The House In My Head

I was fascinated with Architecture since I could hold a pencil, so the only logical subject for a book report in the 5th grade would have to be about houses. Modern houses. As my fingers walked through the card catalogue of my school's library, the selection on the subject of Architecture was almost non-existent and not very encouraging. Until I read the card with the title The House In My Head. Locating the large book on its shelf wasn't difficult-- it's almost coffee table size. Drawing the book near I was immediately entranced by the cover photo. The view at dusk of the most beautiful home I had ever seen, from across the swimming pool. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors hid little from view. The interior was expertly decorated with lots of reds-- in the upholstery, carpets, etc. with the walls a cool white, perfectly framing the entire setting. Important art on the walls-- little sculpture-- French antiques eclectically co-mingled with new modern pieces here and there. This house was a gallery as well with every decor element thoughtfully and perfectly selected and placed on the stage that was this most stunning home.

As I devoured every word, every stunning Ezra Stoller photo, it became apparent to me that Dorothy Rodgers was many things. Obviously a person of means she was also a person of tremendous taste, organization and standards. Mrs. Rodgers shared the very personal-- for her-- reasons for arriving at the conclusion to leave her cherished home of many years. Rockmeadow had become a charming but needy and temperamental old friend. An estate that was impossible to run without a substantial staff-- a luxury that was becoming increasingly difficult even for the very rich to recruit and retain in the 1960's. Guest quarters were on the third floor-- luggage had to be trudged up several flights of stairs for every overnight visitor. The vast gravel drive required regular raking. The rambling colonial home lacked many modern comforts such as central air conditioning. The opening chapter takes the reader through the intimate, difficult decision process that lead Mrs. Rogers to the bitter-sweet conclusion. Although she would fulfill a lifelong dream of designing and building her own home, it would not be accomplished without sacrificing their dear old family friend, Rockmeadow. Dorothy described the catastrophe, or the straw that broke the camel's back as the dour possibility of not having a couple on the premises for the summer. To those of us who do our own laundry, make our own beds and skim our own swimming pools, this seems like the fear of a thoroughly spoiled individual. She undoubtedly and unabashedly was-- but to Dorothy Rodgers this was tantamount to hauling your laundry to a river and beating it against rocks or lugging barrels of water from a well a few miles back to your house. I must confess to you at this time I had no earthly idea exactly who Mrs. Rodgers or her husband "Dick" were. I was delighted to learn within the first few words of the book that this elegant and sprawling contemporary home wasn't in far-a-way California, but in my own backyard of Fairfield County, Connecticut. However, exactly who the Rodgers' were wasn't of any immediate importance or of any particular interest to me-- but every brushed chrome door knob, every built-in warming tray, every pebble dredged from an Asian river, absolutely everything else was.

After touring countless parcels of property-- ruling out one for its too-steep driveway approach-- many others were eschewed until the ten or so acres of high meadow in the exclusive Greenfield Hill section of Fairfield, Connecticut was selected as the ideal building site for Mrs. Rodgers future perfect home. The new home was to be a weekend and summer place, like all the Rodgers' Connecticut homes had been since the 1930's or 40's. A home for escaping their elegant New York City apartment, a home for their family and I believe most importantly, a home for entertaining the legions of their sophisticated, entertainment industry friends. In case you haven't already figured out what still hadn't dawned on my ten year old mind-- until my mother told me-- the Rodgers were in fact, Mr. and Mrs. Richard Rodgers, as in OKLAHOMA!, Carousel, The King and I, etc., etc. I've since referred to this house as the house The Sound of Music built. Notes detailing decades of ideas were shared in the book. Dorothy-- as I respectfully refer to her-- didn't leave a process out of the equation of design. Maybe an ice maker in the living room, if it doesn't clunk too loudly. A place for card table rounds for dinner parties. Why have a separate library? A wall of books in the living room could suffice. Perhaps a little house at the edge of the croquette lawn for storing equipment. These are not direct quotes but merely remembrances of a book read many, many times. Other ideas to implement included a fabulous pantry with a double-sided serving buffet that could be closed off from view while help set out food, then opened for service. Then closed off again while silent servants whisked away-- out-of-sight--the dirty dishes, platters & tureens to the various dishwashers in the pantry & kitchen. Built-in warming trays to keep all hot dishes the perfect temperature for the perfect buffet service. A greenhouse for cutting flowers in the winter. A place to let fresh cut things "harden". Some sort of beautiful stones to place along the perimeter of the foundation where nothing ever wanted to grow. Perhaps a dishwasher in the pantry as well as the main kitchen? This women was light years ahead of her time. I'm sure if she were still alive she would have definitely participated in the interior decoration education of the masses-- perhaps with her own HGTV program.

