This is taken from unknown newspaper/journal.
It was sent to me by Peter D. Regis in 1998.
===============================
UNKNOWN NEWSPAPER/JOURNAL
Diamond industry big in South Africa
by Peter Regis
Editor's Note: The following is the last in a series of stories on a most interesting trip to South Africa by Peter Regis, of Jupiter. Regis is a writer-lecturer and retired Lt. Colonel of the U.S. Army. The series provides an inside look at the uniquely different culture of the South Africa region.
The last leg of my visit to South Africa took me to Cape Town, 45 minutes by air from George. Normally, such a trip would take more time, but South African Airlines pilots seldom indulge themselves the luxury of long, slow decents in preparation for a landing. They drop to landing levels in a matter of seconds and touch-down with a minimum fuss or delay. The first stop on my agenda was Allied Diamond Cutters, arranged for my [me?] by Roger Murray of Kynsna. The firm was located on the second floor of an unpretentious building at the edge of town, its business sign almost concealed behind a large door at street level.
I fingered the button beside [... - missing text] was opened by an unsmiling man, behind a telescoping steel gate. He inquired my business and walked away without a word. Moments later, John Stoeke, one of the firm's two partners, appeared, and not until he had satisfied himself as to my identity did he admit me.
"We are obliged to take extreme security measures in this business," Stoeke explained. At his desk he recounted the murder in 1975 of Louis Ziszovits, one of the trade's well-known personalities. "Louis was carrying hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of cut diamonds when he was killed in Antwerp. His face was completely disfigured by acid."
Victor Eiserman, Sto[e]ke's partner of 31 years, joined the discussion and declared that Allied Cutters sold diamonds only to wholesalers. "In this industry," he said, "all deals are made in dollars, but the payoff is made in the currency of the land. In South Africa's Rands."
Every few weeks, Stoeke, as the firm's licensee, responds to a Kimberly invitation to view a "sight" -- a packaged quota of uncut diamonds prepared for Allied by the BeBeers Diamond Mining Company. "We pay for the stones in advance," said Stoeke, "and take delivery a few days later in Cape Town. In South Africa one may literally walk about freely with a pocket full of cut diamonds, but row stock may only be possessed by properly licensed individuals."
From an office safe Stoeke [... - missing text] them looked like a pair of four-sided pyramids joined at the base. "This is their natural state," he pointed out. "We get about 45 percent from the rough for a finished diamond. In our shop, most of our production is the round -- or brilliant -- diamonds."
===============================
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Friday, January 25, 2008
Peter D. Regis - Memories of Patton
Below is another fragment taken from unknown newspaper/journal.
It was sent to me by Peter D. Regis in 1998.
===============================
UNKNOWN NEWSPAPER/JOURNAL
Peter Regis tells memories of Patton
by Richard Quinby
Journal Staff Writer
Peter Regis, a Lt. Colonel and five year resident of Jupiter, can speak with authority on a wide variety of subjects.
Regis has been a newspaper reporter, owner and editor, travel writer and one of the top store builders and designers in the United States.
Regis was also press officer for the 20th Armoured Corps during World War II. The Corps functioned as a spearhead for the Third Army, commanded by one of the most colorful, competent and controversial generals of the war -- General George Patton.
Regis was often in close contact with the General and had the opportunity to observe him under a wide variety of circumstances.
In an interview with Regis, he recalls what stands out in his mind about the General.
"Patton was all-confidence, at times arrogant and overbearing, and one of the greatest field commanders of the war," Regis begins. "He was also a great student and a scholar of military history, and a very religious man."
"Patton had enormous presence. When he walked into a room he filled it up with Patton... He dominated everything and he always had an opinion. He was forceful, at times quite humourous and always very persuasive," Regis said.
It's hard to tell after talking with Regis whether Patton played a role simply because it was expected of him, or because he was inseparable from the part.
Regis' first encounter with Patton came during a meeting in Knutsford, England. Patton made it a point to explain to all present about his famous pistols that he always wore. "These are not pearl handles," Regis recalls the General saying. "They're ivory, and I don't wear them because I like them; I wear them because they are part of the image."
The pistols may have been part of the role, but is absolute coolness under fire seemed real enough to Regis.
He recalls that the rapid advance of the Third Army through Europe was impeded by a flooded Moselle River. Two bridges needed to be constructed, one for the infantry and another for the tanks. "We walked across the infantry bridge to the bridgehead," Regis recalls.
The situation was far from stabilized as the Germans had only been driven back about four hundred yards. Patton and Regis turned their attention to the tank bridge which still had another hundred yards to be built, when "Mortar fire started coming in," recalls Regis.
