Yearly Archives: 2012

Le Robinson Farm

Posted on by The Old Wolf

Le Robinson Restaurant and Boarding House

Update: Click through for some aerial photos of the resort in the 50’s.

In the 1940’s, 1950’s and to some extent into the 1960’s, the Catskill mountains of New York were home to a conglomeration of hotels, bungalows and cabin communities that became known as the Borscht Belt. After my father’s first marriage dissolved, his ex-wife married a Frenchman, Andre Lavielle, and opened a resort in Patterson, NY modeled on the same idea and called it Le Robinson. Miriam was the descendant of Russian Jewish immigrants; it’s unclear whether the clientele came from the same Ashkenazi Jewish population of New York that made the Catskill resorts so popular, or whether they catered to an Italian clientele (the resort featured bocce courts), but the general idea was the same – a place to get away from the City and relax.

I still have memories of visiting the place; the library, table-top shuffleboard games (metal pucks lubricated by some sort of sand), the windmill, the boating pond, and sitting on the screened veranda while an early bug-zapper incinerated unwelcome guests.

Sadly, a fire destroyed the main house, and the resort ultimately became a park. I found a description at “Businesses in the Village of Patterson:”

Le Robinson farm was located on Maple Avenue [in Patterson, NY], and was the former home of Jacob Stahl, best known as the owner of the Putnam Cigar Factory and other buildings in the village of Patterson. The house was a four story frame structure that was built in the fall of 1896, and was a showplace in Patterson when it was built. The property had two or three owners after the death of the Stahl family, and in the late 1950s was owned by Miriam M. Lavielle and Andre Lavielle. The Lavielle’s operated the house as a French restaurant and boarding house known as Le Robinson. The house had room for 50 guests, and there were cottages located on the adjoining property.

Mrs. Lavielle was instrumental in the formation of Boys and Girls Scout programs in Patterson in the 1950s, and was a member of the HAGS social club that sponsored many activities that benefited community programs in Patterson. She was also a president of the Parent-Teachers Association. She was born in New York City in 1913, and died after a long illness at the age of 45 on August 5, 1959.

Andre Lavielle continued to run Le Robinson after the death of his wife, and resided in one of the cottages with his stepson. An early morning fire destroyed Le Robinson in February, 1960. The fire was discovered shortly after midnight, and had already spread through the wooden structure. The blaze could be seen for ten miles. The house was unoccupied. The Patterson Fire Department was summoned, and ran hoses to the nearby pond, but had trouble directing the water on the fire as high winds diverted the spray from the hoses. The winds sent sparks in the direction of the cottages, but they did not catch fire. Patterson Supervisor William Millar had a brush with death when he stepped on a live electrical wire that had fallen on the ground. He warned firemen and spectators away from the wire until power could be cut. The property was purchased byt the town of Patterson for use as a park.

Andre Lavielle also owned the Chez Andre Restaurant, located on NYS Route 22.

Among my father’s papers was this brochure, which gives an idea of what the resort looked like:

The Main House
From left: Louise and Walter Schloss, Unknown couple, Abe and Shirley Goldshlag

The boating pond with one of the beaches; in boat at left, Charles Martens who was a counselor there in 1957.

Lounge and Library

The Dining Area

Bocce Court
On the extreme right are Jane Moskowitz and next to her Andre’s mother Angele who was visiting from France. In the back you can see Al Seymann and Nat Rothenberg.

Brochure Cover

Today the property remains, but has been transformed into a memorial park for veterans. It has been well-cared for and is a pleasant and attractive place, still used by families in the neighborhood.

Miriam Lavielle

The Old Wolf has spoken.

WÖK – Wiener Öffentliche Kuchenbetriebsgesellschafft

Posted on by The Old Wolf

The “Vienna Public Feeding GMBH” was established in 1919, with the goal of providing for the nutrition of children and the more vulnerable sections of society. It was renamed the “Viennese public kitchen company” in 1920, and retained that name until the company merged with Wigast. From 1999 to 2001, Wigast was gradually absorbed into the Austrian Tourist Office; at that time it was the largest restaurant umbrella company in Austria and included restaurants such as Rathauskeller, Donauturm and Schloss Wilhelminenberg, as well as the Wienerwald chain. In 2008, the Tourist Office sold off its restaurant holdings to better focus on tourist promotion.