To describe the house is a bit of a challenge, however I'll give it my best. Sprawling at over 10,000 square feet on a single level, the appearance was that of an H-shaped layout with a pool in the rear between the bedroom wing and service area of the house. Flat-roofed except for many Mansard-style, slate roof projections which correlated to the size of each room for which it was a "hat". Carefully scaled, by the way, to the point that large pieces of plywood were held up during construction for Mrs. Rodgers and her architect to judge the appropriate ceiling height for each room. The look has been described as Contemporary Regency style, which is certainly accurate-- one might throw in Regency/International. The largest room(s) in the house where the Living Room/Dining Room/Library which also had a screened dining "porch" and defined library area flanking the "thrust" part of the living room. The plan brilliantly utilizes space and the overall effort is one of the first and best examples of multi-use areas in residential architecture. Sunny with an abundance of glass walls and skylights, the Living Room-- although of cavernous proportions-- was warm and intimate. A fireplace surrounded by raised panels that hid a television that could be pulled out and swiveled on its turntable. A carefully planned service wing with state-of-the-art kitchen was restaurant-size for its time, although now probably average compared to today's McMansions. Thermador warming drawers could keep an entire dinner for several guests the perfect temperature until a late train arrived from New York. Servants quarters were accessed through this part of the house as was the greenhouse. The basement is home to New York skyscraper or battleship size mechanical systems. Plumbed with large cast iron pipes painted color-coded so that their functions were instantly apparent to whomever may be servicing an emergency day or night. Schematics were framed behind glass for an electrician's future benefit should he need them. Gauges labeled with engraved plates that noted "Mrs. Rodgers' Bedroom" and "Mr. Rodgers' Bedroom" adorned the equipment. Multiple diesel stand-by generators were always at the ready in case Connecticut Light and Power failed to provide the necessary electricity for even a moment. Station wagon size air conditioning units were unobtrusively placed away from the house behind a rustic stockade fence. The year this building was built-- 1965-- was decades before the small central units were invented that are common now. These "behind-the-scenes" details were not shared in Mrs. Rodgers' book-- visits by me to the house post-Rodgers ownership were like religious pilgrimages that enlightened me to the areas of the house never mentioned or photographed.

To say that I was obsessed with this house & book would be an understatement. I decided the ideal punctuation for my book report would be to have a direct quote from its author. How to obtain her phone number? Place one of the photos in the book with a shot of a phone under a microscope, of course. Although the entire phone number is not legible, fear not-- Richard Rodgers telephone number was not unpublished, but appeared in the local phone book along with everyone else. After several attempts to reach Mrs. Rodgers were unsuccessful, her friendly husband (to whom I had spoken every time) told me to call back on Friday when she would certainly be back "from town". Finally that fateful Friday evening, a maid summoned the elusive Mrs. Dorothy Rodgers to the phone. I identified myself as a 5th grade student who had just completed reading her beautiful book about her beautiful house and was readying to write a thorough book report. After a very brief pause, Mrs. Rodgers told me that everything she had to say about the house was in the book. She then asked scornfully, "How did you call our phone number?" I explained my slightly unorthodox method and, perhaps concerned about a 10 year old stalker, she told me not to call again. Not until my mother received that month's phone bill was I informed who the Rodgers' were. The people I phoned a few towns away via Southern New England Telephone local long distance was the great American composer of many wonderful musicals very familiar to me-- Richard and his wife Dorothy. Since I spoke to Mr. Rodgers several times I comforted myself with the notion that although Mrs. Rodgers was not at all pleased with one of her youngest fans, her husband couldn't have been more pleasant and accommodating. I'm grateful for his patience and kindness. Although it was Dorothy's astute attention to design detail that made this house the showplace it was, it was Mr. Rodgers' financial contribution that made the house possible at all. It was The House In Her Head, but also the house The Sound of Music built.