Everyone immediately threw themselves flat on the ground, except Patton. Regis remembers looking up from the ground and watching an immobile, impassive Patton standing just as before the shelling.
Regis wasn't sure how to evaluate Patton's response to the danger, but he remembers thinking that the ground was the wisest place to be since "shells have on them -- 'to whom it may concern.'"
"Patton just did not have the type of fear that we did under fire ... He had more control of his nerves," Regis says.
The Third Army had a "frozen press" says Regis, because they did not want the Germans to know the movements of the Army or even the fact that Patton was in France. Regis' corps was dubbed the "ghost corps" by the Germans.
Since radio contact between corps headquarters and the divisions was prohibited, Regis often served as combat liaison officer. During a mission, he cracked up his jeep and spent some time in the hospital tent in Vitre, France.
Regis remembers peeking out from beneath the rolled up canvas siding to see the approach of a jeep flying the three star general flag on one fender and the Third Army flag on the other. Patton entered the tent and, according to Regis, there was a tangible tenseness in the air. Regis guesses that perhaps this was partially due to the soldier's awareness of the famous slapping incident in Africa. (Patton slapped a hospitalized soldier who was diagnosed as suffering from battle fatigue).
Patton walked through the tent, recognized Regis and bellowed out. "What the hell are you doing here. Better get yourself out of bed because we're well the hell out there," Patton's comment had the whole tent laughing and the tension disappeared, says Regis.
After the war a recreational area for the troops was set up in Thionville, France. Soldiers were brought in by convoy to indulge in some of the luxuries they had been denied during the war.
Patton wanted the best for his troops and he made sure ...
(Continued on page 9)
===============================
Unfortunately, there was no continuation in what I received.
It was sent to me by Peter D. Regis in 1998.
===============================
UNKNOWN NEWSPAPER/JOURNAL
Peter Regis tells memories of Patton
by Richard Quinby
Journal Staff Writer
Peter Regis, a Lt. Colonel and five year resident of Jupiter, can speak with authority on a wide variety of subjects.
Regis has been a newspaper reporter, owner and editor, travel writer and one of the top store builders and designers in the United States.
Regis was also press officer for the 20th Armoured Corps during World War II. The Corps functioned as a spearhead for the Third Army, commanded by one of the most colorful, competent and controversial generals of the war -- General George Patton.
Regis was often in close contact with the General and had the opportunity to observe him under a wide variety of circumstances.
In an interview with Regis, he recalls what stands out in his mind about the General.
"Patton was all-confidence, at times arrogant and overbearing, and one of the greatest field commanders of the war," Regis begins. "He was also a great student and a scholar of military history, and a very religious man."
"Patton had enormous presence. When he walked into a room he filled it up with Patton... He dominated everything and he always had an opinion. He was forceful, at times quite humourous and always very persuasive," Regis said.
It's hard to tell after talking with Regis whether Patton played a role simply because it was expected of him, or because he was inseparable from the part.
Regis' first encounter with Patton came during a meeting in Knutsford, England. Patton made it a point to explain to all present about his famous pistols that he always wore. "These are not pearl handles," Regis recalls the General saying. "They're ivory, and I don't wear them because I like them; I wear them because they are part of the image."
The pistols may have been part of the role, but is absolute coolness under fire seemed real enough to Regis.
He recalls that the rapid advance of the Third Army through Europe was impeded by a flooded Moselle River. Two bridges needed to be constructed, one for the infantry and another for the tanks. "We walked across the infantry bridge to the bridgehead," Regis recalls.
The situation was far from stabilized as the Germans had only been driven back about four hundred yards. Patton and Regis turned their attention to the tank bridge which still had another hundred yards to be built, when "Mortar fire started coming in," recalls Regis.
Everyone immediately threw themselves flat on the ground, except Patton. Regis remembers looking up from the ground and watching an immobile, impassive Patton standing just as before the shelling.
Regis wasn't sure how to evaluate Patton's response to the danger, but he remembers thinking that the ground was the wisest place to be since "shells have on them -- 'to whom it may concern.'"
"Patton just did not have the type of fear that we did under fire ... He had more control of his nerves," Regis says.
The Third Army had a "frozen press" says Regis, because they did not want the Germans to know the movements of the Army or even the fact that Patton was in France. Regis' corps was dubbed the "ghost corps" by the Germans.
Since radio contact between corps headquarters and the divisions was prohibited, Regis often served as combat liaison officer. During a mission, he cracked up his jeep and spent some time in the hospital tent in Vitre, France.
Regis remembers peeking out from beneath the rolled up canvas siding to see the approach of a jeep flying the three star general flag on one fender and the Third Army flag on the other. Patton entered the tent and, according to Regis, there was a tangible tenseness in the air. Regis guesses that perhaps this was partially due to the soldier's awareness of the famous slapping incident in Africa. (Patton slapped a hospitalized soldier who was diagnosed as suffering from battle fatigue).
