JerseyManissue2

Bear Hunt!

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t h e f a s c i n a t i n g w o r l d

o f G e o r g e A n a s t a s i a

Ghost Ridersin the Pines

Volume 1 • Number 2CAGE FIGHTINGIN NJ NOWHERETO HIDE

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TEXAS HOLD’EM ROUNDUP

PLUS: BAT BOY MEMOIRS

Volume 1 • Number 2

FEATURES6COVER STORYGEORGE ANASTASIA, THE MOB WRITER

10COOL LIGHTS GET HOTTHE LED REVOLUTION

12STEP INTO THE CAGECASINOS FUEL MMA FIGHTING BOOM

34AS THE CARDS TURNA LOOK AT THE BORGATA’STEXAS HOLD’EM POKER TOURNAMENT

38PHILLY BAT BOYTALES FROM THE ON-DECK CIRCLE

44THE BEARS ARE STILL WINNINGNEW JERSEY’S BLACK BEAR HUNT

The Thinking Man’s Guide to an Active Jersey Life

DEPARTMENTS5JERSEY JOTTINGS

16JERSEY HISTORYGHOST RIDERS IN THE PINES

20JERSEY SPORTS GUYSGALLOWAY GOLF PRO MIKE KILLIAN

36WHAT WE WEARGOT HANKIE?

50FREE TIMEHOOKED ON ORCHIDS

53TECH TIMEAWESOME MOBILE APPS

56WHERE WE EATBLUE2O, CHERRY HILL, NJ

JerseyMan Magazine, a product of the partnership of Joe LaGrossa, Ken Dunek, and Lou Antosh, is published by New Opportunity Publishing, LLC, with officesat 7025 Central Highway, Pennsauken NJ, 08109. Copyright 2011.

Ken DunekPUBLISHER

Lou AntoshEDITOR

Emily GivnishEDITORIAL ASSISTANT

Steve IannarelliART DIRECTOR

Jeremy MesslerCOVER PHOTOGRAPHY

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22Business Bravehearts• THE NEATEST JUNKYARD

• THE MAGIC KID

• LET THEM DRIVE YOU HOME

• JACKPOT! SLOT FOR SALE

• THE MOB COOK

There’smuchmore to come in future JerseyManMagazine issues, so subscribe now and guarantee that wewill be in your home.Stay plugged into the real issues and concerns of men in New Jersey by reading JerseyMan Magazine, the first regional magazine aimed specificallyat you. JerseyMan Magazine understands that men want real information about their lives - what you eat, what you drive, what you think. Watch us growinto your information lifeline.

Subscribe to the next six issues for $10. Use PayPal on our web site at www.jerseymanmagazine.com. Or call (856) 813-1153 with credit card information.Or send a check to JerseyMan Magazine, 7025 Central Highway, Pennsauken NJ 08109.

Letter from the PublisherThere was an old Rod Stewart song

with the title, “TheFirstCut is theDeepest.”But after giving birth to JerseyManMagazine, the name of this columncould be “The First Issue is the Hardest.”Don’t get me wrong, it has truly been

a labor of love and a dream come true to publish a regionalmen’s magazine that covers the topics we JerseyMen areinterested in. I do want to know why a mob writer choosesthis as a career path, how a junkyard magnate can makemoney out of smashed up cars, and what motivates an ulti-mate fighter to get in the octagon. This is all important stuff forguys to know!What has been so incredibly encouraging is the recep-

tion we’ve received after people have seen the inauguralissue, from both men and women alike. Advertisers seemto love the concept and are signing on fast and furious.We’ve shown JerseyMan to executives from other largelocal periodicals who are impressed with the layout, thejournalism, and the quality of the reproduction. Peoplewho received their initial copy in the mail have requestedsubscription information to make sure they get the nextone. Our website www.jerseymanmagazine.com has hadthousands of hits already, and we have been viewed onthe web in 10 countries so far. There was a line out the doorwhen we promoted my old Coach Dick Vermeil and his lineof wines at Traino’s in Marlton. It seems that JerseyMan’stime is here.So please continue to give us feedback on what you

would like us to be. You can do this by sending anemail to me at [email protected], or to Louat [email protected]. You can also leave uscomments on the website, or call me directly at the office(856) 813-1153.If indeed the “first cut is the deepest,” our pledge to you is

to make JerseyManMagazine’s “next issue the finest.” Just tellRod it’s the way we roll here.

Ken DunekPublisher, JerseyMan Magazine

Letter from the EditorImagine scaling back your family

possessions so they could fit into awooden wagon four feet wide, 12 feetlong and a couple feet deep. I oftenthink about the 19th century pioneerswho did that in order to travel west insearch of a better life. Pushing their horses, pushing theirbodies and straining their spirits every hour of every longday as wilderness enveloped them.Oh my God, what, no seat belts?I thought of those brave souls again recently during a

flurry of public comment about American “exceptionalism.”Are those pioneers not an example of that very quality thatsome critics say is too chauvinistic in this global village?JerseyMan Magazine is dedicated to the proposition thatrugged individualism still deserves a place on the list of ad-mirable American qualities.True, there are 20-somethings in this country who begin

a job interview by asking about retirement benefits. Buteven in this age of victimhood and institutionalized pater-nalism, we know that the high-risk, high-reward spirit ofAmerican exceptionalism survives.In this issue’s special section, we offer examples of Type-

A, pedal-to-the-metal entrepreneurs who are rolling the dicein a jolted economy whose dangers loom large on the trail.Among them are a high school graduate who forsook“higher” education to crawl under cars that needed towing,and an ex-convict who believes customers will give him asecond chance (Those long-ago wagon trains were notentirely peopled by preachers, you know).We think you’ll enjoy learning how and why these

JerseyMen put their untested ideas into a flimsy wagonand chose the path untaken.And please, puh-leeze, give us feedback on our JerseyMan

experiment. Send your comments, carps, story and feature ideasand requests our way at [email protected] for checking us out.

Lou AntoshEditor, JerseyMan Magazine

The Thinking Man’s Guide to an Active Jersey Life

www.jerseymanmagazine.com

Volume 1 • Number 2

4 jerseymanmagazine.com

JerseyMan Magazine

Greeting CoachVermeil are, fromleft, Rex McWilliamsand Russ McConnell,of Omni Diagnostics.

The Phillies Ballgirls were a big attraction atthe 24th Garry Maddox-Drew Katz CelebrityBowling Tournament for charity. Shown withthe girls are, from left, Camden Riversharks

Manager Von Hayes, Katz and Maddox.

JerseyMan tech guru Anthony Mongeluzo, president ofPro Computer Service, met legendary coach (and wineproducer) Dick Vermeil during a tasting of VermeilWines at Traino’s Wine and Spirits.

JerseyJottings

JerseyMan Magazine

Visit: www.jerseymanmagazine.com

Issue 1 - Volume 2 • JerseyMan Magazine 5

The Billion Dollar Lottery Scratch-OffLottery Winner No-Shows on the Rise1

Unclaimed Prizes* in 2010: $42.3 Million (Up from $33.9 million in 2009)

1) Prizes unclaimed after 1 year from machine purchase or 1 year from clos-ing of instant game closing are forfeited by state lottery law. 30% is con-tributed directly to education and institutions, 70% is reserved for prizes,unless lottery chief decides to contribute it to education and institutions

2) More than 200 different versions of instant game tickets appeared in 2010.These two types sewed up the Top 10 Revenue List. (Crosswords took 11 ofthe Top 20 spots.)

3) Aid to Education and Institutions.

4) More than 6100 lottery retailers received 5% commission on tickets soldand 1.25% on winning tickets they validate. Top prize tickets sold earnbonuses up to $10,000.

5) The Division of State Lottery spent $7,038,893 for advertising in fiscal 2010,well below the $10,230,662 spent in 2009. Yet, ticket sales increased bymore than $100 million. Inevitable result of a weak economy? Not neces-sarily. Some states – Pennsylvania, Wisconsin, and North Carolina amongthem – saw sales drop, while others, Illinois and Ohio, for example, experi-enced a sales rise like New Jersey's. Source: Division of State Lottery 2010 audit

Instant Games Are HUGE

Crossword Games Are the Instant Kings

Where the $2.6 Billion in Revenue Went (In Millions]

Ticket Sales Up, Advertising Costs Down

Instant Games Are HUGEScratch-Off Tickets Raise Half of Lottery RevenueInstant Game Sales: $1.3 Billion All Other Tickets: $1.3 Billion

Crossword Games Are the Instant Kings2

Crossword Games (5 versions): $192,690,435Big Money Spectacular (5 versions): $172,465,762

Prize Money . . . . . . . . . . $1,512Contributions3 . . . . . . . . . . 924

Retailer Commissions4 . . . 145Vendor Fees . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43

Administration Expenses . . 18Networking Fees . . . . . . . . . . 4

Ticket Sales Up, Advertising Costs Down5

Ticket Sales Up More Than $100 million in 2010Advertising Expenses Down $3 million in 2010

Where the $2.6 Billion in Revenue Went (In Millions]

Despite the Dangers, He Still ‘Gets Close’ to His Sources,

Especially When They Go Straight

George Anastasia


The Mob W

Photography by Jeremy Messler

Grenades through

my window are

very personal.

ARTICLE BY LOU ANTOSH


When John Stanfa was head of thePhilly/South Jersey mob, he’d occasionally beat his food distribution business in South

Philly and pick up a ringing phone to hear:“Mr. Stanfa, George Anastasia, Philadelphia Inquirer…”Click.That’s as far as the reporter got. In more ways than one,

Stanfa had a fast trigger finger when it came to Anastasia,the long-time mob writer who back in the early ‘90s wascovering the war between Stanfa’s troops and Joey Mer-lino’s rebels.“Stanfa was born and raised in Sicily, he had that true

Sicilian mob mentality,” said The Philadelphia Inquirer’sAnastasia. “They kill judges and prosecutors over there. Ifyou’re not with them, you’re against them.”And so it came to pass, after one particularly annoying

Anastasia phone call, that Stanfa put theword out: “Find outwhere that $##*& lives and throw grenades in his window.”The boys found out that the South Philly-born Anasta-

sia lived in South Jersey, where his family moved whenhe was four years old. And they pinpointed his home.The hit contract, unfulfilled, was unknown to Anastasia

until a few years later, when the thug who secured thegrenades, Sergio Battaglia, called him from prison.Battaglia was cooperating with the feds and knew the con-tract on the reporter would become public.“He said he had to tell the FBI everything and tells me

the story,” said Anastasia, whose soft voice revs up to arapid pace as he relates mob tales. “He said by the timethey got the grenades, the war with Merlino was so hotthey stopped looking for me. Sergio says to me ‘It’s noth-ing personal.’ I said ‘Sergio, I’ve got a wife and two kids.Grenades through my window are very personal’.”Aside from that near-miss, Anastasia has toiled without

incident on the sidelines while the goodfellas on both sides

of the Delaware River go about their illegal ways. He sayswiseguys who didn’t like him (Stanfa and Nicodemo“Little Nicky” Scarfo) wouldn’t ever engage him. But hehas had a fair share of meets and lunches with Philly mobfigures over the years and his opinions vary.“What the mob has done is taken traditional Italian-

American values – honor, loyalty and family – and bas-tardized them to their own ends,” he said. That said, hedoesn’t condemn all wiseguys as violent, brutish and de-void of redeeming values. Especially the ones who havefessed up and shaped new lives.He speaks with obvious affection about some others,

several of whom are featured among his eight publishedworks dealing with organized crime. Of Italian Americanextraction, Anastasia said he was fascinated with mobtales as a youth, and after graduating from DartmouthCollege he wound up covering the dawn of the gamblingera in Atlantic City for the Inquirer in the 1970s. The hookwas set. He was destined to be the Mob Writer.“Like it or not, it’s part of the American Experience,” he

said. “My name heped me when I started out. For exam-ple, when I first met Caramandi [hitman Nicholas Cara-mandi] we connected, we were from the same place,talking about the neighborhood and how my Uncle Joeand his Uncle Tony were almost the same people. The eth-nicity helped and I see that now as I try to write about thedrug gangs and the Russian [gangs] and I don’t have thesame familiarity on a cultural level as I have with these[mob] guys.”After 30 years on the scene, Anastasia knows some

stuff, including the whereabouts of some “four, maybefive” convicted mobsters who were given new identitiesand locales via witness protection programs. He speakswith some amazement at the leniency of some of the dealsgiven goodfellas.

Writer

He rattles them off. “Caramandi committed four murders, hegot five years. [Andrew Thomas] DelGiorno admitted to eightmurders and got five years. They’re both out now, they’re in thewind and they’re not doing well because they just can’t adapt. Aguy like [Phillip “Crazy Phil”] Leonetti, 10 murders, he’s recre-ated himself, I know what he’s doing right now, he’s got a busi-ness, a whole different persona.”The deals are made because the mobsters broke omerta, the

Mafia’s traditional code of silence, he said. “Omerta in Philadel-phia is like the Liberty Bell – it’s cracked.”Anastasia knows best the mobsters he has written books about,

including one wiseguy who received a new name and identity butrefuses to leave the area like most witness protection program vet-erans. The writer found the bald, massive (300 pounds) ex-copnamed Ralph Previte to be literate, funny and enjoyable to bearound, in a word, “fascinating.”“He has the wherewithal to go anywhere, but one of the rea-

sons I think he stayed in the area was that he grew up in Ham-monton and likes it. The other thing is, he still wants the adrenalinrush. Every morning he gets up and the only way he can get thatnow is he always has to be looking over his shoulder because heis still in jeopardy. Psychologically I think that’s what going on.”Another mob soldier-turned-informant, George Freselone, a sol-

dier in the Jersey branch of the Philly mob under Scarfo, used tocall Anastasia from his sheltered new life in California.“I can say this now because he passed away,” said the writer.

“He went to California, near Hollywood, and went to work for amaintenance company, ended up buying the company and he wascleaning the homes of the stars. He would call me from time totime and one day he called and said ‘You’ll never guess where Iam. I am buffing Cher’s floor.’“He called me from time to time, he had turned it around, but,

sadly, he had a heart attack and died.”Anastasia, who has seen many of his contemporaries take retire-

ment from the newspaper, has no intention of slowing down hismob writing wheels. In addition to his many meetings and phone

calls with mob-related sources, he has studied countless reams oftranscripts of surveillance tapes unearthed during wiseguy trials.Tapes of disjointed conversations are difficult to listen to, but thetranscripts reveal nuggets of colorful language. “They’re wonderfulpieces of unguarded moments talking the way they talk,” he said.When a jury hears a tape of a mobster saying he’s going to

whack a guy, cut out his tongue and send it to his wife, “it is whatit is,” said Anastasia. “The defense attorneys will tell you this –you can’t cross examine a tape.”