Al Beadle, Great American Architect

Frank Lloyd Wright wasn't the only great American architect to discover and embrace the Sonoran Desert surrounding Phoenix, Arizona. Alfred Newman Beadle was an architect who brought the International Style of architecture to the desert. His elegant, sophisticated designs were beautifully suited to the desert landscape-- steel and glass sculptures like precious jewels scattered in the desert. I discovered Mr. Beadle's extraordinary work just before his death in 1998 on one of my frequent visits to Phoenix. As I snapped away at a house I discovered somewhere in the Biltmore corridor of Phoenix, a neighbor approached me. We chatted and he shared the name of the designer of the house I was photographing. A studio that Beadle built on a large parcel for he and his family, it was eventually subdivided and became a single family home on its own parcel. The friendly neighbor told me that Beadle had moved North with his wife to the quiet enclave of Carefree. As I had hoped to someday build my own small, flat roof, contemporary home, I was excited at the prospect of having someone like Mr. Beadle design a home for me in Connecticut. I located his phone number through information and placed a call from my hotel. Mrs. Beadle answered, explaining that she would give Mr. Beadle my message when he returned home. I should explain that although I was very interested in Mr. Beadle's work from the one house I had viewed, I had no idea whatsoever of his highly respected position in the Phoenix architecture community, nor of his prolific contributions to the art form. Beadle's structures were true works of art with a complete and thorough understanding of materials, construction & engineering concepts as well as purely perfect design. I would learn that the man behind the drafting table was as intense as the energy he transformed to blueprints. Later that evening the phone in my hotel room rang-- I answered "Hello" to which I heard, "BAGLEY?". I responded "Yes", to which the caller responded "BEADLE!". Gruff wouldn't nearly cover Mr. Beadle's conversational style-- I was on high alert with this larger-than-life character. I explained my situation, that I was in the process of buying a small piece of property from a family friend. I asked if I could drive by more of his residential work and perhaps discuss the possibility of engaging him in the design of my place in Connecticut. He seemed slightly intrigued-- perhaps he was thinking of one of his designs at home in the lush Connecticut countryside instead of the Arizona desert. As Mr. Beadle began giving me directions, "From Scottsdale Road, go West on Cheney..." was the route to his latest private residence perched on a cliff in exclusive Paradise Valley, I interrupted him to explain that I was from the East Coast and I had no idea of North, South, East, West directions without the aide a compass. He paused, then blurted: "If you get your lazy ass outta bed in the morning, you would see that the sun rises in the East and sets in the West". I was immediately, completely and thoroughly enamoured with this person. I laughed out loud, and so did Mr. Beadle. He then continued to give me directions, in his Western-culture style of North, South, East and West vernacular. I decided to buy a compass for the car in the morning. I thanked him and told him I would be in touch after my self guided tour. The next day was more than a single extraordinary discovery, it was startling discovery after discovery. I fell more in love with Beadle's work with every house, every angle, every fabulously stylized, signature stainless steel street number. Leaving for home the next day, I could only see a few homes on the long list Mr. Beadle so thoughtfully provided to me. Over the next few months back in Connecticut, my property purchase did not go as planned and my dream of a flat roof house designed by the fabulous Al Beadle temporally died. The following winter I picked-up once again where my tour of Beadle's residential work left off. Stalking a late 50's Beadle in North Phoenix just off Lincoln Drive, I parked the car and began snapping away. Unaware that the owners of the home were a mere few feet away on their patio, partially screened by a curving, corrugated steel wall and enjoying a glass of wine on that early Friday evening. Noticing me snapping away, they cordially asked if they could help me. I lied, saying I "thought" this looked like it could be a Beadle house. They confirmed that it in fact was, and invited me to their patio for a glass of wine. After a few moments I confessed that I knew their beautiful home was a Beadle house, because Al Beadle told me the location himself. I shared my discovery story of Al Beadle as they listened silently. I finished my story, saying that I looked forward to meeting him on this trip-- I hadn't called him yet but I hoped to set up an appointment with him. They both looked at each other as tears welled up in their eyes, then told me the very sad news. Alfred Newman Beadle had died suddenly only a month before. I joined them, crying for a man whom I had never met. Or had I? Yes I only spoke with him-- I had not seen his imposing frame clad in signature black clothing, but his larger-than-life spirit was heard loud and clear over the telephone through his commanding voice. Although I never physically met Al Beadle, I feel as though I knew him very well. Through his distinctive body of work that I instantly connected with-- his passionate art that made my heart race and goose bumps appear. Although Beadle will never design a home specifically for me, that's O.K. because everything he designed was for me-- and for everyone who is a sucker for a flat roof house and design that exemplifies the evolution of fine modern architecture in the purest International Style.