Patton walked through the tent, recognized Regis and bellowed out. "What the hell are you doing here. Better get yourself out of bed because we're well the hell out there," Patton's comment had the whole tent laughing and the tension disappeared, says Regis.
After the war a recreational area for the troops was set up in Thionville, France. Soldiers were brought in by convoy to indulge in some of the luxuries they had been denied during the war.
Patton wanted the best for his troops and he made sure ...
(Continued on page 9)
===============================
Unfortunately, there was no continuation in what I received.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Peter D. Regis - Memories of WWII
Below is the article reset from the newspaper clipping Peter D. Regis sent me in 1998.
===============================
THE PALM BEACH POST -- Sunday, April 9, 1995
Buchenwald: Memories of Death Remain
by Mary Jane Fine
Palm Beach Post Staff Writer
50 years later WWII
Fifty years ago Tuesday, press officer Peter Regis drove into the Nazi concentration camp hours after its liberation
Fifty years ago, Peter Regis witnessed history. He walked through its horror chambers. He took its picture with his ever-present Speed Graphic.
Regis was a former newspaperman at the time, a veteran newshound who hailed from central Maine, a press officer in Gen. George Patton's 3rd Army. And on the April day when Capt. Regis entered Buchenwald, just hours after its liberation, he kept an observer's distance.
In his arid telling, the account takes on a surreal quality: One man, riding alone in his jeep, drives west from the town of Weimar, two, three, four miles, and happens upon a huge encampment wound round with barbed wire. He drives through the entrance -- Was there an archway? He thinks so -- and parks the jeep. Inside the first building he encounters, men wearing striped pajamas rush to surround him, hugging and kissing him in joyous gratitude.
Regis was the man in the jeep, and the surviving concentration inmates of Buchenwald concentration camp flooded him with words. In Polish. In German. In Dutch. He understood none of them, heard only a babble of voices. He hugged them back, wondering as he did what diseases they might harbor.
***
He is 82 now, a taciturn man with a down-easter's reserve and frugal speech. He keeps his voice flat and emotionless, lets his intelligence sketch his story. At the dinning room table of his Jupiter mobile home, he sits surrounded by photo albums, snapshots, old letters and folding map of Germany.
"Here's Weimar," he says, tapping the center of the map. "Buchenwald is probably 3 and 4 miles from here."
At that point on the map, he has printed in block letters with black ink: "SS Lv 1:30 11 Apr. Buchenwald." The Nazi SS troops left the death camp at 1:30 on the 11th of April, 1945.
Later on that afternoon -- or perhaps the next morning; he can't be sure -- Regis, out on a reconnaissance mission, happened upon the hellish camp.
Until that day, that moment, he hadn't known it existed.
He told himself he had seen worse, and, if such things can be measured, perhaps he had. Just a few days earlier, he had seen the death pit of Ohrdruf, the first concentration camp liberated by the Allies. The pit measured perhaps 100 yards long by 150 feet wide, 25 feet deep. It was filled with bodies, all of them naked. His first sight of what, until then, only had been rumored.
"The effect was enormous," he says in his understated way. "These were ordinary people, just like us, treated with contempt. Treated like debris."
And then came Buchenwald with its emaciated prisoners who walked around bewildered or weeping "because crying was the last comfort they could fall back on."
Regis didn't cry. It would have been a disgrace, he says, for a soldier to weep in front of his comrades. And there was this: "I'd seen so many things," he says, slowly, groping for a way to describe what he felt. "Decapitated soldiers. Body parts distributed all over a battlefield. Everything seemed to be flat. Actually, I didn't know how to react. I just couldn't gather my thoughts."
"What kind of horrible, distorted mind did you have to have to do something like that?" he asks, a half-century later. "I can see where an individual might do crazy things, but a culture, a whole society, was doing it."
He stayed at Buchenwald for three days , during which the horrors mounted. He wandered into a roomful of children lying in bed, small human experiments injected by the Nazis with diseases. He found a room -- "the size of this," he says, gesturing toward his brightly attractive living room -- where the Nazis had hung death masks of dead prisoners on every wall. He saw the crematorium, its ovens still warm, skeletons visible inside.
Wherever he went, he snapped pictures, his camera a shield between him and the terrible sights he saw.
"I never tried to forget what I saw," Regis says. "It didn't fade over time."
Within months, the war ended. His memories endured.
A year later, he married Irene, an English singer he'd met when she was entertaining American soldiers at a club in Heidelberg. The couple stayed in Europe for several years before moving to the United States, where Regis built a career in public relations. They moved around -- to Maine, Boston, New York, Minneapolis -- until his retirement in 1970 and subsequent move to Florida.