The Mob’s Gene Meltdown“The best and the brightest in the Italian-American community

today are doctors, lawyers and educators, and so you are kind ofscraping the bottom of the gene pool with this third generation oforganized crime. They’re not as intelligent, sophisticated,” Anas-tasia said.The past generation leaders, Philly’s Angelo Bruno and New

York’s Carlo Gambino, made wrong career choices when theyimigrated here, said Anastasia. “But in another time andanother place they could have been CEOs of companies. Theyran organizations in a way that was financially rewarding andefficient.”While Bruno used finesse and viewed violence as a last resort,

wiseguys who succeeded him prompted fireworks, he said.“Scarfo, I think, was a psychopath and Stanfa was another dan-gerous one. When Scarfo became the boss, murder became thecalling card of the organization. It destabilized things, he wouldgo to the guns whenever anything went wrong. It’s been steadilyout of control since then.”Anastasia said the current Philly mob boss, Joseph (Uncle Joe)

Ligambi, seems intent on keeping a low profile, with good rea-son: the feds are always watching, even more closely now withnew high-tech surveillance tools. “The Philadelphia family is oneof the most recorded families in the United States.” He smiled atthe dialogue on the tapes, saying, “You can’t make it up anybetter than it is.”

The Mob Writer’s Newest Book:Great Mobster Movies

With WIP radio personality Glen Macnow as co-author, Anastasiais writing a book presenting the top 100 gangster movies of alltime, from The Godfather all the way back to the flicks of the lateEdward G. Robinson.

“One of the sidebars I had a lot of fun with is about gangstermovies in which somebody sings,” he said. “Sinatra sang in Guysand Dolls, one of the classic gangster movies. My all-time favoriteis Some Like It Hot. People forget that movie begins with the St.Valentine’s Day Massacre. They (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon) goon the run in Florida and Marilyn Monroe sings I’m Through withLove. It defines the word voluptuous.”

To hear a one-hour podcast of the interview with George Anastasia,go to www.jerseymanmagazine.com.


One of his favorite lines came from a goodfella who tried tostop another wiseguy from suing his partner. The mobsterexplained, as the feds were listening in: “Goodfellas don’t suegoodfellas; goodfellas kill goodfellas.”

Princess Di at 10th and Shunk?The mob has “devolved” in the last decade or so, barely more

than a collection of hoods from different corners, said Anastasia.Philly boss Ligambi has “two or three capos and maybe a dozensoldiers. It’s not that big an organization.”And the hoods have engaged in “petty high school kind of bick-

ering, jealousies, upmanship,” he said. Example: When formerPhilly boss Ralph Natale came home after 17 years in jail, he took

up with a young woman, a friend of his daughter’s. The younghoods complained about the relationship and the respect Nataleexpected for his girlfriend. Said one: “She’s a broad from 10th andShunk and he wants us to treat her like Princess Di.”The hoods aroundMerlino, said the writer, “weren’t the brightest

lights and yet they had positions of authority. A guy like [Ron]Previte looks at that and says, you know, it’s over. You gotta beRay Charles not to see it. This organization is going nowhere.”With the watering down of leadership, some of the traditions

are easing as well, including the criterion for becoming a “made”member of the mob organization, Anastasia said. “Now if a guyis a big moneymaker that might be enough for him to get his but-ton, but in the past he would be made an associate. Unless youkilled somebody or set somebody up or got rid of a body – par-ticipated in a murder – you were not eligible.”

Joseph S. “Fat Joey” MerlinoA cousin of former Philly mob boss, Joseph S. Merlino co-owns

a company (Bayshore Rebar Inc.) that installs rebar in new com-mercial construction projects, but the firm was twice denied a li-cense to work on casino-related work by the state Casino ControlCommission.Anastastia has written several articles about the “other” Mer-

lino, “who doesn’t like being called Fat Joey because he lost a lotof weight.” The commission denied the license because of Merlino’salleged associations with mob figures,

Cooking Up a Book withMerlino’s Ex-Chef

George Anastasia is rooting for the success of Angelo Lutz, a for-mer aide to former Philly mob chieftain Joseph Merlino, who nowoperates a restaurant in Collingswood. Anastasia and Lutz saidthey are working together on a new cookbook playing on Lutz’reputation (“I’m a cook, not a crook”) as a member of the Mer-lino team. Lutz spent seven years in jail on bookmaking charges.(See Lutz article on Page 31).


[continued on page 54]

YOU SEE THEM EVERYWHERE– in flashlights, iPods, iPads, laptops, bill-boards, even high-end car headlights. Ef-ficient, cool-to-the-touch light-emittingdiodes, or LEDs, promise eventually toreplace almost all of the lighting you usetoday – from car headlights to livingroom lamps.“The future is all going to go toward

LEDs,” said Nisa Kahn, president of LEDLighting Technologies, an engineeringconsulting company based in Red Bank.“The market will easily double in a coupleof years just on the electronic gadgetsalone,” she said.Here’s a blinking sign that her predic-

tion may come true: LEDs have been a re-cession-proof business, growing at a 5percent clip in 2009 into a $5.3 billionmarket force despite the dim performanceof the rest of the economy.But don’t count out Thomas Alva’s

beloved incandescent light bulb just yet.It turns out that LEDs are not quite A-OKfor every situation. And while LED head-

lights front some premium autos – thepriciest Cadillac, Audi and Lexus modelsamong them – don’t expect to see themon smart cars anytime soon.One problem holding back the LED rev-

olution relates to a fact of simple physicsthat Christopher Columbus confirmedmore than five centuries ago: The worldis not flat, nor are most things in it.Yes, said Kahn, LEDs excel when illumi-

nating flat surfaces, which is why they’reso popular for backlighting iPads and otherelectronic gadgets. But for lighting uprooms and creating subtleties and atmos-phere, incandescent and fluorescents stilldo a better job than flat LEDs, she said. “Ihave a 3D head, not a flathead,” she said. “If an LEDis illuminating me, it won’tdo a very good job.”True, designers can com-

bine lots of tiny LED chips(say, 1x1 millimeters) tomake a more shapely 3Dlight source. “But becausethey’re little tiny chips, youwould use a million of them

to put them in a ball and make them illu-minate in every direction,” Kahn said.“You can make a hunk of LED light likethat and it’ll look nice, but if you start tocompare what you can get with neon orflorescent, you’re not going to find a wholelot of reason to switch because of cost andmaterial scarcity.”But the U.S. Department of Energy is

hoping to accelerate solutions, offering an“L Prize” of as much as $10 million towhomever creates an LED alternative to themost common household lighting – the 60watt bulb. The winning bulb must be U.S.-made, consume 10 watts or less, have a life-time of at least 25,000 hours, light fully

within half a second andmeet a retail price rangingfrom $22 the first year to $8the third year. (A $5 millionprize may be offered in acompetition for an LED al-ternative to halogen lightingin retail use.)

Philips Electronics hassubmitted a 60W bulb itsays meets the require-

The LED Revolution May TransformAll Lighting, But Not Quite Yet

LED Traffic Lights a Sno Go?In a cruel twist, the very efficiency that makes LEDs so attractive is causing problems in one popularapplication of the technology. In Philadelphia and parts of the Midwest, new LED traffic lights have beencriticized because they generate little heat, so snow and ice don’t melt off the faces and can obscure thelights, causing perplexing rush-hour confusion and even accidents.

Kahn

BY AARON KASE


ments. The company has one bulb on themarket, EnduraLED, which it says drawsonly 12 watts and will save consumersmore than $125 over 25,000 hours. Thecost is $35 and up.Ella Shum, director of LED research at

Strategies Unlimited, a California-based re-search company, commented on suchproducts, saying: “People who havebought the top quality LED 60W replace-ment light bulbs at Home Depot marveledat the beauty of the light. When that $40bulb comes down in price to around $10,mass adoption will happen.“LED will take over traditional lighting.

It is just a matter of time. Compared toother lighting technologies, it offers high-est potential for energy savings.”Car manufacturers are working to over-

come another LED quality and cost hur-dle, which stems from another LED fact oflife explained by Kahn: Not all LEDs arecreated equal. That’s because compoundsused to create LEDs are rare, expensiveand of erratic quality. Not all LEDs last100,000 hours.“For a specific example like car head-

lights, you pick the best and brightestLEDs, they’re the most expensive.” shesaid. “LEDs are known for lasting forever– that’s not true. If you pick the brightestLED, it doesn’t last as long. Car manufac-turers are putting them in very high endcars; they know these cars don’t need tolast 20 years; they need to last only fourto five years. If you look at the lifetime ofthe best car LED headlights, they’re abouta fifth of what other LEDs are going tolast. They’re not going to be ubiquitous inall the cars any time soon.”(One highly effective use of LEDs is in

strobe-incapacitators for police work, a

tool also known as a “puke ray” that emitsa blinking light that causes targets to be-come disoriented and nauseous.)For all this talk of limitations, however,

few would deny that upcoming LEDtakeover of lighting. One study concludedthat once consumers begin seekingknowledge about the savings provided byLEDs, they will zoom in popularity. LEDsare even making inroads in such environ-mental uses as lighting for streets andparking lots. Though they cost up to fivetimes as much as conventional lightingfor street installations, the savings even-tually offset the initial price. And the di-rectional focus of the LED street lampscontrols light pollution by illuminatingvery specific areas.Despite her cautions about the need to

overcome LED hurdles, Nisa Kahn is all-inprofessionally for LEDs. Kahn was part ofthe stellar scientist lineup at the famedAT&T Bell Labs in Murray Hill, a facilitythat eventually lost some of its top scien-tists to academia in the heat of competi-tion. Kahn, who left Bell in 1999, decidedshe liked inventing too much to settledown and teach.Once on her own, she decided that

LEDs, just starting to grow into theirown, were the next big thing. Now, herresearch promises several huge break-throughs in function and reliability overthe next few years.“The whole field of illumination is won-

derful, a wonderful science,” she says,confident in the future and brandishing anew motto appropriate to her new career:“I don’t communicate, I illuminate.”By lighting up our screens and streets and

becoming an ever greater part of our day-to-day lives, LEDs are poised to do both. �

There are 10,584,064 LEDs in the $40 million, 160’ x 71’ screen at Cowboys Stadium.


Exactly What Makes anLED so Flatly Efficient?Exactly What Makes anLED so Flatly Efficient?

LEDs are flat-shaped semiconductorscreated from compounds that, when en-ergized with electrical current, directlyconvert much of that energy into light.The quantum mechanics of LEDs arebased on the light energy given off bysubatomic particles – namely electrons –that orbit around the nucleus (a planetarymodel that goes back 100 years) and re-lease their extra energy gained from theinserted electrical current.

LEDs are an example of electrolumines-cence, another phenomenon discovereda century ago. Unlike incandescent light,which requires heat, electroluminescenceis light generated by other causes, in thecase of LEDs, electric current.

LEDs are made from compounds, suchas gallium arsenide and indium phos-phide, whose electrons release light en-ergy (photons) when electricity getspumped through them. You can think ofthem as the opposite of solar cells, whichabsorb light and create current. LEDs ab-sorb current to create light.

Researchers learned in the 1960s how toharness electroluminescence at a lowlevel and the result was low-intensity redlights most commonly seen as on-off in-dicators in appliances. Since then, newadvances have created LEDs which giveoff more intense light at cheaper cost.

LEDs are rock stars in the Green Move-ment because they offer big savings in ef-ficiency and energy costs over traditionalincandescent or Edison bulbs. Unlike tra-ditional incandescent lights, which loseup to 90 percent of their energy thoughheat, LEDs coolly convert their energy tolight, not heat.

A well-made LED will use one-tenth thewattage of an incandescent and may lastmore than 40 times as long. Over a yearof normal use, the LED will be responsi-ble (indirectly, by using power from en-ergy plants) for only one-tenth of thecarbon dioxide emissions related to anincandescent bulb.

Phot

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Dave

Kozlo

wski

ARTICLE BY T. JORDAN WOMPIERSKI

ashington Township’s Dan Holmesworks as a kickboxing instructor topay the bills, barely. But his otherjob, his really big, 24/7/365 job, isbuilding a dream.

A fighter’s dream.Every day of the week Holmes trains in the ring or on

mats or, worst of all, he runs hills in Washington Townshipfor stamina. (“I hate it, but I gotta do it.”) His goal is to be-come a name in the world of mixed martial arts (MMA),known to fans as “ultimate fighting” or “cage fighting.” Asa competitor in the Asylum Fight League (ASL), aWilliamstown-based amateur fight league, Holmes is justgetting his feet wet in competitive MMA.“I’ve been in two Asylum fights so far and I’m 2-0,” he

said. “In my debut, I knocked a kid out in nine seconds inthe main event.” The official record is sparse, but Holmesis no stranger to confrontation. “I was a bouncer,” he said,“and I’ve never lost on the street either.”On March 26, he fights for the ASL light heavyweight

championship at Trump Marina and hopes to climb anotherrung toward the well-paying professional leagues. The Ul-timate Fighting Championship (UFC), the oldest and dom-inant MMA organization, stages televised events that attractnearly 2 million viewers. So Holmes dreams while he trains,shedding some 40 pounds before each event. “I work withchampions every day,” he said. “This is what I love to do.When you train with so many great people, you get greatthings from them all.”

And he puts up with the hills that leave him gasping, andthe two-and-a-half-hour training sessions, and the skimpypaychecks (“every month some bill doesn’t get paid”), tofind his dream and its $100,000 payday.Ninety minutes travel time from Holmes, Ricardo

Almeida, 34, is painfully recovering from a December UFCvictory and preparing for his next fight on March 19 at thePrudential Center in Newark, NJ. The Bordentown residentmade it to the big-time UFC in 2001 when the sport wasjust gaining national traction. He calls UFC “competition atthe highest level.”His unanimous decision late last year boosted his record

to 13-3, and he dominated in the fight. Yet, he said, “thereare still aches and pains that I really didn’t even rememberhow they happened until I go back and watch the videoand go, ‘Oh, wow. He hit me here.’“During the fight, you don’t really feel much. The ur-

gency of having someone in front of you trying to punchyou, kick you, take you down, choke you unconscious, itjust demands so much focus and attention that your bodyjust kind of blocks a lot of things out.”The painful spots appear later, “and sometimes they take

a long time to go away.”Born in New York but raised in Brazil, where he became

a jiu jitsu champion, Almeida is a husband and father ofthree. He runs a jiu jitsu academy in Hamilton, using freetime for intense workouts in boxing, wrestling and kick-boxing, all preparation for around four bouts a year.