For more on the architecture of Alfred Beadle-- from his early residences to his later steel and glass work as well as his commercial and multi-family homes and the fabulous Safari Resort:

A thoughtfully written Wikipedia piece: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Al_Beadle

An interesting YouTube CAD video:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8XHSpKr2fDc

A truly fine video biography was produced by Gnosis, LTD and is available on their website: http://www.gnosisltd.org/main/pg/10/

For information on everything Mid-Century Modern in the Phoenix area, including but not limited to Al Beadle, visit a site that's near and dear to my heart-- Modern Phoenix: http://www.modernphoenix.net/index.htm

So Close to the Microphone, So Sexy-- Miss Julie London!

As the carousel of music history goes round and round, it's always appropriate to revisit artists who made their mark long ago. Before computerised sweetening was ever present in recording industry vernacular, there were vocalists like Julie London. Accompanied only by a bass and lips practically brushing the mic, Julie could seduce the listener into a foggy field of enchantment with her smokey, hushed but crystal clear melodic poems. Her 1957 recording of Cry Me A River still sends me to a place I can't even articulate. Miss London didn't begin her career as a singer but as an actress. Appearing in a number of 1940's feature films, Julie enjoyed a respectable degree of success in a series of "B" pictures. It wasn't until the mid-fifties that she embarked on a recording career that encompassed nearly thirty albums, all with ultra-fabulous titles, i.e., Whatever Julie Wants, The Wonderful World of Julie London, In Person at the Americana and my personal fave, Nice Girls Don't Stay for Breakfast. If some of these titles sound a touch narcissistic, that's quite apropos in my opinion. If I could sing like Julie London one of my albums might have been titled, Welcome To My Universe. Also known to TV Land fans as Nurse Dixie McCall on the 1970's TV hit, EMERGENCY!, Julie's rich career spanned four decades. Do yourself a favor and if you don't already own any of Julie's albums, get one. Wait for a rainy day and curl up with a good dog and a hi-ball next to your hi-fi. Get real close and tell Julie all your problems-- she'll understand completely and sing them away. I'll never forget living in Los Angeles and hearing on the radio that just a few miles away in the valley, Julie died in her Encino home. That day I naturally thought of my favorite Julie London recording. Although I didn't cry her a river, I did shed a very sympathetic tear-- and thanked her for her magic.

POLYGAMY MAKEOVER!