Over the years, he and Irene visited Europe often, but he never returned to the places that might have stirred up the past, never took her to see the ground he had trod as a soldier.
But he did share with her the words of a prisoner, a Dutch Jew who had approach him just before he left Buchenwald, handing him a yellow sheet of paper covered with writing in Dutch.
In English, the man explained that it was his account of the final days of hours of Buchenwald. Regis took it, put it away for the day when a translator allowed the Dutchman's words -- stiff and awkward in the poor translation -- to speak to him for the first time.
"The chimneys of the Crematorium smoked all the time now," the man had written. And, at the end of his account, this:
"10 April. The commandant ordered again all the men to come at 10 o'clock at the main-place. By groups of 10,000 they should be evacuate[d]. We receive now plenty of food. The whole kitchen must be empty.
11 April. There are still 22,000 men in the camp. Again the order for all men to leave at 12. The whole morning the American airplanes are cirkling over the camp. At 10 minutes to twelve, the Germans give "Feindalarm" and we are all happy because we know that our friends are near the camp.
At 12:30 all the SS-men were ordered to leave the camp. Now we are all afraid, for we suppose that they will annihilate now the whole camp. But nothing happens. At 13:30 the SS-men leave the camp."
Regis can still re-read those words and summon up the April day when he first glimpsed Buchenwald from his jeep.
He struggles to explain how it is now to think back on that time. The images are strong -- indelible, even without the reinforcement of his snapshots -- but the long-ago feelings elude him.
"What has faded," he says at last, "is my memory of my reaction when I saw those things."
===============================
===============================
THE PALM BEACH POST -- Sunday, April 9, 1995
Buchenwald: Memories of Death Remain
by Mary Jane Fine
Palm Beach Post Staff Writer
50 years later WWII
Fifty years ago Tuesday, press officer Peter Regis drove into the Nazi concentration camp hours after its liberation
Fifty years ago, Peter Regis witnessed history. He walked through its horror chambers. He took its picture with his ever-present Speed Graphic.
Regis was a former newspaperman at the time, a veteran newshound who hailed from central Maine, a press officer in Gen. George Patton's 3rd Army. And on the April day when Capt. Regis entered Buchenwald, just hours after its liberation, he kept an observer's distance.
In his arid telling, the account takes on a surreal quality: One man, riding alone in his jeep, drives west from the town of Weimar, two, three, four miles, and happens upon a huge encampment wound round with barbed wire. He drives through the entrance -- Was there an archway? He thinks so -- and parks the jeep. Inside the first building he encounters, men wearing striped pajamas rush to surround him, hugging and kissing him in joyous gratitude.
Regis was the man in the jeep, and the surviving concentration inmates of Buchenwald concentration camp flooded him with words. In Polish. In German. In Dutch. He understood none of them, heard only a babble of voices. He hugged them back, wondering as he did what diseases they might harbor.
***
He is 82 now, a taciturn man with a down-easter's reserve and frugal speech. He keeps his voice flat and emotionless, lets his intelligence sketch his story. At the dinning room table of his Jupiter mobile home, he sits surrounded by photo albums, snapshots, old letters and folding map of Germany.
"Here's Weimar," he says, tapping the center of the map. "Buchenwald is probably 3 and 4 miles from here."
At that point on the map, he has printed in block letters with black ink: "SS Lv 1:30 11 Apr. Buchenwald." The Nazi SS troops left the death camp at 1:30 on the 11th of April, 1945.
Later on that afternoon -- or perhaps the next morning; he can't be sure -- Regis, out on a reconnaissance mission, happened upon the hellish camp.
Until that day, that moment, he hadn't known it existed.
He told himself he had seen worse, and, if such things can be measured, perhaps he had. Just a few days earlier, he had seen the death pit of Ohrdruf, the first concentration camp liberated by the Allies. The pit measured perhaps 100 yards long by 150 feet wide, 25 feet deep. It was filled with bodies, all of them naked. His first sight of what, until then, only had been rumored.
"The effect was enormous," he says in his understated way. "These were ordinary people, just like us, treated with contempt. Treated like debris."
And then came Buchenwald with its emaciated prisoners who walked around bewildered or weeping "because crying was the last comfort they could fall back on."
Regis didn't cry. It would have been a disgrace, he says, for a soldier to weep in front of his comrades. And there was this: "I'd seen so many things," he says, slowly, groping for a way to describe what he felt. "Decapitated soldiers. Body parts distributed all over a battlefield. Everything seemed to be flat. Actually, I didn't know how to react. I just couldn't gather my thoughts."