W

STEP INTO THE

CAGECasinos are fueling the growth of ultimate fighting and its “Nowhere to Hide” cages



Photography by Tom Shoener

Holmes

Holmes and Almeida are just two of a growing band of Jersey-based MMA fighters competing under the auspices of a grow-ing number of MMA leagues popping up in this state. (WhyNew Jersey? See sidebar.)The popular UFC organization is studded with New Jersey

fighters. Toms River native Frankie Edgar, who trains withAlmeida, is current UFC lightweight champion. Nick Catone isfrom Brick; Kurt Pellegrino grew up in and fights out of PointPleasant; brothers Jim and Dan Miller are from Sparta; andAlmeida’s friend and jiu jitsu master Renzo Gracie fights out ofHolmdel.Lou Neglia, a three-time world kickboxing champion, runs

the professional Ring of Combat MMA league. The organiza-tion, which has fed more than a dozen fighters to the largerUFC, is based in New York, but because New York does notallow ultimate fighting, Neglia holds his shows in Atlantic City.Neglia, who just ran a February bout at the Tropicana hotel

in Atlantic City, said MMA fighting “is the most exciting sportin existence today, and that’s why people love the shows. Peo-ple just love fighting. I mean, they go to hockey games towatch fighting sometimes.”

Organizations such as Ring of Combat can afford to pay thefighters relatively well because the fans can’t get enough ofthe action and will keep paying to see it. Neglia said his fight-ers get paid anywhere from a few thousand to $20,000 just forappearing, plus available win purses.Neglia said that while not everybody is made to be a fighter,

“by training hard, you develop a tough personality. Toughtraining makes tough fighters.” And training for MMA is astough as it gets, he said.The payoff? “Fighters can better deal with life in general. A

fighter needs to have a certain type of mentality, a very re-silient type of person in general.”The amateur Asylum Fight League (AFL) is staging Holmes’

light-heavy title fight at Trump on March 26. AFL founder CarlMascarenhas was working to get the event televised, but onTV or not, he said the place will be jammed. Turnersville res-ident Stephen Cristelli, 22, makes his amateur MMA debut thesame night.Mascarenhas also is running a new professional organiza-

tion, the DaMMAge Fight League, which ASL fighter Holmeshopes to reach by winning and keeping an AFL title for the205-209 pound class.“The shows are so exciting that people are dying to get in

there,” Mascarenhas said. “We have such a strong fan basethat if people come to one show, they’re going to come back.”Where casual observers see brutality in the sport, such ex-

perts as Mascarenhas say MMA is a strategic, calculated sport.Critics may scream “violence, violence, but it’s the most im-pressive matchup of chess you’ll ever see and with the slight-est mistake, the match is over,” he said.Ring of Combat operator Neglia agrees that “there is a sci-

entific approach to fighting an opponent and you have tofighter smarter instead of harder sometimes.” The reason?“There are so many different ways to win or lose in MMA,

which is what makes it so exciting,” he said. “A guy could bewinning a fight and all of a sudden he gets elbowed, or he getstaken down and submitted, or he gets slammed to the floor, orhe gets punched, kicked, elbowed, or kneed.”Unless the downed fighter recovers quickly, he may wind

up being “submitted” or “tapping out.” (See sidebar.)“I’ve been submitted, I’ve been dazed, I’ve been choked out,

and I’ve been submitted again,” Dan Holmes said of MMA train-ing bouts. “But it’s all educational. The only fight that counts isthe one in the ring, and the trick is that you’re reacting to yourtraining. You have been in that situation before because youshould have trained to be in that position many times.”Diverted by a knee injury from high school football, Holmes

first got serious about kickboxing and then found his way tothe cages for the ultimate brand of confrontation. He sees re-lentless training as his ticket to glory, and maybe cash, as anMMA fighter. Some days he trains twice, at Budo Full RangeMartial Arts in Voorhees, at Liberty Boxing in Turnersville, orat the training studio in his Washington Township home.Of course, training is not fighting in the big leagues.

Mascarenhas said he has seen more than a few prospectiveultimate fighters who are gung-ho on the idea of battling in thecage, right up until the point they step into the ring and are over-whelmed by the lights, crowd, and music. Then, they aren’t sokeen on fighting.But Holmes said he hasn’t been fazed by that. “A fight is a

fight, whether it’s in front of people or whether it’s in the back-yard with just you and your kid brother,” he said.Bordentown’s Almeida said fighters can tune out both their

pains and their surroundings in the heat of battle.“It’s not something you can do without your body being

conditioned,” Almeida said, “but at the same time, it’s so shortand it goes by so fast it’s almost like a roller coaster ride. Re-ally, when you get hit, for the most part you don’t feel it at all.I just keep my mind focused on scoring points and winningrounds and matches.”And how does the family deal with the sport?“My wife gets really scared the week of the fight, but during

the preparation she is very supportive,” Almeida said. “My par-ents have a tough time dealing with it, as far as watching it. Theyalways get nervous. Both my parents were very good athletes, sothey know what it is to compete and to sacrifice your body forsomething you believe in, so they support me tremendously.”Promoter Neglia said many fighters participate for money

and fame, but “if there is one common goal between all ofthese fighters out there, it’s that they love the sport and they

“A fight is a fight,whether it’s in frontof people or whetherit’s in the backyard.”


love the excitement,” he said.To Almeida, it is all about winning.

“The will to win under pressure and thewill to win against someone who is try-ing to take you down is the most appeal-ing aspect,” he said.Injuries? Sure, they happen, said Asy-

lum’s Mascarenhas. “You’re not playingbadminton.“People get black eyes, a broken nose,

that happens. It’s part of the sport. Wehad one fight where a guy got cut on thetop of his forehead. Have you evernicked your head before? The worstplace in the world to get a cut is yourface or your head because it won’t stopbleeding. It was just dripping down hisface. It made for a great scary picture,but it was just a quarter-inch cut thathappened to bleed crazily.”Minor injuries aside, the sport averts

major injury because of the respect fight-ers have for each other, he said. “It’s thesafest place in the world to be. There’s alot of respect, honor, and dignity in MMAthat you don’t see anywhere else.” �

MMA (mixed martial arts) is a hybrid style ofunprotected fighting, incorporating the skillsand techniques used in multiple disciplinesof combat, both standing – like boxing andjiu jitsu – and on the ground, like wrestling.Participants are armed with nothing more

than their bodies and a skimpy pair of mixedmartial arts gloves to protect their hands asthey go to war with fists flying against theiropponent. There are three five-minute roundsin non-title MMA bouts, five in title bouts.New Jersey was the first state to adopt

an official set of MMA rules, and Carl Mas-carenhas, founder of the Asylum FightLeague, credits Nick Lembo, counsel to thestate Athletic Control Board. “He was thegentleman who actually devised the rulesto allow this to actually be a sport,” saidMascarenhas.The first UFC fight sanctioned by a state –

New Jersey – occurred in 2001. Prior to that,said Mascarenhas, ultimate fighting had fewrules and was controversial. “In the begin-ning, it was like anybody could get in the cage.Today, they’re highly trained athletes. It’s notjust two people pummeling each other.”

Mascarenhas said the cage fighting scor-ing system is based on the number of con-nected strikes as in boxing. A knockout canwin a fight, as can taking an opponent downin the dominant position.“You can win by scoring points, like a 10-

9 round just like it would be in boxing, andthere’s also submitting the person where hetaps out after a joint lock or choke. A jointlock is like an arm bar or a knee bar, whereyou’re actually putting their body in a posi-

tion where you start to hyper-extend anelbow or a knee.“If there’s a guy getting consecutively

punched like six, eight, nine times, they’regonna stop the fight. If an elbow is bowingwhere it shouldn’t be bowing, the refereesabsolutely will call the fight.”A former pro kickboxer who won a gold

medal in the 1995 World Cup, the Por-tuguese-born Mascarenhas picked New Jer-sey as the home for his new MMA leaguebecause it provides a nurturing environmentfor the sport. The Asylum Fight League aimsto give new fighters, such as Dan Holmes ofWashington Township, a start.“New Jersey is one of the top places for

MMA. We have a hot bed of MMA gymshere,” said Mascarenhas.Young fighters are well aware that New

Jersey’s MMA future is bright. Atlantic Citycasino venues are scheduling more andmore MMA bouts. Said young fighterHolmes: “The sport is growing and the EastCoast is starting to get hit hard with it. At-lantic City is gonna blow up with MMA. It’sgonna be real cool.”

What is MMA Fighting and Why Here?


Holmes demonstratesa choke hold on his

trainer

HistoryJERSEY

“Listen, Friend:Haveyou ever ridden100miles an hour in an open race carno bigger than a bath tubwith thesun frying your brain, thewindcrushing you against the back ofyour seat, your ears splittingwiththe staccatomusic of themotor thatis ever hurling you into the blindingglimmer of the stretch ahead –alwaysAHEAD?

If you have, you’re aNUT.”

– Perry Lewis, The Philadelphia Inquirer, as printedin the May 27, 1927, Official Souvenir Program,Speedway, NJ

OK, here goes.You’re not going to believe this.Once upon a time, amidst what is now a serene pineforest in South Jersey, race car driving legends fromthe dawn of motorsports once fiercely and loudly bat-tled each other for supremacy at a race course that ri-valed the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.See, I told you.To look at the site now, nestled in the pines, it’s

nearly impossible to imagine. And the race car driv-ers who drove here were the greatest of their time.The same guys who drove at Indianapolis, as well as


ARTICLE BY GEORGE R. BRINKERHOFF

Special thanks to Robert Benner,as well as the folks at www.3widespicturevault.com

Ghost Riders in the Pinesother top racing circuits, drove here – theirgeneration’s Dale Earnhardt, and Jeff Gor-don, Mario Andretti and A.J. Foyt – allfighting for bragging rights and glory inthe South Jersey pines.The evidence is here, hidden in the

woods near a main thoroughfare just out-side Hammonton. A dirt road in the shapeof an oval. Built in 1926, the Atlantic CityMotor Speedway (aka, the Amatol Speed-way, or simply the Atlantic City Speed-way) was a marvel of 1920s era humanengineering and industry. Four and a halfmillion feet of lumber (brought in by 253

rail cars) created an oval board track oftwo by fours, 1.5 miles long and 50 feetwide with banked turns on a 45 degreeangle (The boards were placed length-wise, two inch side up, for the racing sur-face), and grandstands with a capacity of40,000 people (there was room for an-other 250,000 in and around the track).The place was built and financed by

Charles M. Schwab, steel magnate andpresident of, consecutively, Carnegie SteelCompany, US Steel, and Bethlehem Steel.It was heralded by newsmen of the day asa new Roman Coliseum.

It also was called “the fastest track inthe world,” allowing for speeds up to 160mph. In fact, the single lap track qualify-ing record of 147.7 miles per hour was es-tablished by Frank Lockhart in May 1927.(This single lap qualifying speed recordwould not be eclipsed again in competi-tion until the 1960 Indianapolis 500, 33years later.)Board track racing truly was a mad

idea. Cobbling together an incredibleamount of lumber, fashioning huge, one-to-two-mile-long circular or oval bowlswith steeply banked turns, with few or no

Atlantic City Motor Speedway, 1926


When 80,000 Fans Watched “Human Bullets” on the Boards

Pre-race activities in pit lane on the front straightaway in preparation forthe first race ever held at the Atlantic City Motor Speedway, Speedway, NJ,May 1, 1926. Harry Hartz, of Pomona, California, driving the Miller #3 in

the foreground was the winner of the event, in record time.

Photo from the Collection of Robert Benner

guardrails, and allowing racers in motor-cycles or open cockpit cars, without somuch as a seat belt, to drive as fast as hu-manly possible, battling each other for theprivilege of priority. And the board tracksthemselves possessed many safety haz-ards including deterioration, holes in theracing surface, splinters propelled in theair from other vehicles, and road rash withsplinters if you crashed and were thrownfrom your vehicle onto the track. Oh, andflammability. You know, gasoline and oilon wood? In 1928, for example, during a30,000-mile endurance test of Studebak-ers, driver Norman Batten was stopped forfuel when something exploded under thevehicle, igniting both it and the track.Somehow the car was moved, the fire ex-tinguished and both Norman and the trackwere spared.

oard tracks began in the late1800s as wooden velodromesconstructed for bicycle races.Wood was plentiful, cheap and

easy to craft, so why not use it for theemerging automobile and motorcyclecompetitive battles? The heyday of theboard tracks, or motordromes, ran roughlyfrom 1910 to the early 1930s, with a fewlasting into the 1940s. Many tracks werebuilt all across America. Some were small,very high-banked affairs built for motor-cycles only, while others were morelengthy with slightly more subtle bankingsuitable for both autos and motorcycles.Motorcycle races were especially danger-ous due to the lack of brakes on the ma-chines, the high speeds on the steeplybanked tracks, and the absence of barri-ers between riders and crowds. Auto races

were nearly as risky. The use of a woodensurface and steep banks meant the driversachieved significantly higher speeds thanon dirt tracks or the bricks at Indianapolis.And so, the board track races led to

both racer and spectator injuries anddeaths, which generated negative public-ity, which eventually spelled their doom.It didn’t help that drivers had none of

today’s safety features – seat belts, roll-bars, or fireproof suits. They wore thethinnest of leather helmets (and neckties!).Their shoulders often extended above thecockpit, and they looked through goggles,not a windshield.Despite the risk, or maybe because of it,

board racing was one of the most com-pelling spectator sports of its era. Newspa-pers anointed the drivers as “speed kings,”“human bullets”, and “daredevils.” They

lauded the driver’s bravery and skills, de-scribing in detail the incidents and crashes,the injuries and deaths. Such racing wasfiercely defended as one of the boldest,most fearless and epic of human endeav-ors. In hindsight, that seems right.Though billed as the “fastest track in

the world,” the Atlantic City Motor Speed-way apparently suffered from less re-ported carnage than other board tracks,whose spectator seats lined the steeply-banked curves. Grandstands here were lo-cated in the long front straightaway. Therewere no reported deaths and only a fewnotable injuries, mostly to drivers.If the injury levels were low at the

speedway, the quality of racing was thebest of the best. It included what is now

referred to as open-wheel racing (lighter,faster, fenderless vehicles built exclusivelyfor the race track); true stock car racing;motorcycle racing; and even airplaneracing. By my count, no fewer than sevenwinners of the Indianapolis 500 competedhere in South Jersey during the four yearsthat the Speedway functioned.In the very first race held at the Jersey

venue in May of 1926, an open-wheelevent, winner Harry Hartz, driving aMiller, set a new race record for 300 milesin 2 hours, 14 minutes and 14 seconds.The NY Times headline announced, “SixAuto Marks Fall; 80,000 Watch Race,” in-dicating six automobile speed records forvarious distances were set. The Timessaid Hartz clipped nearly five minutesfrom the 300-mile record and took$12,000 of the race’s $30,000 purse.