For the dozens of top-level TV execs who leap out of bed each morning & race to your computers to log on to my blog, here's my new show pitch idea of the week: Polygamy Makeover! I'll un-earth the "Man From Glad" white helicopter and after I take an accelerated class on helicopter flying, I'll smoothly (hopefully) descend upon my first polygamist compound to liberate the women of whatever bizarre Mormon-esque sect from their unfortunate anti-fashion/anti-grooming prison. Think Paul Lynde armed with hot curlers, a Clairol True-To-Light mirror and an entourage of fag minions to help with the actual demo and rebuilding of these aesthetic train wrecks. These poor gals wouldn't have made it as extras on Little House on the Prairie. I'm not talking about transforming them into Nicollette Sheridan from Desperate Housewives. I'll take them to places like Talbots and Lily Pulitzer and ease them into a suburban/country club chic look. Maybe a retro Catalina casuals vibe for the younger chicks. After providing them with several new all occasion outfits, they'll be rushed-- presidential motorcade style via Secret Service-like blacked-out Chevrolet Suburbans-- to a low key salon that's used to overhauling rich-but-way-let-go housewives just released from exclusive rehab facilities. More of a triage center than salon, they'll be given an initial going-over with adapted for personal grooming use power garden tools by Black and Decker to take care of their various and numerous de-landscaped issues: overgrown crotch bushes, gorilla combat hairy legs/pits and Howard Hughes/Guinness Book mani-pedi situations. It's probably a good idea to have a few registered nurses on hand to introduce them to the necessary feminine hygiene products. Seafoam green vans of Clinique ladies will deploy to spray, smooth, creme, dust, buff, varnish, sand & paint the newest over-the-counter make-up & beauty remedies. They'll transform into stunning women Tova Borgnine would be proud to know & lavishly entertain at her sprawling Beverly Hills manse. A battalion of Vietnamese women with shining chrome implements will perform a ballet-like choreographed maneuver to a Euro-disco beat, ala "Handsome Pretty Beauty Ninjas". If you think this is a drastic approach then you don't know what's going on underneath those maxi-dresses trimmed in rick-rack. It's the reason their husbands are pedophiles for chrissake-- they can't get through the matted pubic hair so they're forced to becoming chicken hawks. As you know, practically every serious world crisis or psycho-social matter can be easily resolved with just a little grooming. We'll get rid of those Aunt Bea buns and turn them into sassy page boys, some with bangs, others reminiscent of Lee Grant's/Miriam Polar's up-swept do. With sun-glitzed streaks in their hair and fresh spray-on tans, let me tell you those husbands won't ever look at another 11 year old again. Their snatches, expertly groomed into heart-shaped goatees and smelling Jean Nate' fresh, will be ready for private unveiling like they're fine, priceless sculptures. These newly empowered women will emerge with a spring in their strut as they return to the commune, sounding like a platoon of flamenco dancers as the clickity-clack of stilettos scream: Momma's home-- get ready for some eye candy! Clipped, waxed, painted, fumigated, plucked, massaged, sea weed wrapped, dressed and sassed, singing their new anthem in unison. Linda Lavin's signature song-- Alice's "There's a New Girl in Town and She's Looking GOOD! There's a Fresh Smiling Face in the Neighborhood! Those pervert daddies will drop their underage wives off their laps and welcome Mommy back with a Costco Size Mormon Boner the ladies haven't seen since they got first period. I smell a ratings bonanza! Revolving special guest co-stars will include Ruta Lee and actress/beauty expert, Miss Polly Bergen. Just think of all the hair we'll donate after only the first episode to those people who make wigs for cancer patients. It's a win-win, fellas!

We've All Done It-- And It Needs To Stop

Tonight I viewed the repeat broadcast of Oprah's program that featured the most horrific real life experiences. The first was a story about a Long Island family-- The Flynn's-- returning from a joyous wedding. It's honestly the most heart wrenching story I've ever heard. The limousine in which the parents, grandparents and two children were passengers as well as the chauffeur was hit head-on by a drunk driver speeding on the freeway-- in the wrong direction. The limousine looked as though it was bombed-- just destroyed. The driver-- Stanley Rabinowitz-- was killed instantly-- the loving father of 2 grown boys. The Flynn's were thrown violently, smashing into one another. Their beautiful daughter Katie was asleep in a seat, secured by a seat belt. However the belt, meant to keep her safe, (this is so difficult, so painful to write) severed her head. Her mother who survived the crash and was conscious, picked up her 7 year old daughter Katie's head. Mrs. Flynn left the twisted, crushed passenger compartment and sat at the side of the road, holding her daughter, cradling her head. As she shared on Oprah, "they" watched-- both she and Katie as emergency vehicles arrived and the chaos of the accident was unraveled by the police. Mrs. Flynn sat there for nearly an hour. The strength of this women and the love for her daughter -- to hold what she could-- the only remnants of Katie's physical being that remained, protecting her daughter even in death. The admiration I have for this mother, a person I've never met, is so powerful I wish her the spiritual power to continue living for her family that is still on this earth. This story is about the most powerful love I've ever witnessed. The horror, heartbreak, numbness--- there just are not words that can even begin to convey the look on this women's face as she answered questions not yet 2 years after this family's personal 9-11 occurred. A mother obviously still in shock. Their lives forever held hostage by that moment in time when someone drank 14 cocktails, got into his car and murdered two people. Katie's family now only goes through the motions of life because-- how on earth can someone even begin to pick up the pieces?