The WÖK above was photographed in the summer of 1976 in the 18th Bezirk of Vienna.

What you got there was cheap and edible, but not much else. It reminded me of the ÖBB Betriebsküche in Villach, where I became acquainted with Beuschel; indeed, when I read Melville’s description of Turkey in “Bartleby the Scrivener” – (his clothes were apt to look oily and smell of eating-houses), WÖK is always what I think of. That said, the memories are indelible, and the WÖKs now belong to history.

The Old Wolf has spoken.

Vienna: Chimney Sweep, 1976

Posted on by The Old Wolf

I love the light in this photo. This Schornsteinfeger (chimney sweep) was working in Gertrudplatz 7 in the 18th Bezirk of Vienna, sometime in the latter part of 1976. I caught him up in the attic and asked him to pose for a photo. It’s one of my favorite memories of Austria. (Next to the heiße Maroni, the Schnitzel, the Chokoladeschnecken, the mountains of Innsbruck, usw usw usw…=)

An Open Letter to Jihadistan

Posted on by The Old Wolf

Today, Reuters reported that the Taliban in Afghanistan is after Prince Harry, hoping to make political hay out of a high-profile target. The article states in part,

“(Reuters) – The Afghan Taliban said on Monday they were doing everything in their power to try to kidnap or kill Britain’s Prince Harry, who arrived in Afghanistan last week to fly attack helicopters. Queen Elizabeth’s grandson is in Afghanistan on a four-month tour, based in Camp Bastion in the volatile Helmand province, where he will be on the front line in the NATO-led war against Taliban insurgents. ‘We are using all our strength to get rid of him, either by killing or kidnapping,’ Zabihullah Mujahid, a Taliban spokesman, told Reuters by phone from an undisclosed location.”

Mr. Muhajid, you understand nothing of Islam. You understand nothing of jihad, which is personal struggle to make yourself more like the Allah you claim to worship, but whom you understand not at all. Tom Clancy said it far better than I ever could:

“Islam is not the enemy of our country or any other. Just as my family was once attacked by people calling themselves Catholics, so these people have twisted and defiled their own religious faith in the name of worldly power, and then hidden behind it like the cowards they are. What God thinks of that, I cannot say. I know that Islam, like Christianity and Judaism, teaches us about a God of love and mercy–and justice.”
Tom Clancy, Executive Orders

No one is fighting a war against Islam, except withing the confines of your own uneducated and deluded minds. You are wrong about the world, wrong about freedom, wrong about personal liberty, and wrong about your own faith.

©Bill Watterson

If Allah exists in any form at all, he is not one of the Old Gods. He does not demand blood and sacrifice, or the suppression of other human beings – women, gays, Baha’is, Jews, or any other of his creations; he does not demand that unbelievers be subject to the Dhimmi tax, or beaten for your pleasure, or executed at your whim. Your guns do not make your right; your misguided mullahs and imams do not make you right; the destruction of priceless cultural treasures at the fatwa of one insane man do not make you right. You are wrong, and all the bullying thuggery in the world will not change that. You will no doubt consider this blasphemy and worthy of death, but I do not excuse my words. I am not a Muslim, but I tell you plainly that I understand your Allah far better than you ever will.

Humanity will survive your onslaught. Shari’a will not prevail. As our race gropes toward the stars, backward-thinking mobsters like yourself and those who follow you will fade into obscurity and irrelevance. The only hope you have for survival is to lay down your weapons of war and join those who seek to live in peace with their neighbors, who seek to build a better world for all people. Do this, and you will live. Do it not, and you and each of you relegate yourselves to the dustbin of history.

The Old Wolf has spoken.

 

It’s a funny thing about life…

Posted on by The Old Wolf

It’s a funny thing about life; if you refuse to accept anything but the best, you very often get it.
-W. Somerset Maugham

I bargained with Life for a penny,
And Life would pay no more,
However I begged at evening
When I counted my scanty store;
For Life is a just employer,
He gives you what you ask,
But once you have set the wages,
Why, you must bear the task.
I worked for a menial’s hire,
Only to learn, dismayed,
That any wage I had asked of Life,
Life would have paid.