(British-produced newsreel film footagefrom this very race can be seen athttp://www.britishpathe.com/record.php?id=25285. The newsreel indicates that therace was at “America’s Brooklands” inNew Jersey. Brooklands was a major racetrack in England. Though the winner’sname is misspelled Harry Hart, the timeand distance match, along with enoughother details to allow me to confirm thiswas the inaugural Atlantic City MotorSpeedway race. The film captures the spec-tacular scene: grandstands and infieldbuzzing with spectators; the speed of theflimsy-looking open-wheel cars; and thebravery of the “wheel twister” pilots hang-ing it all out on the ragged edge.)This first race was an international

HistoryJERSEY

B

Harry Hartz, one of the top racers of the 1920s.

Atlantic City Motor Speedway was alsoused as an endurance testing ground forautomobile manufacturers, including anon-stop, 20 day, 19 night, 30,000 mile

marathon for Studebakers.

From

theauthorscollection


affair, featuring both Count du Marguenatfrom France and Baron de Rachewsky,from Russia. Both a count and a baron,racing on a board track in South Jerseyagainst the lowly American commoners –and the commoners beat them! (Thecount couldn’t start the race and the baronlasted only 11 laps.)

major event in honor the na-tion’s sesquicentennial (150-year) celebration lit up the trackon July 17, 1926. Racing prizes

of nearly $50,000 that day were called byThe Hammonton News, “the richest fi-nancial plum the world of speed has everoffered.” Three 60-mile races and a 120-mile feature were offered, with Hartzagain winning the main event.At a May 1927 race, just 20,000 fans

watched Dave Lewis win the open-wheelevent and then witnessed a crash in thestock car event. The driver of a Stutz andhis ride-along mechanic (standard practicefor many races run at this time) were se-riously hurt when they “rolled off thenorthern embankment and their car wassmashed to pieces.” The driver in the fol-lowing car jammed on his brakes andskidded down the track.

Due to increased publicity and lowerticket prices, some 75,000 fans attendedthe September 1927 stock car races.Then, just two years after its inaugural

race, the speedway launched what wouldbe its final season of automobile racing onMay 30, 1928, with great fanfare. TheHammonton News wrote about “thebiggest board speedway in the east.” Itgushed: “Motorcycle, airplane and auto-mobile races will dominate the program,which will be embellished with parachutejumping acts and trapeze stunts thou-sands of feet in the air.”Hopes were high but the year’s atten-

dance figures begin to tell the story. TheMay 30, 1928, stock car races drew a re-spectable 26,000, considering it was on thesame day as the Indy 500 in Indianapolisthat drew many of the best drivers. Two ofthree auto races were won by the 1915Indy 500 winner Ralph De Palma. The pro-gram also called for professional and am-ateur motorcycle races. “Wild” BillMinnick, known for racing with his sidecarmotorcycle, won the 20-mile professionalrace, besting another motorcycle riding starof the day, Joe Petrali.At the July 4, 1928, race, the open-

wheel race cars were back. This contestwas won by Fred Winnai in a Duesen-

berg, and drew only 15,000 fans. For thefinal automobile race, a mere 2000 peo-ple watched as Ray Keech, the thenowner of the world straightaway landspeed record at 207.55 mph set the pre-vious April, won the 100-mile event onSeptember 16, 1928. The races sched-uled for October were cancelled.A last dismal event was held in 1929.

Both professional and amateur motorcycleraces had been scheduled. The spectatorserupted in anger with cries of “Fake!” and“We want our money back,” and “de-scended on the ticket booth” when theprofessional racers refused to race becausethey had not been paid up front by thepromoter. State police “quieted them inabout twenty minutes after several tus-sles,” said one report. The amateurs didrace, but the promoter was arrested.Most of the track was eventually torn

down, and in 1933 the Hammonton FireDepartment burned what remained. TheAtlantic City Motor Speedway of the Roar-ing Twenties remains a fascinating, ifbrief, page in the annals of both local andnational motorsports history. �

George R. Brinkerhoff is an attorney, a race fan andan avid outdoorsman, with an interest in uniquelocal history.

Such racing was fiercely defended as one of the boldest, most fearless and epic of human endeavors.

A

Racers zoom past the packed grandstands at Atlantic City Motor Speedway.Photo from the Collection of George Koyt


he nickname just didn’t fit.Mike Killian looked anything but a “Killer.”This head golf professional and Director of Golf at Galloway

National Golf Club in Galloway Township has a pleasant grin anda calm demeanor, hardly the characteristics of someone with sucha ruthless nickname. But when he talks about his life in golf, hiseyes take on a steely glaze as he relates to the countless victimshe has left in his wake.Born in Syracuse, NY, in 1950, Killian’s family relocated to St.

Petersburg, Florida, in 1960. Mike favored baseball back then, buta fractured ankle sent him to the links to quench his competitivethirst. It might have been the best break he ever had.Under the tutelage of golf professional Irv Schloss (who, by the

way, invented the two-piece golf ball and the graphite shaft), at theage of 10 Killian went from shooting around 100 to being a plus-sixhandicap in two and a half years – and that was only just the be-ginning. At the age of 15, he narrowly lost the Florida State Cham-pionship to future golf professional and current ABC golf analystBob Murphy. At 16, he was nosed out in the same tournament byanother familiar golfing name, Calvin Peete. And at 18 years of agehe won the Florida men’s junior title. Not bad for a kid that wantedto shag fungoes and play pepper just a few years earlier.He gave the University of Houston a try for one semester but

soon realized he longed for his home and transferred to theUniversity of Florida, where he joined a golf team consisting offuture PGA stars Andy North, Gary Koch, and Andy Bean,among others. To tell you a little of how likable a guy Killianis, he had to sit out more than a year due to NCAA transferrules, and the following season he was voted captain of thegolf team without having yet played a match. Killian playednumber 3 for the Gators behind North and Koch. This crewmade it to the finals of the NCAA tournament twice before los-ing to a University of Texas Longhorn team that featured a cou-ple of guys named Ben Crenshaw and Tom Kite.In 1971, Killian joined Bardmore Country Club in Largo, Florida,

and became friendly with another member there, the tempestuoustouring professional Tommy Bolt. Bolt was friendly with BenHogan, and offered Mike the opportunity to caddy for one of thegreatest the game has ever seen the following day in an exhibitionmatch. He immediately agreed and asked Bolt what time he shouldshow up for the 1 p.m. tee-off time. Bolt replied, “You had better gethere at 7:30 a.m. Ben likes to hit a few balls.” The following day,

Hogan was waiting for his caddy at 7:30 sharp and hit golf ballsuntil the match began five and a half hours later. As Hogan

used to say, “The secret to golf is in the dirt.” He certainlymade a believer out of his caddy.

Killian’s Top 8 finish in the 1972 National Am-ateur earned him a spot at Augusta, where years ear-lier his father had taken him as a spectator, and ayoung Mike Killian had boldly and correctly predictedhe would someday play in the Masters. His playingpartner for the practice round was none other than the

JERSEYSPORTSGUYS

T

Mike Killian,Head Professional,Galloway National Golf Club

ARTICLE BY KEN DUNEK


he golf man of

legendary “Squire” Gene Sarazen. “Mr. Sarazen was a captivat-ing figure,” Killian related, “but his caddy told us to make surewe let him make it to the green first so he could reap the ap-plause from his adoring fans. He also didn’t have much to say tome, so it made for a long, quiet round of golf.” Killian playedwell in the tournament that year, missing the cut by a single shot.The following year he again qualified to compete for the green

jacket, and found himself playing a practice round with JackNicklaus. “Nicklaus was as friendly and helpful as Sarazen wasaloof and is the ultimate ambassador for golf,” he stated. Butwhen the competition got heated, Jack hit a drive 40 yards pastthe former two-time long-drive champ, gave him a wink and asmile, and told him, “I’ve got another gear, you know.” Again,Killian gave a good account of his skills and missed the cut thatyear by only three shots.In 1973, Killian was named to the prestigious Walker Cup team,

where he played with teammates Koch, Dan Edwards, VinnieGiles, and Jim Ellis, among others. They were victorious that year,and Killian relates the story with relish. “It’s hard to play golf withtears of pride in your eyes,” he said. “But somehow I found a wayto hold it together.”At this point, you might be asking why you haven’t heard more

about “Killer” Killian reaping fame and fortune on the PGA tourwith many of his contemporaries. “I had some chances,” hestated. “Had a Top 10 finish in a tour event in Phoenix and missedthe US Open cut by one shot, but I grew weary of the life of a‘rabbit’ on tour and lost my motivation and competitive edge. SoI went into the bond brokerage business for about six years beforethe lure of golf came calling once again.”Taking an opportunity to become a teaching professional, he

worked at Wood Holme (MD) CC from 1983-1990 and then atHollywood (NJ) CC from 1990-2000. He was then offered the po-sition of Director of Golf from club owner and local banking leg-end Vernon Hill at Galloway in 2001 and has called it his homeever since. “Galloway is a flat-out jewel,” Mike said of the TomFazio-designed layout that is a par 71 and plays 7,104 yards fromthe tips with a 74.5 rating and a slope of 146. “And we are start-ing to gain some national recognition.” To attest to its difficulty,

Killian points to last year’s regional US Open qualifier held there.“To even try to qualify for an Open, you have to be about a 1.2index,” he said. “Our average score for that qualifier here was83.7 by players that normally shoot around par. What does thattell you about the difficulty at Galloway?”And some of the biggest names in golf have teed it up there in

recent years and commented about it:Hale Irwin – “I’d love to play it all the time.”Ben Crenshaw – “This course has unique greens like Augusta

National.”Tom Watson – “Galloway is a fine course but probably too

difficult for the average golfer.”Lee Trevino didn’t like it…. “greens are too tough” he said. But

Annika Sorenstam broke par from the forward tees and has afondness for the course. Killian adds about Sorenstam, “I’ve beenaround some great players, but she is as good as a ball striker asI’ve ever seen.” Coming from a guy who caddied for Hogan andplayed with Nicklaus, that is indeed high praise.Rocco Mediate, Lorena Ochoa, Lanny Wadkins, and Nancy

Lopez – they’ve all given this monster at the Shore a try. And theykeep calling him to come back.This golf gangster Killian also mentors a solid group of under-

bosses, including sharpshooters such as former Philadelphia andNew Jersey Amateur Champion Mike Hyland from Marlton, andHaddonfield’s own three-time New Jersey Mid-Amateur Cham-pion Tom Gramigna. “I love Mike Killian’s teaching style – lesstechnical, more feel,” said Hyland. “Anyone with high aspirationsin golf would be well served to take lessons from him.”So Mike Killian, his wife of 33 years, Linda, and their children,

Blaine and Jackie, have found their hideout down at the JerseyShore. And the man they call “Killer” has taken up residence at acourse that can be fatal.It sounds like a deadly combination to me. �

“I’ve been around some great players,but Annika Sorenstam is as good asa ball striker as I’ve ever seen.”


GallowayGalloway

TheNeatest

Junkyardin

America

S P E C I A L J E R S E Y M A N B U S I N E S S S E C T I O N

ARTICLE BY LOU ANTOSH

Tom Stalba started with one tow truck,now owns the super-tidy AA Auto Salvage

in Williamstown.

BusinessBravehearts

ow many startup businesses fail in the first year? Who cares, ask bold entrepreneurs driven by the power of their business

ideas. In saluting all of the state’s entrepreneurs, JerseyMan Magazine spotlights five business owners who illustrate the

startup spirit and courage-under-fire exhibited by Business Bravehearts who fuel the nation’s economic growth.H

Photograph by Jeremy Messler


“…meaner than a junkyard dog”