I haven't cried this much in a long time. I just wanted to reach out and embrace these people and somehow take their pain away. An impossible task-- their pain will last the rest of their lives. What I could do however, is share this story with those of you who may not have seen it. And urge you never to drink and drive-- even after only one drink-- EVER again. Many of us have driven when we shouldn't have. Sure, most people don't become reckless and irresponsible after a drink or two. God knows I become more paranoid than usual and drive at the speed limit and watch the center line to make sure I don't swerve. But guess what? Who knows how alcohol can effect us from time to time? Even if you're as careful as I've been, what if we just pass out? Not driving recklessly, speeding in the wrong direction, but simply fall asleep because perhaps we didn't remember that we took a cold tablet and the interaction caused us to drift off to sleep-- and drift off into the other lane? As innocent as that sounds, I would be just as negligent, irresponsible and murderous as the drunk driving the wrong way. It's a simple solution for me. I just won't ever drive again even after one drink. I can't. Not after seeing the pictures of that beautiful little girl hours earlier at the wedding in which she was the flower girl. The beautiful, smiling, joyous face. Only hours later, her mother cradled her daughter's beautiful head in her arms. Only her head. Because someone did not think the consequences through. Someone didn't take responsibility for themselves.

The drunk driver was convicted and sentenced to 18 years in prison. A sentence that he's now appealing. Can you imagine? Appealing. How can he think of living after what he's done??? THINK, dear friends-- THINK the next time you attend a function where you may have a drink. Just don't do it. Don't do it for little Katie as well as Stanley. And say a prayer for these families-- so somehow, someway, they set themselves free for Katie who is trying to help them from heaven. Trying to tell them that she is alright and helping God-- and they will all be reunited someday. That day all their pain will vanish and joy will once again fill their hearts.

Just a few years ago I lost a friend to a drunk driver. Dorothy and her sister were on their way to the airport to embark on their annual vacation to Hawaii. Much like the Flynn's and Mr. Ribinowitz's crash, they were hit head on my a drunk driver, killing my friend Dorothy, permanently injuring her sister, now confined to a rehabilitation facility for the rest of her life and killing their chauffeur as well. There are only a precious few left in our society who have not been touched by drunk driving tragedy. At this rate it's only a matter of time.

The sheriff of Maricopa County Arizona should be appointed Sheriff of the United States as far as I'm concerned. Sheriff Joe Arpaio has designed and implemented the toughest drunk driving laws in the country. When you're caught driving drunk-- even if it's the first offense-- you're the recipient of: a mandatory 10 day jail sentence, mandatory installation of the device in your vehicle that requires you to blow into it to start the car and several other penalties that cost both a lot of time and money. That's for a first offense and for blood alcohol levels not considered to be extreme. Subsequent offenses and recklessly high blood alcohol levels mean more prison time-- much more-- as well as license suspension, etc., etc. I say let's get Sheriff Joe on a tour bus so he can implement his life saving laws nationwide.

Things that REALLY matter: Animals

I need to dedicate more time & space to non-humans. That would be animals-- primarily dogs & cats, but including any creature that we've accepted into our homes or backyards-- all creatures, great and small. These beings that we humans both love and abuse. Nurture and nourish, torture and murder. I've done relatively nothing in my entire life to help these magical angels compared to people I've known. An extraordinary lady by the name of Mildred Lucas here in Connecticut has dedicated her entire life to the protection of animals. Spending decades and practically every waking moment establishing a non-profit organization, educating and funding projects to spay and neuter animals and countless hours of community outreach. Spending untold thousands of dollars of her own money on things like purchasing food for feral cats. She learned how to write & legislate-- lobbying on behalf of animal rights and pass legislation that has made a tremendous difference in the lives of animals. Then of course there are the wonderful famous people, from Doris Day and Betty White to Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore who have used their hard earned fame to reach out to the public to engage we everyday folks into caring about the atrocities that occur regarding practically everything about every kind of animal. June Havoc, a long time Connecticut resident and lover of all animals has been caregiver to every kind of animal from roosters to burros. The many un-sung heroes who staff animal shelters around our country and care for the homeless animals, the sad, sad cases of abuse and neglect that are so painful for me to even know about it makes me sob. The homeless man in Los Angeles that I would see regularly at the intersection of Laurel Canyon & Sunset. So dirty himself but his Chihuahua & Golden Retriever glistened and sparkled in the sun, they were so beautifully cared for. They would watch over him as though he was their king when he would leave them momentarily to come to my car to retrieve a donation. Lastly but certainly not the least, my parents Ann & Barney who made sure that our house was not only full of animals, but full of love, devotion and respect for every hair on their bodies. Who taught me all aspects of proper care from engaging the best veterinary care for our babies to the best nutrition. My parents in their struggling, young family years would spend money they didn't have to care for their own animals and donate to help the plight of others. I have many friends not nearly as lucky as me who grew up in animal-less houses. I write houses instead of homes because as far as I'm concerned a house is not a home without a pet.