"What kind of horrible, distorted mind did you have to have to do something like that?" he asks, a half-century later. "I can see where an individual might do crazy things, but a culture, a whole society, was doing it."
He stayed at Buchenwald for three days , during which the horrors mounted. He wandered into a roomful of children lying in bed, small human experiments injected by the Nazis with diseases. He found a room -- "the size of this," he says, gesturing toward his brightly attractive living room -- where the Nazis had hung death masks of dead prisoners on every wall. He saw the crematorium, its ovens still warm, skeletons visible inside.
Wherever he went, he snapped pictures, his camera a shield between him and the terrible sights he saw.
"I never tried to forget what I saw," Regis says. "It didn't fade over time."
Within months, the war ended. His memories endured.
A year later, he married Irene, an English singer he'd met when she was entertaining American soldiers at a club in Heidelberg. The couple stayed in Europe for several years before moving to the United States, where Regis built a career in public relations. They moved around -- to Maine, Boston, New York, Minneapolis -- until his retirement in 1970 and subsequent move to Florida.
Over the years, he and Irene visited Europe often, but he never returned to the places that might have stirred up the past, never took her to see the ground he had trod as a soldier.
But he did share with her the words of a prisoner, a Dutch Jew who had approach him just before he left Buchenwald, handing him a yellow sheet of paper covered with writing in Dutch.
In English, the man explained that it was his account of the final days of hours of Buchenwald. Regis took it, put it away for the day when a translator allowed the Dutchman's words -- stiff and awkward in the poor translation -- to speak to him for the first time.
"The chimneys of the Crematorium smoked all the time now," the man had written. And, at the end of his account, this:
"10 April. The commandant ordered again all the men to come at 10 o'clock at the main-place. By groups of 10,000 they should be evacuate[d]. We receive now plenty of food. The whole kitchen must be empty.
11 April. There are still 22,000 men in the camp. Again the order for all men to leave at 12. The whole morning the American airplanes are cirkling over the camp. At 10 minutes to twelve, the Germans give "Feindalarm" and we are all happy because we know that our friends are near the camp.
At 12:30 all the SS-men were ordered to leave the camp. Now we are all afraid, for we suppose that they will annihilate now the whole camp. But nothing happens. At 13:30 the SS-men leave the camp."
Regis can still re-read those words and summon up the April day when he first glimpsed Buchenwald from his jeep.
He struggles to explain how it is now to think back on that time. The images are strong -- indelible, even without the reinforcement of his snapshots -- but the long-ago feelings elude him.
"What has faded," he says at last, "is my memory of my reaction when I saw those things."
===============================
Friday, January 18, 2008
Everybody Buys Somebody Sometimes
This time Sun buys MySQL. Well, of course it is business. Yet, reading a discussion about Ruby I got the feeling that the open source is just a sand box where ideas are grown. They are harvested when mature. Some of them even earlier, for any sake ...
===
Lyrics (double)
Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime
Words & Music by Irving Taylor & Ken Lane
Recorded by Dean Martin, 1964
Everybody loves somebody sometime,
Everybody falls in love somehow;
Something in your kiss just told me
My sometime is now.
Everybody finds somebody someplace;
There's no telling where love may appear.
Something in my heart keeps saying
My someplace is here.
Bridge:
If I had it in my power,
I'd arrange for every girl to have your charms;
Then, every minute, every hour,
Every boy would find what I found in your arms.
Everybody loves somebody sometime,
And although my dream was over-due,
Your love made it well worth waiting
For someone like you.
(Last time)
For someone . . . like you.
***
Raphael
Desmejorado
Album - De Vuelta (2003)
Hay gente para todo
hay cosas que se cuentan
y parecen ciertas.
Es cuestión de hormonas
dicen que se van
pero se quedan.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
y el arrabal amargo en el paladar.
Nunca pasar una semana
con la misma neura
hicieron de mí
una copla perversa.
Estabais ausentes
cuando dormía
¿me habré perdido algo? Quizás
las monedas de plata desprendidas
del beso al carcelero de mi corazón.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
que no quede nunca el papel deshabitado.
Otro ritmo, otro compás
rimas de mar
el gran teatro del mundo
debe continuar.
Si no nos entra la locura
(llamando al planeta loco)
mientras se esfuma la espera
habrá que dar la guerra por perdida
y volver a los placeres prohibidos
o privados para los necesitados.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
y el arrabal amargo en el paladar
otro ritmo, otro compás
rimas de mar
el gran teatro del mundo
debe continuar.
===
Lyrics (double)
Everybody Loves Somebody Sometime
Words & Music by Irving Taylor & Ken Lane
Recorded by Dean Martin, 1964
Everybody loves somebody sometime,
Everybody falls in love somehow;
Something in your kiss just told me
My sometime is now.