That lyric in Jim Croce’s Bad, Bad Leroy Brown triggers aninner cascade of images in men of a certain age, the grease-under-the-nails guys who toiled for hours in garages anddriveways. Cars were cool, but the ones teenagers could affordusually needed work before you could cruise in them. Andso, certain rituals developed.Hey, man, this car needs a starter. Let’s go over to the junk-

yard and get one Saturday. Maybe that dirtball dog’ll finallyget a chunk of you. Hah!The junkyard looked like a tornado aftermath, sort of a big-

ger version of your room, only in metal. Uneven mountains ofmashed-up, born-in-Detroit bodies offered a maze of both de-struction and hope. There was the Harley-Davidson growl ofthe mangy dog. And the cynical stare from the weather-linedguy in charge. It was a mess, but a mess that very likely coulddeliver that part you needed.Tom Stalba was one of those teenage parts-seekers. He re-

members the old guys with the rusted-out voices who wouldjab a greasy finger vaguely toward a distant pile of carcasses.“Look at a Chevy over there, kid.”Smart and ambitious, Stalba was all over old cars when he

was a student at Williamstown High, rebuilding them withhis dad, Tom Sr., hanging around junkyards, repair shops,towing yards. The plan was to attend a technical school aftergraduation in 1985, get some book knowledge in the auto-motive field, then find a decent job.But fate got in the way, and 43-year-old Stalba today is

wheeling a golf cart around AA Auto Salvage inWilliamstown,a massive, eight-acre testimony to what a high school grad withsmarts, passion and drive (but little cash) can do within twodecades in the good, old U.S.A. More than 1,000 mostly totaledcars roll into his yard each year and more than 100 customersshow up daily or call in for parts big and small. “They line upoutside on Saturdays,” he said. “Saturday mornings are BIG.”What he purchased as an empty, four-acre lot is now a

sprawling metallic empire, featuring: row after row of dis-carded cars stacked three-high on vertical racks, each stretch-ing two football fields or longer; a 36-foot-high, two-levelbuilding housing thousands of engines, transmissions, rearsand other parts; 15 employees, five of them order-takers whosit all day in front of computers to service the repair shops,body shops and average Joes who need parts; and... wait,Tom, where’s the dog?“No dog,” he said. “Surveillance.”And there’s more. Yes, the towing business continues. (“I’ve

been doing police towing since 1990.”) And Stalba now ownsa 50-acre nursery a mile away on Black Horse Pike; he boughtit partly for the business, partly for expansion space. He’s got“a couple other properties around.” And whenever theweather turns and he can get away from squeezing every lastpart out of the 25 smacked-up cars arriving daily, he travels

around the East Coast, sometimes California, to zoom 190miles an hour down drag tracks in his dragster. (He wasrunner-up in the world championship two years running.)Tom Stalba, who wound you up, man?“I guess I just had a drive and a list of things I wanted to

do,” he said, inside the headquarters building on East PineyHollow Road road in the Pinelands a few miles from theAtlantic City Expressway. “I was 19 and sat down with myparents and said I just know I can make a business go.”He worked as a Trump casino waiter after graduating, got

to like the money, scrapped school plans and eventually set upa part-time towing business that exposed him to lots of ex-perts in the auto salvage and parts business. He soaked uptheir wisdom. The part-time towing business became full timeand then, at 25, he jumped at a chance to buy theWilliamstown lot.“I was in and out of a lot of junkyards and I was liking it,”

said Stalba, whose wide mouth often alternately accompaniesa grin or a squint, giving him a perpetually upbeat look. “Thecars, the parts, the crusher, all that stuff that was going on. Ithought the parts end was really neat and decided to try it.”AA Auto Salvage looks nothing like the junkyards Jim Croce

knew. Stalba has his men strip vulnerable parts from salvagecars to get them indoors. He climbed two sets of stairs in themain workshop (100 by 50 feet) and pointed to shelf aftershelf of transmissions and rears. Five mechanics work there,some spend each day taking out parts that have been ordered,then remove everything but the crushable carcass.Efficiency is something Stalba often mentions in conversa-

tion. He doesn’t mention neatness, but it shows. In the com-bined office/showroom, used radios hang together on adisplay rack. Two nicely upholstered seats look just aboutnew. Shiny wheels catch the eye. Very unjunkyardy.He witnessed the tail end of the era when junkyards were

a disheveled environmental disaster-in-waiting. “The days areover when they would roll a car over, torch it and let all thefluids go into the ground,” he said. State and federal environ-mental laws have forced many changes and his operation


Each spring, Stalba and his father travel the East Coast drag racing circuit.


houses auto fluids in concrete holding areas, that the EPAchecks twice annually.Stalba needed no authority to tell him how to run a tidy

ship. “I can tell you exactly where everything is,” he said.“When a car comes in, it is inventoried and given a stocknumber, all the racks are numbered and color coded. Every-thing is on the computer.” As he explains the system, it washard not to wonder if he lines up the peas on his dinner plate.Friend Marty Kirsch, who also is Stalba’s investment broker,

says there is no doubt that his buddy “is a driven individual.”Kirsch was a couple years behind Stalba at WilliamstownHigh, got closer to him about 10 years ago.“He’s a man’s man,” said the broker. “Loves hockey, base-

ball, which he played in school. Likes to play cards. And thenthere’s his drag racing. He is exactly what you expect to findin a business executive, a very confident person, and that op-eration of his is like a well-oiled machine.”Stalba has come a long way since high school, and so has

the salvage industry. He reports that the uninstall-it-yourselfdays of salvaged parts are over. Back when amateurs were al-lowed to spot a part and strip it off the car, they often brokeseveral other parts in the process. Very inefficient. Now abuyer can call up during the week, order the part and have itwaiting at the counter.“If they come in and want to see a part on a car, we will es-

cort them into the yard, show them the part. Do you wantthis? Yes? OK, have a seat and we will bring it to you. It’s likegoing to McDonald’s. Order it and a couple minutes later, hereit is,” he said.Stalba hasn’t lost any of the passion that fostered his busi-

ness. He logs plenty of forklift hours. On this day, he goesoutside and stops by a cracked-up 2010 Camaro, its driver-side window covered with plastic. His company purchased itat an auction for $2,000. “This came in yesterday from awreck. Believe it or not, it still has a lot of parts on it, theywill go back on the road.”It’s a theme he states time and again, recycling. On the

second level of the workshop/storehouse, huge pallet-sizedboxes are brimming with various parts, items that have beenon hand for more than several years. “This is inventorycleanup, there is a company that buys this stuff, reconditionsthem and sells them.“It’s unbelievable all the parts of a car, everything gets used.

Even the old bodies, they get shredded and it all goes over toChina and they make cars out of it.”And will there be any recycling of Tom Stalba, or is the

young Tom’s passion for the business still simmering? He feelsa bit hemmed in by the physical dimension of the yard, whichhe expanded by purchasing adjacent land. But because ofPinelands protection regulations, he has nowhere to build butup at that location. He is consumed with finding the most ef-ficient ways to store items to acquire some extra space. Hemay build a 10,000-square-foot building at the nursery nearbyto store transmissions, engines and other parts.


Running a Junkyard, Pedal to the MetalThe AA Auto Salvage Stats

Year Founded. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1994Yard Size . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Nearly 8 acresCars on Site . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1400Cars received . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 a weekSales . . . . . . . . . 100 transactions a day, approx. five enginesSurefire items sold daily . . . . . Tail lights, mirrors, headlightsEngines in stock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1800Radios in stock . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . More than 500Prices . . . . . . . . . . Motors, rears, transmissions, $250-4000,

depending on mileage/installs $350-2000/mirrors, tail lights, $25-500

Warranty . . 101 days on motors, rears, transmissions, parts,6 month warranty on installed major parts

Employees . . . 18 (Includes five order takers, five mechanics)Bays for repairs, installations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2Client breakdown . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Repair shops 60%

Body shops 30%Public 10%

Repair shop backlog . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 10 daysCrusher activity . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 25 cars weekly, crushed to

less than 18 inches highCrushed cars per trailer load out . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 18 cars



Meanwhile, he attends to his growing family. Son Paul isfour, and daughter Emily is one. There are also drag racingtrips, often with his dad, using the motor home and trailerbought for that purpose. Stalba was Rookie of the Year in 1990and has made a name for himself in the sport. Two times hewas leading the World Championship Tour until the last racesin California. “I lost the last race of the year. Twice.”And what does wife Karen think of all of this? Stalba smiled,

left the room and returned with a framed photograph of Mrs.

Stalba, though it was hard to see her features because of thehelmet, which was very small because the wide-shot photoshowed the high-end dragster she was steering.“Listen,” he said. “I go like 7.0 seconds at 192 miles an hour

for the quarter mile. She goes 5.7 seconds at 260 miles anhour. She’s in a whole different class. You can watch her onTV on Sundays.”For fast-driving Tom Stabla, that matchup sounds about

right. �

Karen Stalba has reached 260 mph in her Top Alcohol Dragster.


MATT SCHICK wasn’t the first or last kid ever to get pickedon in school, but he may go down in the Annals of KidComebacks for one of the more inventive turn-arounds in ayoung life.No, he wasn’t a storybook bench rider who one day came

off the pines to smack the championship-winning homer andget carried off by adoring peers. In fact, Schick admits that“even today if you talk to me about sports I will probably giveyou a blank stare.”As a kid completely devoid of athleticism, he learned early

on that sports was his kryptonite, one major cause for his lifeas an alien among regular kids in Robbinsville, NJ. He re-called: “I was a little bit strange, a little bit quirky, and in gymclasses I would get laughed at and picked on.”The slight and mild-mannered Schick didn’t duck into a

phone booth to become a superhero, but he did do a disap-pearing act of sorts to work hour after hour, day afterday, on a transformation that produced today’s confi-dent, smiling student and businessman. On weekdays,he is a freshman at Bentley University in Waltham, MA.But on weekends and during summers, well, MattSchick is something else.

At only 19 years old, Schick is nationally-recognized in the world of prestidigitation andillusion – that’s right, magic. Three years ago,Magic Magazine named him one of the Top16 Teen Magicians in the nation. He hastraveled to magic conventions and schoolsthroughout the nation and studied undersome of the top names in the profession.

Matt Schick has come a long wayfrom that 10-year-old summer camperwho watched a DVD by magic superstarDavid Blaine and told himself that is whatI have to do. For a picked-on kid, the land ofmagic was healing fertile turf that promotedpositive growth.

“I didn’t have many friends in elementaryand middle school and I got laughed at,” herecalled, “but magic was something I coulddedicate my time to so I wasn’t home mopingabout school.” He spent four hours a day prac-ticing hundreds of tricks in front of a mirror, hisparents, and the few other kids who would tol-erate it – for a couple of minutes. He did this foryears, waiting to make his move. “I wanted tomake sure I had a fantastic product before Iwent into the marketplace.”

And then, suddenly, he could do it.“When I found that I could do magic that

would fool and impress even adults – adultswho know EVERYTHING – I got such confi-dence, I started believing in me as a person.

the kid whodidn’t fit inmade those

picked-on daysdisappear

Seeing Double.19-year-old magician andbusinessman Matt Schick

shows his multiplepersonalities



“By the time I got to high school andthe other kids were out partying on week-ends, I went home to do my homeworkfirst then traveled around New Jersey andPennsylvania doing magic shows –thanks to my parents who drove me andwere amazingly supportive.”In his last two years in high school,

Schick put together an annual charitymagic show with top level magicians at a1000-seat theater near Robbinsville, work-ing like a dog to market it. Presto: A fullhouse two years running, raising a totalof $29,000 for the Spread the Magic Foun-dation, a New Jersey nonprofit whichdonated the funds to Children’s Hospitalof Philadelphia. Other students, he nownoticed, weren’t laughing at him.Nor was Penny Juros, CEO of Spread the Magic Foundation,

which chose Schick for its board of directors. She calls him“not only compassionate, devoted and generous, but also avery civically engaged and purposeful young man.”This writer caught Schick’s act when he trudged up the

driveway of a Jersey home for a birthday party involving 15cabin-fever-crazed seven-year-olds. Just an ordinary-lookingyoung man, carrying a few bags, who asked for 10 minutesalone to set up in the living room.When he called the kids in, they stopped short at the scene.

Somehow a wide, seven-foot-tall curtain had filled one end ofthe room, and there was this guy, now in baggy pants withsuspenders, at a podium, asking them to sit in a circle rightaround his feet. Schick specializes in “close-up magic,” usingcoins, cards and small objects to make them disappear beforeyour eyes. He is all about interaction with the audience, be ita bunch of kids in a home of a wedding cocktail party crowdhe wanders through.For one solid hour, the magician controlled the kids like a

Pied Piper, making them shriek at slapstick antics (“Younotice I hit myself in the head a lot”) and hilarious props,silencing them with stuff that dis-appeared, slicing things that some-how became whole again. Severaltimes the kids thought they haddoped out a trick, only to havehim do the impossible. Parentslooked at each other and raisedeyebrows. Hmm, how did thathappen? The more parents whowatch, the better; it revs him up.

Schick is a marketing major atBentley, is wild about business. Hegives every kid at the party agoodie bag filled with tricks and

oddities. The birthday girl got a plastic-wrapped magic kit, featuring Schick onthe box and tons of tricks inside. Hewasn’t done after an hour, but went tothe cake table for another 30 minutes toproduce all manner of balloon animalsand figures. “Wow, look at that ladybug,”said a mother. “Hey, that’s a mermaid,”said a father.Said Schick: “I like to make a full party

out of it, so the kids walk away knowinga little bit more about magic. To me, it’snot about tricks. It’s about the journey asa whole.”

Before he left, the adults engagedhim in talk. Their respect was obvious.

The self-professed “magic geek”recently returned from another trip at the

invitation-only Magic Teen Weekend in Las Vegas, where 40young magicians from across the world studied under big-name magicians such as Lance Burton and Jeff McBride.“Lance Burton takes us to his castle – he lives in a castle –and talks to us and eats pizza with us.“Let’s say you want to be a singer and your idols are, say,

Bruce Springsteen and Lady Gaga. What are the chances youwould even meet them, let alone study and work with them?The magic community lets us do that; the big names are ter-rific people. The whole magic community is like nothing else;we talk all the time, text all the time. I can’t say enough aboutmy friends.”In a few years he will have his degree. And, if all goes well,

some time after that he will have his dream job – performingat a theater on a regular basis. He will have even more namerecognition within and outside the magic community.The kid who had no friends knows that these last good

years, and the good ones ahead, all started when he found therelationship that mattered most.“I have great confidence now,” he said.“I like me as a person.” � L.A.

Schick



FRANK AND LORI DONOHUE think people look pretty goodright before closing time. They should know. The Medford res-idents are hanging around so many area clubs and bars at thewitching hour that somebody, somewhere should write thema C&W tune.

I’m sinking at the bar, So come and drive my car

While the pair are low-profile drinkers (he drinks “not atall,” she has an occasional glass of wine), they are loominghigher and higher on bartender radarscreens because of their fledgling part-time transportation business based onthe drinking of others.They call their gig GetuHomeSafeSJ.

And if you are sober now, you probablyalready have guessed what they provide– a designated driver service.The Donohues both have full-time

day jobs, but their overall income tooka major hit a couple of years ago whenhis operations superintendent job atU.S. Pipe in Burlington disappeared.(The plant closed). He now works asmaintenance manager at Shop-Rite inMedford and she is a long-time U.S.Postal Service employee.“Our earnings are down 30 percent and we obviously

needed something to supplement our income,” said Frank. “Idid market research and found one area outfit that will pickyou up. But our pitch is that we will get you and your carhome safe.” (They drive their vehicle to the scene and driveboth vehicles back to the client homes.)Donohue said the response has been “incredible” and the

demand keeps them busy two or three workweek nights andevery weekend. “We’ve never turned down a request andwe’re proud of that.” The couple relies on texting to makeprompt and efficient pickups and deliveries. Naps also help.“If we have a ride that evening, we’ll grab a quick nap after

work,” said Frank. “This past New Year’s Eve was the firsttime in 20 years of marriage that we missed the ball comingdown on TV. We slept early and got up at 12:15 a.m. becausewe had a long night ahead of us.”Lori chimed in: “Actually, the girls we picked up from a place

in Philadelphia that night were a lot of fun. One of them got outof our truck, pointed tome and said ‘This ismy new best friend.’”Most clients are responsible professionals who appreciate

the service, said Frank Donohue. One regular client hands thebarmaid their business card and his keys, instructing her tocall them if he is obviously impaired.