Jessie Belle Rittenhouse (1869–1948)

 

The 6,000-year-old kiss

Posted on by The Old Wolf

Hasanlu Tepe is an archaeological site in Azarbaijan Province of northwestern Iran.

These two skeletons were found in a pit with no identifying marks or artifacts – only a stone slab beneath the head of the one on the left. What story could these two have told?

“L’homme auquel il avait appartenu était donc venu là, et il y était mort. Quand on voulut le détacher du squelette qu’il embrassait, il tomba en poussière.”
-Victor Hugo, Notre Dame de Paris

Yorkshire Pudden – Stanley Holloway

Posted on by The Old Wolf

(Holloway’s monologue leaves off the last 3 verses, but it’s lovely to listen to!)

YORKSHIRE PUDDEN
by
Weston and Lee

Hi waitress, excuse me a minute, now listen,
I’m not finding fault, but here, Miss,
The ‘taters look gradely… the beef is a’reet,
But what kind of pudden is this?

It’s what?…
Yorkshire pudden!, now coom, coom, coom, coom,
It’s what? Yorkshire pudden d’ye say!
It’s pudden, I’ll grant you… it’s some sort of pudden,
But not Yorkshire pudden… nay nay!

The real Yorkshire pudden’s a dream in batter,
To make one’s an art, not a trade,
Now listen to me, for I’m going to tell thee,
How t’ first Yorkshire pudden wor made.

A young angel on furlough from heaven,
Came flying above Ilkley Moor,
And this angel, poor thing, got cramp in her wing,
And coom down at owd woman’s door.

The owd woman smiled and said, ‘Ee, it’s an angel,
Well I am surprised to see thee,
I’ve not seen an angel before… but thou ‘rt welcome,
I’ll make thee a nice cup o’ tea.’

The angel said, ‘Ee, thank you kindly, I will’,
Well, she had two or three cups of tea,
Three or four Sally Lunns, and a couple of buns…
Angels eat very lightly you see.

The owd woman looking at clock said, ‘By Gum!
He’s due home from mill is my Dan,
You get on wi’ ye tea, but you must excuse me,
I must make pudden now for t’ owd man.

Then the angel jumped up and said, ‘Gimme the bowl…
Flour and watter and eggs, salt an’ all,
And I’ll show thee how we make puddens in Heaven,
For Peter and Thomas and Paul’.

So t’ owd woman gave her the things, and the angel,
Just pushed back her wings and said. ‘Hush’
Then she tenderly tickled the mixture wi’ t’ spoon,
Like an artist would paint with his brush.

Aye, she mixed up that pudden with Heavenly magic,
She played with her spoon on that dough,
Just like Paderewski would play the piano.
Or Kreisler now deceased would twiddle his bow.

And then it wor done and she put it in t’ oven
She said t’ owd woman, ‘Goodbye’,
Then she flew away leaving the first Yorkshire pudden,
That ever was made… and that’s why…

It melts in the mouth, like the snow in the sunshine,
As light as a maiden’s first kiss,
As soft as the fluff on the breast of a dove…
Not elephant’s leather, like this.

It’s real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire lassies,
So buxum and broad in the hips,
It’s real Yorkshire pudden that makes Yorkshire cricketers,
Win County championships.

It’s real Yorkshire pudden that gives me my dreams,
Of a real Paradise up above,
Where at the last trump, I’ll queue up for a lump,
Of the real Yorkshire pudden I love.

And there on a cloud… far away from the crowd,
In a real Paradise, not a dud ‘un,
I’ll do nowt for ever… and ever and ever,
But gollup up real Yorkshire pudden.

And all this because the goodwoman of the house served me divine Yorkshire puddings for breakfast…

♫ There’ll be a hot time in the old town tonight ♫

Posted on by The Old Wolf

While this looks photoshopped, it’s an actual phenomenon, a fire swirl caused by a heat-generated vortex.

March 11, 2003 – a Salt Lake City strip mall goes up in flames due to faulty attic wiring above a shoe repair shop.

The view from my office, Cathedral of the Madeline in the center (it wasn’t close to the fire)

Employees and bystanders form a brigade to rescue clothing from a dry cleaner’s before it goes up. Felt-Buchhorn, a long-time landmark in Salt Lake, fell victim to the recent recession.

Oh, the irony.

Article here.

The Old Wolf has spoken.