It's these people-- from the famous to the unknown-- I believe will be greeted in heaven by the legions of animals they've helped and heralded as the kings and queens of the universe for their selfless dedication to helping those without voices. It's them who make me ashamed for not doing more. Yes, I've marched in New York on Fur Free Friday hoping that a rich husband would buy jewelry at Van Kleef and Arpels instead of a fur at Fred The Furrier. Yes, I've given money to all humane societies and continue to do so, during good and not-so-good financial times. Yes, I slam on the brakes for every squirrel, raccoon, fox, deer, dog, cat, opossum, bear, coyote & javelina that dashes in front of my station wagon. Yes, I've adopted strays and picked up canine hitchhikers and driven them around neighborhoods in search of the home from which they escaped. Yes, it's been a dream of mine to build the "St. Jude's" hospital & shelter for animals somewhere in the middle of this huge country where every animal without a family could come and live a Disney-like existence. But as my father would say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. I haven't done nearly enough to help the only creatures in life who have given me a moment of genuine joy. Let's all try and do something for an animal TODAY. The best scenario? Adopt an unwanted pet from your local shelter. The recent foreclosure crisis has flooded shelters across the country with cherished pets abandoned by folks evicted from their homes and forced to move into rentals that don't accept pets. I would like to think I would live in a refrigerator box with my dog if forced to, rather than abandon them. However I don't have a family to worry about, I'm still healthy and not elderly, so I cannot pass judgement on these people who have had their lives turned upside down and more than likely are at the end of their financial rope. If you can't adopt an animal, send a couple of dollars to any one of the humane societies that I'll link to below. Become involved if you can, volunteer to walk dogs at your local shelter. Perhaps help an elderly friend or neighbor with their cherished dog and walk them for them. Good exercise for you AND the dog! Do something!!! Just caring for those animals we already have isn't enough anymore.

I somehow joked after the greatest loss in my life-- after the devastating illness took my favorite angel of all time. If a parent of multiple children says they have no favorite child, they're a charming liar. That favorite was Trixie Brewster Bagley, our 7 year old Boston Terrier. We lost Trixie to an inoperable brain tumor 4 years ago this coming June 4. Through the profusion of endless tears, I told someone that Trixie was the new hostess in heaven, greeting all the new arrivals. Some animals greatly loved & cared for like she, but most not. All animals, those tortured and killed for food, most just neglected. I joked that Trixie sits at the right hand of God-- just as mischievous as when she was here on earth-- and says under her breath to each new arrival: "You know, it's too bad for you that your life on earth wasn't really groovy because they treated me like a movie star"! She danced through our lives way too briefly, but boy oh boy am I glad she graced us with her presence.