Everybody finds somebody someplace;
There's no telling where love may appear.
Something in my heart keeps saying
My someplace is here.
Bridge:
If I had it in my power,
I'd arrange for every girl to have your charms;
Then, every minute, every hour,
Every boy would find what I found in your arms.
Everybody loves somebody sometime,
And although my dream was over-due,
Your love made it well worth waiting
For someone like you.
(Last time)
For someone . . . like you.
***
Raphael
Desmejorado
Album - De Vuelta (2003)
Hay gente para todo
hay cosas que se cuentan
y parecen ciertas.
Es cuestión de hormonas
dicen que se van
pero se quedan.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
y el arrabal amargo en el paladar.
Nunca pasar una semana
con la misma neura
hicieron de mí
una copla perversa.
Estabais ausentes
cuando dormía
¿me habré perdido algo? Quizás
las monedas de plata desprendidas
del beso al carcelero de mi corazón.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
que no quede nunca el papel deshabitado.
Otro ritmo, otro compás
rimas de mar
el gran teatro del mundo
debe continuar.
Si no nos entra la locura
(llamando al planeta loco)
mientras se esfuma la espera
habrá que dar la guerra por perdida
y volver a los placeres prohibidos
o privados para los necesitados.
Yo sigo igual
sigo tal cual
quizás desmejorado
y el arrabal amargo en el paladar
otro ritmo, otro compás
rimas de mar
el gran teatro del mundo
debe continuar.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Food Songs or Love Songs?
There were some posts with no lyrics. It should be corrected.
Recently I spot on a post "It seems there are no songs about barbecue. How sad". Fortunately there is a song about barbecue, see below.
The topic of food in songs is discussed also in 500 Songs About Food and Food songs, for example. It would a great project to collect lyrics of such songs... :)
Anyway, most of "food" songs are just love songs, as usually :)
I heard and loved "Pickin' a Chickin" by Eve Boswell before I read the above mentioned post.
===
Lyrics
Pickin' a Chickin
Words and music - Paddy Roberts, Derek Bernfield & Garfield De Mortimer
[1955]
Come to the barbecue and sit by my side
We couldn't choose a better night if we tried
Can't you imagine what a thrill it will be
Pickin' a chicken with me
It's so romantic, the moon up above
Is extra bright on a night such as this
Pullin' a wishbone with someone you love
Is almost certain to end with a kiss
So come to the barbecue, my darling my dear
I'm so in love with you and when you are near
I get a feeling that forever you'll be
Pickin' a chicken with me
It's so romantic, the moon up above
Is extra bright on a night such as this,
Pullin' a wishbone with someone you love
Is almost certain to end with a kiss
So come to the barbecue, my darling my dear,
I'm so in love with you and when you are near
I get a feeling that forever you'll be
Pickin' a chicken with me
Pickin' a chicken with me
Pickin' a chicken with me
Source: www.JustSomeLyrics.com
Recently I spot on a post "It seems there are no songs about barbecue. How sad". Fortunately there is a song about barbecue, see below.
The topic of food in songs is discussed also in 500 Songs About Food and Food songs, for example. It would a great project to collect lyrics of such songs... :)
Anyway, most of "food" songs are just love songs, as usually :)
I heard and loved "Pickin' a Chickin" by Eve Boswell before I read the above mentioned post.
===
Lyrics
Pickin' a Chickin
Words and music - Paddy Roberts, Derek Bernfield & Garfield De Mortimer
[1955]
Come to the barbecue and sit by my side
We couldn't choose a better night if we tried
Can't you imagine what a thrill it will be
Pickin' a chicken with me
It's so romantic, the moon up above
Is extra bright on a night such as this
Pullin' a wishbone with someone you love
Is almost certain to end with a kiss
So come to the barbecue, my darling my dear
I'm so in love with you and when you are near
I get a feeling that forever you'll be
Pickin' a chicken with me
It's so romantic, the moon up above
Is extra bright on a night such as this,
Pullin' a wishbone with someone you love
Is almost certain to end with a kiss
So come to the barbecue, my darling my dear,
I'm so in love with you and when you are near
I get a feeling that forever you'll be
Pickin' a chicken with me
Pickin' a chicken with me
Pickin' a chicken with me
Source: www.JustSomeLyrics.com
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
Self-Expression
Some people express themselves by speaking loudly and waving their arms about. If you don’t understand, they just yell at you louder and louder until you give in and pretend to understand.
[From a book review on the internet.]
[From a book review on the internet.]
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Peter D. Regis - Continuing
To: <...>
Date: Thu, 11 Sep 1997 10:39:34 -0400
Subject: Continuing
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Dear zzz,
I think my age and hierarchal family status permits me to address you by your first name.