“They don’t want to lose their license and pay thousands ofdollars in fines and costs,” said Lori. “They thank us but Icommend them for being responisble.”The Donohues say they have traveled as far away as War-

rington, PA, to pick up clients; that haul meant three hours ofdriving. So how much does all of this cost?“This obviously has to be refined as gas prices go up, but for

the local region – Medford, Shamong, Tabernacle – we charge$20 for the first 10 miles and $2 a mile after that,” said Frank.

“We negotiate prices for more distantpickups and in Pennsylvania. We’re notmaking a killing and it’s still cheaperthan a cab and your car gets home too.”

The pair tries to keep rates rea-sonable, said Lori. “One woman told meshe was quoted $500 by a van serviceto drive her and her friends. She was ayoung mother and she just wanted to goto the company Christmas party. Wewere a better alternative for them.”

The business started with an inci-dent at a home improvement store whenthe pair saw a man struggling with alarge order of plywood and lumber. Hementioned to the clerk it was doubtfulthe haul would fit into his car. The Dono-

hues looked at him, mentally fit the load into their large pickup,and Lori suggested to Frank he offer their services for $20,enough to cover their gas and a bit more.“The guy lit up and asked if were serious, recalled Frank,

laughing. “I guess I should have asked him where he livedfirst. But he was a 15-minute drive away in Pemberton, so wehauled it and he followed us.”On the way home, the pair talked about offering driving

services somehow, but it wasn’t quite an “a-ha” moment.That happened at Shop-Rite, when Frank again heard one ofhis young employees complain that he spent a weekend doinghomework when his buddies planned some bar time.“His buddies were always calling him up and asking him to

be the designated driver,” said Frank. “Then it clicked. I saidto Lori, ‘Hey, what about a designated driver service?’”The couple say the business fits their lifestyle perfectly.

Their daughter is 31 and independent, and their 18-year-oldson is mostly self-sufficient.“It got to the point where we are sitting around looking

at each other, wondering what to do next, and we had thisneed for extra income,” Frank said. “So we get to hang outtogether this way, earn some money and meet some greatpeople.” � L.A.

They’re Rewriting the Closing-Time Pickup Lines

Frank andLori Donohue

To reach the couple, send an email to: [email protected]



RICHARD MASHBITZ’S JOB as a bus driver for thePennsauken School District is to take no risks and get the kidsthere safely. But when the bus is parked for the day, Mashb-itz’s entrepreneurial wheels start spinning like the reels of anoverworked casino slot machine.This is a man who got into selling bison burgers only to

have a popular radio talk jockey declare on air that it was oneof the worst things he ever tasted. (Whoever cooked it botchedthe burger, but when I cooked it for him the radio star’s verdictwas fine, Mashbitz said.)About 18 years ago, Mashbitz turned a corner at a mer-

chandise exhibit and ran into a array of flashing machines thatstopped him in his tracks.Used slot machines! Wow. People LOVE slot machines and

their bells, lights and whistles. Selling used machines seemeda delicious idea and Richard Mashbitz bit hard. He and his

wife, Sherry, have been selling used casino slot machines eversince and loving the taste of success.“I was with him at that show and I thought it would be a

nice gig,” said Sherry. “I used to run payroll for a large cor-poration and we also ran my dad’s meat business fromPhiladelphia for a while, but we both always wanted our ownbusiness.”Don’t get the idea that Richard backs up his truck at At-

lantic City casinos and hauls used machines to the R&SWholesale business the couple run on Route 73 north, closeby the Tacony-Palmyra Bridge. It’s illegal to purchase modern-era slot machines from those gambling halls; only antiquescan be sold legally, Mashbitz said.“These machines here are from Japan, were you can find

them in the pachinko parlors that are everywhere there,” saidMashbitz. “Gambling is illegal in Japan so these machines usetokens that players redeem for gifts. At one time, the machinesthat were used and unwanted were thrown them into landfills,believe it or not.”He and Sherry stood close to 40 brightly lit machines that

occupy half of the store, which also sells billiard tables andsupplies, games of all sorts and other game room must-haves. (“For some reason Mah Jong sells big to people inMedford.”) The machines, which range in price from $300 to$1000, are all three-reel devices and vary in sophistication.They are manufactured by international companies servingthe gaming industry.“In Japan, they’re getting more into digital technology,”

Sherry said. “The Lord of the Rings machine here has ani-mation and scenes from the movie. This Bon Jovi machinehas video from his concerts and the Bon Jovi fans go nutsover them.“The more expensive machines are collectibles, like

Marvel, which has scenes with the comic book characters.Popeye is big and Rocky has video of his fights and the scenewhen he runs through the Italian Market.”Mashbitz brings the machines to this country by the con-

tainer-full, 500 at a time, but he does have growing concernsbecause “it’s getting tighter now and they are talking overthere about recycling these things in the future.”The Pennsauken location has been open for about a year;

prior to that his outlet was near the now-closed North CatholicHigh School in lower Northeast Philadelphia. “The Catholicscomplained at first but found we were good neighbors. TheDA’s office came in constantly but there was never an issue,

Sherry and Richard Mashbitz of R&S Wholesale

JACKPOT!JACKPOT!Spinning Wheels, from Tokyo to Pennsauken



over there or here; check with the Better Busi-ness Bureau, no complaints.”The signs offering slot machines outside his

storefront catch a lot of eyes, and business hasbeen good, he said.“Some people buy two or three at a time for

their homes, their man caves, but it is a mixedbusiness with both men and women. We do alot with senior citizen facilities. A University ofPennsylvania senior day care facility put five ofthem in a room where the seniors go in to playand get prizes. It keeps them active and theyenjoy it.”The slots account for about half of the store’s business, with

billiard accessories and games selling well.“Chess is really big right now,” he said. “Chess clubs come

in, one from Willingboro, and we have portable sets, over-sized sets you can play at the beach or pool area. The shuffle-board table there is 12 feet long; most homes don’t want a24-footer.“And because there are fewer billiard parlors, more people

have tables at home. We can install a new table cloth for $200in a day.”One other thing about the slot machines – buyers can

adjust the payout percentage anywhere from65 percent to 105 percent, he said.

“You can set the odds manually, the waythey used to do in Atlantic City,” he said. “Nowthey do it through mainframes that set the slotpayouts through the computer system.”

But there is no telling when the jackpotgets hit, right?

“Well, they say results are random, butthey can control the percentage. You see onebillboard going into Atlantic City that says theypay out 90 percent on selected machines. Buttell me how random that is, they pay 90% on

selected machines but what are the others set at? Is it that youhave 3000 machines but only five are paying out 90 percent?”Whatever his customers decide to pay out (in tokens he pro-

vides), his company will service the machines.Business is brisk and life seems to be good for the

Mashbitzes. As some passing cars slow down to read his largesigns, Mashbitz is asked rhetorically: Could there be a betterlocation? He doesn’t take it rhetorically.“Well, maybe one,” he said. “I have another location in

mind. It’s further down on 73. I keep eyeballing it.”Inside or out, those wheels keep turning. � L.A.



THE SOUND SYSTEM at The Kitchen Consigliere Café wasplaying – what else? – Frank Sinatra. It is one of the classics– could have been “My Way” or “Wee Small Hours.”But, no, it is an appropriate one for Angelo Lutz. For a South

Philly Italian, maybe every Sinatra song could be appropriate,but this one comes down on the right side for Lutz. It is “Justin Time,” and as he smiled during a rare break in the action ofhis new Collingswood red-gravy joint, Sinatra wailed, “I knowjust where I’m going. No more doubts or fears.”Ten years ago, Lutz knew where he was going, too. But it

was not such a good place. Then he was headed to prison forhis dealings with the South Philadelphia crime family headedby Joey Merlino.Lutz, who weighed in the mid-400-pound range back then,

had become a pop figure, but he was still a criminal. He didn’tknock anyone off, but he did run a pretty neat little book-making business, or so the feds convinced the jury. He gotnine years, served seven. Didn’t like it much, but what’s hap-pened has happened, said Lutz.He had always protested. He would say, “I’m a cook, not a

crook,” and make the media giggle most of the time.Now he just wants to feed them. And you. The Kitchen Con-

sigliere Café opened November 15 just off Haddon Avenue inpart of the Lumberyard development in Collingswood, and the42 seats have had a habit of filling up more often than not.With any luck, the Café is the first of a Lutz-run empire.

His goal is to become a celebrity chef – maybe not as cute asRachel Ray or as bossy as Emeril Lagasse or as tall as JuliaChild. Maybe just a former federal inmate.“Without my past, there is no Kitchen Consigliere,” said

Lutz with a matter-of-fact shrug. He said, like Sinatra, heknows just where he’s going and, while there may be a doubtor two, there are no fears. “I have real goals.”He also has a real foodie past. His mom’s dad was Charles

P. Giunta, one of the founders of Giunta Brothers, one of thebig South Philadelphia noodle businesses. Charles Giunta,Lutz said, invented one of the first hand-cranked noodle cut-ting machines. Growing up, he worked in catering and beforehis trial he was regularly the caterer for the Merlino familyevents, of which there were apparently many. He also playedSanta Claus for some of them, but that is another story.That story is about how fat Lutz got. He is only five-foot-

five, but by the time of his trial, he weighed more than 400pounds. The Philadelphia Daily News started calling him

Prison’s Over, 160 Pounds Are Gone, and Angelo Lutzis Getting Thumbs Up On His New Life ARTICLE BY ROBERT STRAUSS

TheMob

Cook’sSecondChance

TheMob


TheMob




“Fat Ange,” and for a time, while he was awaiting sentencing,ran a reader contest for “Fat Ange” sightings, which, saidLutz, were more often than not pretty far afield. He doesadmit, though, to enjoying playing a Buddha, spray-paintedgold and shirtless, for the Hegeman String Band in theMummers Parade.“I love the Mummers and work at the pleasure of the String

Band Association,” said Lutz, 47. Collingswood Mayor JamesMaley has already asked him to get Mummers to play inCollingswood some summer nights, said Lutz. “Everyone’sbeen great here. I can’t wait to do it.”Collingswood is now replete, in its own Restaurant Renais-

sance, with Italian places, but Lutz claims the half-dozen orso others in town tend to be upscale. He calls Kitchen Con-sigliere’s niche “peasant” food.“That is no slap. It’s just simpler,” said Lutz. “Mine is just

down home, down-to-earth, which is why we call it peasantcooking. A lot of people are offended by that. It is the food thatyour mother, your grandmother, your great-grandmothermade, and that is what it was. It is basic dishes. Open up therefrigerator, see what is there, put something together.”Sure enough, there is nothing on the menu more than $17

at Kitchen Consigliere, and most of it is a “your choice” kindof thing: “pollo” with “your choice” of franchaise, marsala,Parmesean or picatta for $15; similarly, veal dishes for $17and pasta for $10-12.The paninis do have cutesy mob-cum-South-Philly-family

names: Chicken Angelo, Nona Helen, The Nicky Sticks, TheDoc and, to be sure, The Consigliere, which is grilled Italiansausage topped with Lutz’s sweet pepper mix and Romanocheese for 12 bucks, with a side salad.

These days, too, just in time, those going to Kitchen Con-sigliere are seeing about half a Lutz, which, as he will tell you,is better than none, which might have been. After coming outof prison, suffering from diabetes and a host of other ailments,Lutz went to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvaniafor a vertical banded gastroplasty (VBG), otherwise known asa stomach stapling, which basically stifles the amount of fooda patient can eat and digest at any one time. Lutz is still prettyrotund at about 240 pounds, with a personal goal of getting toabout 200. He’s logging long, on-the-feet hours in the kitchen.“Look, I’m never going to be 140 pounds. I am realistic,” he

said. “But the operation is the only reason I am alive, and I’m

Teaming Up TastefullyThe Mob Writer and ex-Mob CookPhiladelphia Inquirer crime reporter George Anastasia clearlyhas a fondness for Angelo Lutz, whose 2001 bookmaking trialhe covered.“Angelo was, depending on who you talked to, the court

jester of the mob, the cook, the guy who when they had get-togethers in clubhouses would cook,” said Anastasia. “Thefeds said he was part of the organization. I think he probablywas a combination of all of those things.”Now Lutz will have another hat to wear – book co-author.

He’s writing a cookbook with Anastasia.“It’ll be a cookbook like none you’ve ever seen,” said Lutz.

“There will be a lot of recipes but it will be the story of my lifebroken up in into menu form – appetizer, salad, pasta, entrees,desserts. It starts with me born in South Philly, all the waythrough the Mummers and everything I have done, the time infederal prison, getting out and opening this restaurant.”All true, said the reporter, who eats frequently at The Kitchen

Consiglieri Café. He said the publisher, Camino Books inPhiladelphia, wants it public in the Fall. He is writing a shortessay about Lutz’ life as an introduction to each chapter.Anastasia said Lutz also is negotiating about a TV show.