Most animals aren't treated with nearly the degree of love & respect that we give to our canine or feline children at home. Dogs raised to fight-- small dogs stolen to throw in the pen with fighters to shred to pieces to train to kill. Monsters who look like normal people who torture and kill out of thrill or rage. Shall I mention what animals in the food industry endure to get to the dinner table? Baby calves raised motionless to be slaughtered for veal so tender & juicy! Ducks force fed to make their livers fat & flavorful for fois gras. Think of the source of food, PLEASE the next time you make a meal choice. Why not consider eating every-other meal meatless and perhaps eventually leading a meat-free life? Even if it's for selfish healthy reasons. The animal food processing industry suppresses negative data about the ill-effects of consuming animals. It's so much easier to be a vegetarian today than when I became one over 25 years ago. You can even get veggie burgers at Burger King now! Not-Dog hot dogs taste like the real thing after you pile on the mustard, relish & sauerkraut! Imitation ground beef for chili and hamburger recipes. If anyone wants my de-lish "Park & Orchard" Mushroom Stroganoff, just ask! Really folks, eating animals is so disturbingly grotesque. Remember the recent "downer cow" scandal where an obviously ill animal was slaughtered for food? Forget downer cows-- do you think the thousands of "healthy" cows processed daily are run through the "Oprah Scan" by top flight veterinarians to ensure they're cancer free before they're sent through the grinder? PLEASE! Animals-- like humans--can "appear' to be healthy on the outside but can be riddled with disease on the inside. Think of that the next time you're at the Outback Steakhouse or tossing burgers on the grill. Who knows? Maybe that's exactly how we acquire cancer-- by eating it. Something the National Beef Council would rather you not ponder. I'm getting a bit "preach-y, eh? YOU BET!!!

Today I'm going to write a check to my local shelter in honor of all my babies I've loved and lost-- Princess, Ranger, Fritzy, Jiggsy, Orphan Annie, Star-- dear, dear Maggie Millerton Bagley and of course Trixie. Can you do something to help, too???

Founded by Bernadette Peters and Mary Tyler Moore, Broadway Barks is dedicated to helping animals in New York City. You may not think that NYC needs a group like this, but think again. Gulianni was very unconcerned about the plight of unwanted animals in NY and their shelter system is one of the most horrific in the country. http://www.broadwaybarks.com/

North Shore Animal League: The largest no-kill shelter in America, these folks are dedicated to finding good homes for their temporary residents. For those of us concerned about what might happen to our loved ones after we check-out, North Shore has taken the fear out of that equation. If you bequeath a portion of your estate to their organization, North Shore will either find a suitable home for your pet, or take care of it for the rest of its life for you. Truly an awesome organization. http://www.nsalamerica.org/

Actors and Others for Animals was founded by several actors when they discovered the atrocities and a nearby Burbank shelter. They are actors in their finest roles. Did you know that over 30,000 unwanted animals are euthanized in Los Angeles County annually??? It's a holocaust, every day of the year. http://www.actorsandothers.com/

Another great organization in Los Angeles is PAWS LA. Dedicated to all aspects of the protection of animals, with an emphasis on assisting those stricken with terminal illness keep and care for their animals. www.pawsla.org/

Founded by Doris Day, I don't have to tell you what this women has dome on behalf of animals for decades. http://www.ddaf.org/

The American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, their name says it all. http://www.aspca.org/site/PageServer

My "local" animal shelters, in New Milford, Connecticut and Scottsdale, Arizona. Local people completely & thoroughly committed to the front lines of the battle. Folks who feed, bathe, treat and love these creatures until they find a suitable human match. And love them forever if they cannot find that perfect home. New Milford Animal Welfare: http://animalwelfaresociety.homestead.com/
Scottsdale Strays:
www.scottsdalestrays.com/

Where the HELL have you BEEN Kathie Lee???

Whoever orchestrated the return of Kathie Lee to morning television should receive a daytime Emmy award, a substantial bonus, a luxury automobile of his choice and a wonderful massage with a happy ending! This women has more joie de vivre, sense of humor, entertainment knowledge and overall knowledge of current events & pop culture than just about anybody I can think of. Her current stylist chooses absolutely perfect threads and her look is vastly improved over her LIVE With the Cranky Old Man days. Although the hair could be shorter-- please see my piece on Age Appropriate-- it's acceptable. Perhaps we'll never know if Kathie Lee's absence from TV was self-imposed or more like being blacklisted, but this is Kathie Lee's time to shine. She's youthful, bright & funny, funny, FUNNY! Hoda & Kathie Lee genuinely seem to be girlfriends and compliment one another beautifully. Here's wishing her a long-run-- as long as she wants-- because I don't even tune into TODAY until 10AM to see Kathie Lee & Hoda. Kathie Lee-- a Connecticut girl makes good!!!