Discovering you was easy. I located you in the Zimaitis Web home page.
Frankly, it has been only recently that I have given serious consideration to my Lithuanian relatives and forebares. Maybe it can be attributed to wisdom one acquires from experience and old age. At any rate, I think we can look forward to some interesting and revealing exchanges, even though we discover that we are not related.
I would like very much to discover where my father was born. There must be a record of his birth, either in church records or town documents. Anything you can do to help will be greatly appreciated.
If we discover that we are closely related, and there is a young family member whose career could be enhanced by our efforts, all this would be very worth while.
Yours sincerely, Peter Regis
===
It seems that was the last e-mail received from Peter D. Regis. Some time later I received the letter via surface mail, see previous post. This letter contained some documents and excerpts enclosed.
Date: Thu, 11 Sep 1997 10:39:34 -0400
Subject: Continuing
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Dear zzz,
I think my age and hierarchal family status permits me to address you by your first name.
Discovering you was easy. I located you in the Zimaitis Web home page.
Frankly, it has been only recently that I have given serious consideration to my Lithuanian relatives and forebares. Maybe it can be attributed to wisdom one acquires from experience and old age. At any rate, I think we can look forward to some interesting and revealing exchanges, even though we discover that we are not related.
I would like very much to discover where my father was born. There must be a record of his birth, either in church records or town documents. Anything you can do to help will be greatly appreciated.
If we discover that we are closely related, and there is a young family member whose career could be enhanced by our efforts, all this would be very worth while.
Yours sincerely, Peter Regis
===
It seems that was the last e-mail received from Peter D. Regis. Some time later I received the letter via surface mail, see previous post. This letter contained some documents and excerpts enclosed.
Peter D. Regis - Follow-up
To: <...>
Date: Mon, 8 Sep 1997 05:19:03 -0400
Subject: Follow-up
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
My father's Lithuanian surname is Kryzius, as is that of my uncle Jerry, as we called him. Another brother Walter (Bladus) settled in Chicago. Both had children whom I have met. I have a Russian military document which excused my father from military service in the Russian army. I'll send you a copy, along with copies of letters my father received years ago from his sister.
I am 84 years of age and still quite active. I have shelves loaded with note books containing material I have written during my career. We have a home in Florida and spend much time in Europe, mostly Austria and Bavaria. But we'll get into details at a later time.
We have no children, but my brother had a son named Peter. He must be about your age and lives in Gloucester, Mass. Up until he was 30 he spent most of his life in Asia, the Middle East, and Cairo. He was educated in private schools in Switzerland, Spain, Japan, and Taiwan. Speaks and writes fluently in French, Spanish, and Chinese - but no Lithuanian. I'll arrange for him to contact you via e-mail. I predict there'll be a lively exchange between the two of you in the years ahead.
Tracing our lineage promises to be a project the three of us can pursue with enthusiasm. Send me your mailing address so that I may get my material out to you without delay.
Best regards,
Peter D Regis
===
Again, a shortened version of my replay:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Follow-up
Date sent: Thue, 11 Sep 1997 13:21:29 +0300
Dear Mr. Peter D. Regis,
Your intention to send copies of some documents or letters from your family archive imposes a great responsibility on me and is very exciting. I would like to ask you how you found me in this world <...>
<...>
If you are going to send more than a simple letter, I prefer the institutional address. But if you do not trust institutions you can use may home address.
<...>
Best regards, zzz
Date: Mon, 8 Sep 1997 05:19:03 -0400
Subject: Follow-up
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
My father's Lithuanian surname is Kryzius, as is that of my uncle Jerry, as we called him. Another brother Walter (Bladus) settled in Chicago. Both had children whom I have met. I have a Russian military document which excused my father from military service in the Russian army. I'll send you a copy, along with copies of letters my father received years ago from his sister.
I am 84 years of age and still quite active. I have shelves loaded with note books containing material I have written during my career. We have a home in Florida and spend much time in Europe, mostly Austria and Bavaria. But we'll get into details at a later time.
We have no children, but my brother had a son named Peter. He must be about your age and lives in Gloucester, Mass. Up until he was 30 he spent most of his life in Asia, the Middle East, and Cairo. He was educated in private schools in Switzerland, Spain, Japan, and Taiwan. Speaks and writes fluently in French, Spanish, and Chinese - but no Lithuanian. I'll arrange for him to contact you via e-mail. I predict there'll be a lively exchange between the two of you in the years ahead.
Tracing our lineage promises to be a project the three of us can pursue with enthusiasm. Send me your mailing address so that I may get my material out to you without delay.