“He’s got the personality and he is dynamic enough to make ithappen. But I keep telling him to stay focused on what you’redoing, that other life is over.”The newsman considers Lutz a smart individual with a good

sense of numbers and business. And he recalled the sentenc-ing judge saying Angelo probably knew more about how torun a bookmaking operation than any of his co-defendants.“He was a South Philadelphia bon vivant, the golden Buddha

in the Mummers, a real storyteller, a funny guy, and, while heis a big guy, he moves very light on his feet, he’s a gooddancer. He has a lot of things going for him. If he can put allof that into his restaurant, he’s going to do OK,” said the writer.“He’s almost a one-man show at that restaurant. He is there

every day and it’s a grind. God bless him, I hope it works out.”



a happy man right now.”Lutz said he was pretty much always the happy kid grow-

ing up at 15th and Shunk Streets in deep South Philadelphia.He went to St. Monica’s grammar school and then to St. JohnNeumann High School. Since he was there, Neumann hascombined with a nearby girls’ school, St. Maria Goretti.“We were the Pirates and now they are the Saints, which

might tell you everything,” said Lutz.Lutz, an only child in a sea of families with loads of kids,

said he was always the class clown, always getting into a mod-icum of trouble. Still, when he graduated, he was accepted byTemple University and the University of Pennsylvania. But in-stead of choosing the Ivy League, he headed to Atlantic City,where the gambling boom had started to get legs. He becamea dealer and then a supervisor at four different places in thethree years he was there, 1985-88, but then came back home,where he started hanging out with the Merlino crew. Duringhis 2001 trial, he professed innocence of everything, but even-tually did his time without turning on anyone else.Lutz spent some time in a halfway house and had to clear

everything with his parole officer to start looking for the placethat eventually became Kitchen Consigliere Café. He said hefound the spot on craigslist – it having been a Texas weiner jointthat didn’t quite work out. “This isn’t really a hot dog town, Idon’t think,” said Lutz, who still lives in South Philadelphia.It is and has been clearly an Italian restaurant town – Nun-

zio’s, Sapori, Il Fiore, Villa Barone, Bistro di Marino – but Lutzdoesn’t have any of those Sinatra-esque doubts or fears. He’sfound his way.“You come in here on a Friday or a Saturday night starting

about 5:45 and going to 9, 10 o’clock, and you can’t get in thedoor here,” he said. “People are sitting at the counter. Thenmyself, or my partners, are out here talking to people, sociallybeing wise with them. People love it.“You come in and don’t have a bottle, I will give you a glass

of wine,” he said. “Then if you ain’t happy with the wine at theend of the meal, I will give you a shot of limoncello or anisetteor sambucca or whatever youwant. I can’t sell it to you becausethis is a dry town, but I can give it to you. It is really unique.”At the same time, he is working on his Kitchen Consigliere

cooking videos, which started on the Philadelphia Inquirer’swebsite, Philly.com, and are all up on the restaurant’s onlinesite. He hopes they go viral, or become the basis for a FoodNetwork or syndicated show.Lutz said most people have gotten past his past – they real-

ize he is trying to be legit and working hard at doing so. Hedoes use his past – even the font on the Kitchen Consiglieresign is similar to that of “The Godfather” – but pretty muchonly to comic relief.“You look at Michael Vick. Nomatter how great he played, he

still had people who will never forgive him. Same for me. I amjust not going to make everyone happy,” he said. “But we arealso in a society of second chances and that is the whole thing.“It goes all the way back to Adam and Eve,” he said with a

chuckle. “They got a second chance, didn’t they? They had alot of restrictions, but they got a second chance. You see whatI am trying to say?”It has just snowed in Collingswood, but Lutz looks long-

ingly out at the 28 seats outside on a portico near what will bea palazzo between his place and the town parking garage. Hesaid one of the town commissioners at the zoning meetingtold him he had the best outdoor seating in town.Lutz gets up to go back to the line to start cranking out the

evening’s dinners. Sinatra comes up in volume, “Just intime…before you came my time was running low.”“I’ve got a lot of work to do,” said Lutz, with a shrug

and a wink. “But it is looking much better for me thanit ever has.” �

Angelo's Treat for You JerseyMenJerseyMan Strip Steak Supreme

Ingredients:- 12 oz. strip steak- 9 grape tomatoes- 1/2 cup, roasted red peppers- 1/2 cup button mushrooms, sliced- Cento Extra Virgin Olive Oil- Three cloves fresh garlic, chopped- Marsala wine- Demi glace (packaged or homemade)- 1 tablespoon butter- Small portion of heavy cream

Directions:Season steak with salt, pepper, garlic and Cento olive oilPlace on high heat to desired cooked level (rare, medium, etc.)

Meanwhile, make sauce:

In skillet, heat olive oil andgarlic. Add grape tomatoesand cook until tomatoesblister.

Add Marsala wine,roasted peppers, mush-rooms and demi-glace.Cook to a boil.

Place steak in pan withsauce and cook forapproximately twominutes.

Remove steak and add butter to complete the sauce.

Pour sauce over steak and ENJOY!

Nutritional Information: Fahggetabowdit


utside the snow was piledtwo stories high. Inside,therewas a blizzard of activ-ity and enough heat gener-ated to melt gold. And theywere playing for a lot of it.

Tournament poker is blazing in popu-larity right now and I got a good look at itduring the mid-winter 2011 Borgata Win-ter Open (BWO) Texas Hold’em event atthe opulent Borgata Hotel and Casino inAtlantic City where 712 combatants viedfor the first prize of $533,210 and a totalprize pool of more than $2,000,000.I wanted to catch some of the familiar

faces I see on television (I found many). Iwanted to talk to some of the amateursand ask them why in the world theywould risk the $3500 entry cost and thinkthey could beat the pros assembled there

(I got the best possible answer). And asan amateur poker player myself, I wantedto get a feel for what it takes to be suc-cessful at this level. (Sadly, I couldn’t per-suade my JerseyMan Magazine partners topony up the entrance fee so I could get theultimate reporter experience… Oh, ye ofLittle Faith).Borgata Director of Poker Ray Stefanelli

and VP of Public Relations Brian Brennangave me the green light to wander aroundthis major tournament, but upon enteringthe casino, I mistakenly made my way tothe poker room. Wrong assumption. Thestaff explained that the Main Event had fartoo many participants to be held in theeveryday 85-table facility and he directedme to the grand ballroom. When I arrivedand opened the doors, I saw a myriad ofbright lights, heard the murmur of church-

like whispers, and felt an intensity thatcan come only with the hope of making abig score.This was day 2 of the first round (there

were too many round 1 players to partic-ipate at once) and the tournament direc-tors wanted to narrow the field to 500participants who could all sit down to-gether at the second round. I scannedthe room looking for some of my pokeridols and was able to immediately spotformer Borgata Winter Open champ andfinalist at last year’s WSOP main eventMike “The Grinder” Mizrachi; formerWSOP main event champion RobertVarkonyi; perennial tournament main-stay and crowd favorite Gavin Smith;“High Stakes” poker pro Victor Ramden;and top woman touring pro VanessaSelbst.

As the Cards Turn

ARTICLE BY KEN DUNEK

A peek at the Borgata’sHold’em Blowout

O


ene Castro from Holmdel,who was a lawyer bytrade but gave up hispractice to become apoker pro and agent rep-resenting professional

poker stars such as T.J. Cloutier and KathyLiebert, offered his opinion on widespreadpopularity of Texas Hold’em. “Money-maker had a lot to do with it,” he said.(Chris Moneymaker parlayed a $40 onlinepoker entry fee into the $2.5 million topprize in the 2003 WSOP main event).“That and the lipstick cam (a camera de-vice giving television viewers a peek at theplayers’ hole cards) created a synergy thatwas a poker sonic boom. It really was theperfect storm.”Still, I pressed Castro on details, asking

him why 712 players, many amateurs, willplunk down $3500 to attempt five straight,eight-hour days of poker, all the whileknowing that 90 percent of them will beeliminated with no prize money. He re-sponded, “It’s like a 50-year-old fat mangetting a chance to play center field for theNY Yankees. You are living a dream.” Thathit me like a ton of poker chips. Big-money poker is just about the only venuewhere the everyday Joe Blow has a chanceto compete with the very best…and win.Scanning the tables after this conversa-

tion, I did indeed see every conceivabletype of individual gunning for the largecash award and BWO trophy. Lots of hood-ies, scads of sunglasses, old and young,dress ranging from homeless-like rags tobuttoned-up bow ties. This is indeed thecommon person’s chance to achieve fi-nancial and sports recognition.Chalie Hook, 26, a Philadelphia-born

poker pro who attended Holy Family Uni-versity and now lives in Fort Lauderdale,FL, gave an interesting perspective on sur-vival in this competitive jungle. “I playtournaments because I can make the bigscore.” he said. “But I survive on cashgames. Tournaments are long hours withso much volatility and luck. I can play mybest poker and get beat by a ridiculoussuck-out and get sent to the rail with noprize money. But in cash games I canmake big money steady and afford to playso many tournament hours.”It makes sense. Young Turks like Chalie

are trying to make their bones the hardway. Some of the more recognizable

names in poker like Phil Hellmuth, DoyleBrunson, and Daniel Negreanu havereached such a lofty status in the gamethat their tournament buy-ins are paid bypoker publications or web poker playingsites such as Poker Stars and Full TiltPoker, whom the stars promote in return.

How could that affect their play, I askedHook. “I hope to be in their shoes oneday, but you do have a tendency to play alittle more reckless when you are not put-ting your hard-earned cash on the line.It’s a little like Tiger Woods going forevery pin and not worrying about hittinga bad shot and not making the cut. Heknows that he will have the same oppor-tunity next week.”In the end, Manalapan native Vadim

Shlez took home first place and more thanhalf a million in prize money. His A-8flopped another ace and beat an all-in bysecond-place finisher L.J. Sande from NewHaven, CT, who was drawing for a K highflush but got no spade on the turn or river.Sande had to “settle” for the second prizeand $310,273 in cash. (You can get com-plete results of every event by going towww.jerseymanmagazine.com and click-ing on the “poker results” link).So all of us middle-aged soft bellies

need to get our spikes out of the closet andbegin stretching. The Borgata Summerevent will soon be upon us, and I hear theYankees just might be in the market for adesignated hitter. �

G

“It’s like a 50-year-old fat man gettinga chance to play center field for theNY Yankees.”

Vadim Shlez (Manalapan, NJ) played in the Cham-pionship Event of the Borgata Winter Open to winthe title. Shlez defeated L.J. Sande (New Haven, CT)heads up to take home the $533,210 first prize.


“It’s a useful tool,” says Mike Hastings of his pal, theplain, old white handkerchief. “I use mine every day.”

Hastings, 62, of Cinnaminson, knows hankies first-hand. He grew up with a handkerchief in his backpocket, and today he works at the Men’s Wearhouseclothing and accessory store in Deptford, where hand-kerchiefs are sold. Most handkerchiefs that leave thestore are the colorful pocket handkerchiefs for deco-ration, he said. And the plain, white mucus-moppers?

“We sell a few,” he said.Not exactly a ringing endorsement for the viability of the hankie. “I think it is a generation thing,” Hastings explained. “It’s some-

thing that was probably used more back 30 to 40 years ago, andthose people who used them still continue to use them, but notyoung people.”In fact, the hankie was wildly popular for hundreds of years; some

say it was invented by King Richard II, the eighth king of England.As an indispensable accessory, it was the cell phone of its day.James Fenimore Cooper, the Burlington-born 19th-century nov-

elist, penned a satirical magazine entry entitled Autobiography ofa Pocket Handkerchief in 1843. It examined American culture aswitnessed by the one player exposed to every aspect of life – theembroidered pocket handkerchief. (Editor’s note: The piece isslow-going, but you can find it here: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2329.)The hankie run of indispensability was solid until 1930, when

Kimberly-Clark began advertising its Kleenex disposal tissues notonly as a cosmetic and cream wipe but also as a hygienic way towhisk away nose dust. (“Colds fill handkerchiefs with germs,”read an early Kleenex ad. “Avoid re-infection. Use Kleenex dis-posable tissues.”) Thus began the hankie’s nosedive (sorry) inpopularity. Consider the commonly held attitude expressed by Anthony

Corona, 25, of West Caldwell, who said he would never con-sider using a handkerchief unless it was to enhance a formaloutfit. “They are perfectly acceptable as a fashion accessory,but for looks only, not to be used,” he said. “If you actually useit, I think it’s disgusting. They are a breeding ground for grossgerms and bacteria.”Ever see those blue farm-type hankies that can be blown into,

worn around the neck or the head? A more refined version of the

Got Hankie?

JerseyManWhat We Wear

Shed no tears over the demise of the plain, old, white handkerchief

BY JORDAN WOMPIERSKI

I


colored handkerchief is offered by Lehner, a Swiss company, saidMaria Walters, proprietor of Giovanni’s Fine Handkerchiefs andLinens in the seaside community of Margate. She offers a line ofthose products.“A man in a silk Tommy Bahama shirt or a tailored suit does not

want to pull out a paper tissue,” she said. “How awful does thatlook? Just because a hankie is colorful doesn’t mean it can’t beused to wipe away sweat or snot. We supply handkerchiefs forjeans to tuxedos.“Everything we sell, you can use,” Walters said. “We don’t sell

anything strictly decorative.”And since the hankies she sells are made for use, Walters

knows the right way to care for them. “You can put it in thewasher with the regular wash, you can wash it in the bathroomin the sink, you can send it to the laundry,” she said. “It’s a verysmall piece of fabric, so it’s easy to clean. A little detergent, and

one-two-three, it’s done.”That kind of thinking sits well with some environmental ac-

tivists who say hankies spare the trees that are cut down to maketissues, and they reduce the waste and refuse that the country’stissue use creates. (If you’ve ever hunted for a lost item in the of-fice trash can during flu season, you may relate.)According to Josh Peterson of PlantGreen.com, switching to a

hankie is a great way to be environmentally conscious.“Men will look like studs,” said Peterson, “and everyone will

know that they care about the environment.” But Nick Hamilton, who happened to be in Maria Walters’ shop

in Margate, is not buying into that notion. His friend and co-workerwas with him, extolling the benefits of a gentle cloth hankie thatnever rubs the nose so raw it looks like a Christmas sleigh light.“When I watch him blow his nose and then put the dirty hanky

back in his pocket and then take a bite of his lunch, I am grossedout,” said Hamilton. “For me, I am sticking to the tissue. I likethe convenience of simply throwing away the tissue. It’s dispos-able and that’s just the way I like it.”Hastings, of Men’s Wearhouse, said decorative handkerchiefs

are used by prom-going young men, who try to match it with theirgirlfriends’ dress. “People getting married, if they are wearing avest and tie, they’ll try to match it.”According to Hastings there are three types of hankies: the tra-

ditional white cloth hankie, the decorative pocket hankie, and“pocket hankies for dummies.”“Those are pocket handkerchiefs that are pre-made with a

jagged edge that you just kind of stick

[ ]“Men [who use hankerchiefs]will look like studs, andeveryone will know that theycare about the environment.”


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[continued on page 55]

olly: Alex, I’ll take ‘BigLeague Beginnings’ for$400.

Trebek: Made his major league debut onFriday April 15, 1966, in a Cincinnati Redsuniform against the Phillies at ConnieMack Stadium. He went hitless.

Molly: …um…Who is…David Kessler?

