal blog. (So bookmark me and check in from time-to-time)

Hope to see you on the Fan Page and don’t be afraid to say something on there. I’m still playing this by ear and I have no idea what I’m going to write once I get all my Jim Harris Studios propaganda up!!

Love and Peace,

Jim

Snow Storm Part II

Snow Storm in Philly

Some shots from the backyard during our blizzard this past weekend in Philadelphia. Sounds like there's more coming by midweek.

Wrecking Ball

Now when all this steel and these stories, they drift away to rust


And all our youth and beauty, it's been given to the dust


And your game has been decided,

and you're burning the clock down


And all our little victories and glories, have turned into parking lots

When your best hopes and desires, are scattered through the wind


And hard times come, hard times go

Bring on your Wrecking Ball

Bruce Springsteen

Wrecking Ball

It was likely the last farmers market of the season, late October in Wilkes-Barre. The mean streets of Wilkes-Barre is what I tell people when they ask where I’m from. It’s a joke that’s mostly for me and lost on those that happen to have inquired and have never been to the valley. They weren’t mean streets then and despite the local news that doesn’t have much to report, I don’t suspect they’re much meaner these days. We were in town for a visit, my sister and I. Ella was on for the ride as school was in fall break. There was no occasion and no set itinerary. It was a Thursday and that’s when they have the Farmers Market on Public Square in downtown Wilkes-Barre. Not the kind of run-to-car-in-anticipation kind of event, but it would do for this afternoon. Downtown is much the same as it always was. My memory and nostalgia indian-wrestle in my head as I try to sort through the old stomping grounds. What was where and how did this turn into that. Where is my old YMCA and wasn’t that Starbucks a Woolworths? That clock hasn't worked since the late eighties. Is there really a nightclub now that has an evening dedicated to bikini bull-riding and dollar Rolling Rocks?

We walked through the market and it was warm with just enough bite in the air to remind you it was almost November. We looked at crafts and ate potato pancakes and carried on out of there. I wanted a coffee and had a choice of Starbucks and Dunkin’ Donuts and I chose Dunkin’ Donuts as I often do. We browsed a record store and were on our way home.

There was some debate as to how to drive home. This was normal and everyone had an opinion, but we ended up on Wilkes-Barre Blvd. My folks-family-of-four and Ella and her new dog Ringo driving along through the mean streets of Wilkes-Barre. I looked over to the Murray complex where I worked for a couple summers in college, and they were tearing it down. A huge wrecking ball was just then winding up like a great big metal sling-shot. What came out of my mouth then went something like this. “Ohhhh, Look, Wow, Neat!” I said it like it was one word. It was immediate and squealed with as much enthusiasm as any 10 year old. They all looked on cue and watched as the wrecking ball brought down an upper story of the old industrial complex. More Ohhs and Wows and Neats followed.

I suggested that since we didn’t have anything to do, we stop briefly and take a look. There was some discussion as to where to stop. I suggested just pulling into the back of the AAA parking lot. It’s now a pharmacy, I was corrected. Fine, pull into the pharmacy parking lot. We did and we watched the show for the next 10-15 minutes. It was like we were at the drive-in. My dad opened the sun-roof on the Jeep and Ella poked her head out. Soon she had her elbows rested on the roof of the car and her feet dangling on the floor of the backseat and just a minute or two after that she was outside completely and resting comfortably on the roof of the Jeep. We had the oldies station on and settled in for some free entertainment.

The last time I had been in that building was with my parents for a Flea Market. That’s what they turn everything into around here just before it dies. The place was as awful as it was depressing. The building leaked and wasn’t fit for a ghost then and that was almost 10 years ago.

I said I used to work at that complex when it was a restaurant. My Dad laughed and said he used to work at the wire company as a runner when he was a kid. This wasn’t just one building, but an entire lot of 13 buildings that were built at the turn of the 20^th century. It was a wire and cable company. They manufactured cable and rod for just about everything including the coal mines. My Mom informed us that that’s where my Grandfather worked for most of his career. He sold that cable to the local mines. My sister didn’t interject. She was out of the car at this point and twirling her hair and running through something in her own head. Probably writing a piece just like this one. I’ve been meaning to ask her what she was thinking about, but I haven’t yet.

That was it. I’d say we watched them smack the shit out of that building about 20-25 times. We wondered why they didn’t just implode it. We wondered what sort of mall consumer-friendly piece of crap they’d turn it into. I thought of the song that I heard for the first time at the Springsteen show just two nights before. Wrecking Ball. He sang it for the Spectrum that will be torn down this winter. Like the song, this wasn't nostalgic. Buildings come and go and it is what it is. The landscape changes.

As we got the kid off the roof of the jeep and were getting ready to go, we kept hesitating. This next hit is going to be a good one. Wait, this one is going to bring down the entire side. There was a chain-linked fence between us and the demolition crew. They thought we were jacked out of our mind, but we didn’t give a shit.

We took a left hand turn out of the pharmacy, (formally the local automobile club) and headed up the hill. We all smelled the Nardon Brothers Pizza coming from the bakery across from the demolition site. I asked if that was the same pizza we had in High School. My Mom said that was the same pizza they had in high school. We all agreed it was pretty lousy despite eating thousands of those tiny square meals. We sat at the red light for a couple minutes as I took some pictures of me and Ringo in the side-view mirror. My Dad pointed out the Turkey Hill Convenience Store as he often does. "That place just got held up again at gunpoint last week. This city is going to Hell." The light turned green and we headed up Hazel Street and turned left onto Blackman and out of the mean streets of Wilkes-Barre.