Best regards,
Peter D Regis
===
Again, a shortened version of my replay:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Follow-up
Date sent: Thue, 11 Sep 1997 13:21:29 +0300
Dear Mr. Peter D. Regis,
Your intention to send copies of some documents or letters from your family archive imposes a great responsibility on me and is very exciting. I would like to ask you how you found me in this world <...>
<...>
If you are going to send more than a simple letter, I prefer the institutional address. But if you do not trust institutions you can use may home address.
<...>
Best regards, zzz
Peter D. Regis - Introduction
To: <...>
Date: Tue, 28 Aug 1997 07:29:16 -0400
Subject: Introduction
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Dear zzz,
I was delighted to receive your response to my e-mail query. I'm sure it will lead to much discussion in the future.
From what I learned from my late father, he came from Telsiu. I have letters sent to him from Justina Vaitkene residing in Telsiu Rajonas My father's surname was changed to Regis by his brother Jerry who preceded him to the US.
My father settled in Rumford, Maine where my brother, Stanley, and
I were born and raised. My mother's name was Domicele Mockus.
I became a newspaper reporter, editor, publisher and public relations executive. I served in the US Army for twelve years and saw combat in Europe as a member of the staff of General George C. Patton.
I retired in the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. My late brother served with the Flying Tigers in Chine, and after the war he joined Bendix International and was in charge of the company's operations in Asia, the Middle East and Africa. Twenty years of his life was spent overseas. He has a son who lives in Massachusetts.
My wife, Norma, was a musical theater singer and actress in London where she was born. We were married in Heidelburg, Germany, where I was stationed after the war ended.
It is possible that we are related. I looking forward to your replay.
Petras Kryzius (Peter D Regis)
===
Here is a shortened version of my replay:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Introduction
Date sent: Mon, 8 Sep 1997 09:20:04 +0300
Dear Mr. Peter D. Regis,
here is what I am able to tell you about myself and my origin: <...>
<...>
One can guess that you and my father could be cousins. To check this hypothesis, you should tell me what was the Lithuanian name of your father and the Lithuanian name of your uncle Jerry. Then I will be able to ask my father what he remembers about brothers of his father.
With kind regards, zzz
Date: Tue, 28 Aug 1997 07:29:16 -0400
Subject: Introduction
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Dear zzz,
I was delighted to receive your response to my e-mail query. I'm sure it will lead to much discussion in the future.
From what I learned from my late father, he came from Telsiu. I have letters sent to him from Justina Vaitkene residing in Telsiu Rajonas My father's surname was changed to Regis by his brother Jerry who preceded him to the US.
My father settled in Rumford, Maine where my brother, Stanley, and
I were born and raised. My mother's name was Domicele Mockus.
I became a newspaper reporter, editor, publisher and public relations executive. I served in the US Army for twelve years and saw combat in Europe as a member of the staff of General George C. Patton.
I retired in the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. My late brother served with the Flying Tigers in Chine, and after the war he joined Bendix International and was in charge of the company's operations in Asia, the Middle East and Africa. Twenty years of his life was spent overseas. He has a son who lives in Massachusetts.
My wife, Norma, was a musical theater singer and actress in London where she was born. We were married in Heidelburg, Germany, where I was stationed after the war ended.
It is possible that we are related. I looking forward to your replay.
Petras Kryzius (Peter D Regis)
===
Here is a shortened version of my replay:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Introduction
Date sent: Mon, 8 Sep 1997 09:20:04 +0300
Dear Mr. Peter D. Regis,
here is what I am able to tell you about myself and my origin: <...>
<...>
One can guess that you and my father could be cousins. To check this hypothesis, you should tell me what was the Lithuanian name of your father and the Lithuanian name of your uncle Jerry. Then I will be able to ask my father what he remembers about brothers of his father.
With kind regards, zzz
Peter D. Regis - Contact
To: <...>
Date: Tue, 26 Aug 1997 08:38:20 -0400
Subject: Contact
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
I tried to reach you via e-mail over a month ago,
apparently without success.
If this transmission reaches you,
please replay as soon as you can.
Petras Kryzius
===
For whatever reason I did not receive any e-mail from Peter D. Regis before.
My answer was short:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Contact
Date sent: Thu, 28 Aug 1997 08:45:46 +0300
Your message reached me.
Date: Tue, 26 Aug 1997 08:38:20 -0400
Subject: Contact
From: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
I tried to reach you via e-mail over a month ago,
apparently without success.
If this transmission reaches you,
please replay as soon as you can.
Petras Kryzius
===
For whatever reason I did not receive any e-mail from Peter D. Regis before.
My answer was short:
From: Self <...>
To: rumford*at*juno*dot*com (Peter D Regis)
Re: Contact
Date sent: Thu, 28 Aug 1997 08:45:46 +0300
Your message reached me.
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