OK, OK. It’s a fictional question thatMolly, an insurance adjuster fromModesto, California, got right. And I wenthitless because I was just the 16-year-oldvisiting teams’ batboy. I got the jobthrough family, what else? My father Ted

“Ace” Kessler had been in charge of thevisitors’ clubhouse all the way back to thedays of Baker Bowl and Babe Ruth and myfour older brothers had all been bat-boys/clubhouse boys. Brother Frank hadeven been old enough to have been thebatboy for the Athletics, who had left forKansas City after the ‘54 season. I receivedthe nickname “Deuce” (still used today)from Dodgers pitchers Stan Williams andSandy Koufax in the summer of ‘62, whenI started out as a clubhouse worker,sweeping floors, shining shoes, hangingup jockstraps. Yes, it was that glamorous. As the youngest Kessler, I did 10 years

of clubhouse and on-deck circle work. Inthat time, I “helped” Sandy Koufax pitch a

no-hitter against the Phillies, inspiredanother player to hit a home run againstthem, helped that same player stabilize hisblood sugar and get a game winning hit,and “helped” several other players to com-pile the kind of stats that got them electedto the Hall of Fame. Before you get tooangry with me, I also “helped” the Philliesavoid a last-place finish.The last game played at Connie Mack

Stadium occurred on Thursday October 1,1970. The Phillies would move to the Vetthe following April because Connie MackStadium (known as Shibe Park when itopened in 1909) was a decaying ball parkin a poor neighborhood with no parking,no sports bars, no luxury boxes (horrors),

PHILLY BATBOYMEMOIRSHE’S GOT HIS OWN HALL OF FAME ARTICLE BY DAVID “DEUCE” KESSLER

M


and it was usually the home of a last-placeteam. The fans bade a particularly excitinggoodbye to the old park that night. Uponentering the stadium, each fan was issueda wooden slat, the type used in each of the33,000 seats, and the slat bore a commem-orative sticker (“I attended the lastgame…”). Once the game started and al-cohol flowed, that wasn’t enough for thefans, who began dismantling the place.During the 5th inning, I saw one chuckle-brain parading through the stands with aurinal that he’d somehow unbolted fromthe wall of a men’s room. With drunks oc-casionally running onto the field, it was ahighly charged, maybe even dangerous at-mosphere. Late in the game, between in-nings, crew chief Ken Burkhart came overto the Montreal dugout with fellow umpiresHarry Wendelstedt and John Kibler, to talkto Expos Manager Gene Mauch. “Gene, I’m

really concerned with what’s happening inthe stands and I’m tempted to have thePhillies forfeit this game to you, but I’mafraid they’d riot.” I was standing there lis-tening and for some inexplicable reasonthey all looked at me. I nodded dumbly andsaid, “Yeah, they will.” Maybe they figuredI was an expert on Philadelphia fan behav-ior? Anyway, the game continued and thePhillies won when Oscar Gamble singledhome catcher Tim McCarver with the win-ning run in the bottom of the 10th inning.It also meant the Phillies finished a halfgame ahead of the Expos to escape lastplace in the division.I not only helped close down Connie

Mack, I helped open the Vet on SaturdayApril 10, 1971. Decades later, I visitedCooperstown and saw a photo of the first

pitch being delivered that day: Jim Bun-ning was throwing to Montreal Expo“Boots” Day with Ron Hunt in the on-deckcircle. Of course I was on hand that day,freezing like everyone else. But I was ei-ther cropped out by some mean-spiritedphoto editor or I was never in the frame. Istill like to think that somewhere in theHall archives there’s a picture of meshaking hands with someone who’d justhit a home run. Tim McCarver also figured prominently

in some other memories. In the days be-fore players were fully i-Podded, lap-topped, cell-phoned, and video-gamed,there was a single radio in the clubhouse,not even a television. Timmy, a Cardinalfor much of his early career, always ap-pointed me “Guardian of the Radio” and

told me to keep the radio tuned to Wib-bage (WIBG) and WFIL. He was pretty hipfor a kid from Memphis and liked (as Idid) the Beatles, Stones, Motown, theBeach Boys. When his Cardinals (beforehe was traded to the Phils) were in townfor a weekend series, he’d put on SidMark’s “Friday with Frank” or “Sundaywith Sinatra” on 96.5 FM. Well, I couldn’tstop players from changing the sta-tion…what could I do, they were biggerthan I was? Pitcher Ray Washburn wouldchange to the country music station, Or-lando Cepeda would find a Spanish lan-guage station for some Latino music andsomebody else would put on some soul orrhythm and blues. Funny, no one ever puton classical music. By the time he was a Phillie, Tim was

“I started out as a clubhouse worker,sweeping floors, shining shoes,

hanging up jockstraps.Yes, it was

that glamorous.

The author then,and now (inset)


also indirectly responsible for thelone injury I suffered, an injurythat still haunts me to this day. OnMay 2, 1970, he broke his hand ina home plate collision against theGiants. He was replaced by MikeRyan, who broke the SAME handin the SAME inning! Boy, if you’dput $1,000 on that happening witha Vegas oddsmaker, you’d own Mi-crosoft. But, since Bill Gates wasonly 15 at the time and Microsoftdidn’t yet exist…well, it’s a nicethought.McCarver and Ryan both went on

the DL and because the Phillies hada dearth of catching talent, they ac-quired Doc Edwards, a lifetime .238hitter who hadn’t even played in themajors the previous five years. Docwas a smart guy who later distin-guished himself as a coach, but hewas a big, lumbering, 30-somethingwhose best days were behind him.In a game soon after, the Expos hadrunners on 1st and 2nd with oneout. Rightfielder Byron Brownemade a remarkable, unexpectedcatch of a sinking line drive. The

runners had taken off with the pitchand had to scramble back to their re-spective bases to avoid being dou-bled off. Browne, seeing this, rifledthe ball to first. I was running to re-trieve the bat because I anticipated aplay at the plate (hustlingest batboyalive!). Meanwhile, Doc was runningto first to back up the throw. Stu-pidly, I stood in his way and watchedthe play unfold. Bang! The 6’2”, 200-pound-plus Doc ran over a 5’5”, 130-pound batboy. Stunned, I bouncedup and felt blood streaming from mylip and my central incisor wiggling. Ithought of the money my parentshad spent on orthodontics when Iwas 12. I gutted it out untiil the sidewas retired and allowed Trainer JoeLiscio to gently remove the tooth. Myclubhouse co-worker took over andI was rushed to Temple Universitywhere an oral surgeon successfullyimplanted the tooth. But any dentistreading this can tell you that after afew years, the root resorbs, the toothturns black, and it’s bridgeworktime. Moreover, every 10-15 years, Ireceive an expensive bill from my

dentist because “permanent” bridgeworkain’t so permanent. Timmy and Mike areat fault for going on the DL, and I also ac-cuse Byron Browne and Doc Edwards. Ishould file suit against them all.While reading Jane Leavy’s terrific 2002

biography of Sandy Koufax, I was remindedof how I “helped” him pitch his 1964 no-hitter against the Phillies. Her book relateshow he’d been struggling a bit in his previ-ous starts, but while looking at a sportsmagazine in the clubhouse, he saw an oldphoto of himself delivering a pitch and rec-ognized he needed to make an adjustment.MY magazine. I was in charge of supplyingreading material for the players, so after

“Once, future Hall of Famer

Joe Morgan asked me to break in his

new spikes.

Steve Markus, D.M.D., F.A.C.E209 White Horse Pike

Haddon Heights, NJ 08035The Centre for Dentistry at Haddon

www.cent4dent.com

Symphonic Smileshands-on training in cosmetic

dentistry and library ofdental office letters

www.symphonicsmiles.com

(856) 546-0665

Dear Steve,

Thank you for creating my beautiful smile. Being a Professor ofRestorative Dentistry, as well as a cosmetic dentist, my searchfor a colleague to rejuvenate my smile was an endeavor. Notonly am I totally pleased with your work, but I was so impressedwith the passion you have for your smile artistry.

The trust and confidence your patients continue to show iswell-deserved.

Thanks again,

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Cosmetic Dentistry has enhanced hundreds of our patients’ smiles. Cosmetic dentistry proceduressuch as porcelain veneers, dental implants, laser teeth whitening, porcelain crowns and fillings

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The Center for DentistrySteve Markus, D.M.D.

ActualTestimonial


TO BE UPDATEDDr. sent back minor corrections

reading my Baseball Digest, Sporting News,and Sport magazines I’d bring them in.(Playboy was above my maturity grade.) Apaper reported the anecdote and I remem-ber Ace teasing me by saying “[GeneralManager] John Quinn and Gene Maucharen’t too happy with you.”

ith the recent death ofCubs third baseman RonSanto, I fondly remem-

bered how he bailed me out when I madea mistake on the field. The Cubs werelopsidedly beating the Phillies late in agame and the Phillies had run out ofcatchers, forcing Mauch to insert CookieRojas behind the plate. Cookie was a re-ally good player but not really a catcher.Sure enough, when Don Kessingerwalked, Rojas couldn’t handle the pitchand it bounded away from him towardsme on the on-deck circle. Kessinger wasentitled to first base because of the baseon balls, but it was also a passed ball andout of the corner of my eye I saw he wassprinting to first base, ready to try for sec-ond. I knew the ball was in play, so I saidto myself, “Don’t touch the ball. Don’ttouch the ball. Don’t touch the ball.” Ifielded the ball and handed it to Rojas.Now it’s a dead ball and Kessinger had toremain at first. I felt terrible, especiallywhen veteran umpire Al Barlick said,“Son, don’t do that again. I’ll have toeject you from the game.” Santo, whowas getting ready to hit, said to me,“Don’t worry. I got your back.” He hit thenext pitch into the upper deck and allwas forgiven. God bless Ron Santo! I wasable to return the favor the following

year. Unbeknownst to everyone, Ron hadbeen diagnosed with diabetes at age 18.This one particular night, the Phillies andCubs were engaged in a long, long dou-bleheader… extra innings, rain delays.Ron was looking particularly tired andpale. Because of the crazy hours, he hadn’teaten anything and his blood sugar wasskewed. He said, “Run quick and get me acandy bar.” After he ate it, he was wellenough to get the game-winning hit. Eventhough I was a rabid Phillies fan, I alwaysfelt good when I could help a player do hisjob. THAT was my job. Once, at the beginning of a four-game

series with the Reds, future Hall of FamerJoe Morgan asked me to break in his newspikes. I wore them for a couple days, butit wasn’t easy. He must’ve been a size 6or 7 and I was a size 8. How the hell didhe steal so many bases with such tinyfeet? Better question – how’d he hit 268home runs at 5’7”, 150 pounds? After Ibroke in the new shoes, he tore up thePhillies. Of course I couldn’t tell anyone. Iwas already in trouble for helping SandyKoufax and Ron Santo.One of my least pleasant duties was to

get the players to autograph baseballs. A re-quest would come from the front office, ormaybe from the Phillies clubhouse. Often,my father would donate them to charitiesfor use as fundraisers. Players had a deri-sive name for these balls…they called them“puss” balls ‘cause they thought I was giv-ing them to girls to, hmm, you know. Any-way, they hated to sign and I hated to ask.There were always a couple players on eachteam who wouldn’t sign. (With practice,there were several players whose signaturesI could do well enough that I probablycould’ve cashed their checks.) You could

Kessler (l) keeping track ofthe action with Willie Mays ofthe San Francisco Giants

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never approach Bob Gibson when he waspitching that day. Even his teammatescouldn’t talk to him. Johnny Bench was an-other. His locker was in a row with Mor-gan, Perez, Rose, and Concepcion. But I’dbypass him because he always gave me ahard time. After I’d passed him a few times,he asked me why I didn’t ask him to sign.I knew the balls were going to charity butI was cranky enough to say, “John, I don’tneed your signature to get girls.” Longpause. An even longer stare. Then the hintof a smile. “Yes, you do”, he said. “Gimmethem blankety-blank balls.”

hen men get together,things get… well… a bitribald (the reason my only

sister hadn’t worked in the clubhouse).Whether it’s the barracks, the shop, theclubhouse (an aside to sportscasters: It isNOT a locker room. It is NEVER a lockerroom. It is ALWAYS a clubhouse). Lan-guage is more colorful, subject matter isracier. One of the cardinal rules of theclubhouse was to always be dressed whenyou go to the postgame buffet table, evenif it’s just a towel around your waist. Ionce saw Cincinnati pitcher (nameredacted to protect his reputation) puthis…um…member on a hot dog bun andslather mustard on it. Manager Dave Bris-tol was so angry he fined him and madehim apologize to my father and to the restof the players. It was kind of funny, butthe image was so vivid that for a long timeafter, I only ate the salad.As a good portion of the season oc-

curred during the school year, I couldoften be seen doing my homework on atable in the middle of the clubhouse. I’drush from school to get to the ballpark soI could study before the players arrived.Atlanta reliever Claude Raymond, whowas French-Canadian, helped me conju-gate French verbs. And lots of players triedto help me with algebra, geometry, calcu-lus, trigonometry, physics and chemistry.They didn’t do any better than I did.Another way we clubhouse grunts

would kill the long hours at work wasplaying Whiffle Ball™. The clubhousewas small but we were able to stake outa space to play with our own crazy setof ground rules. (third steampipe fromthe left was a double, trainer’s room was

a home run, etc.) While most ofthe players would arrive on theteam bus two hours before gametime, some would arrive on theirown several hours before. That, ofcourse, would shut down ourgame. Once Giants pitcher BillyO’Dell got there early and he notonly insisted we continue, hewanted to play, too. He was like atoddler. After a couple innings,someone said, “Uh… say Billy…aren’t you pitching tonight?” “Oh,right,” he replied, whereupon thelefthander started pitching to uswith his right arm. I think he shutout the Phillies that night.Again, it wasn’t all drudgery and

hard work. Another great momentin my tenure occurred on Sunday,July 20, 1969, when the lunar mod-ule “Eagle” landed on the moon’sSea of Tranquility. Most games inprogress stopped to take note of theevent and during the Phillies-Cubsdoubleheader closing game theteams lined up on the first and thirdbase lines for the national anthem.That day, I stood beside future Hallof Famers Ernie Banks, FergusonJenkins, and Billy Williams. Unlessthere’s a photo of me somewhere inCooperstown, I never made the Hallof Fame. Also, there’s a great storyabout that day that involves another Hallof Famer, San Francisco pitcher GaylordPerry. Apparently, when he was a rookiein 1962, he was in the batting cage takinghis cuts when Giant manager Alvin Darksaw his lack of power and said, “They’llbe walking on the moon before he everhits a home run.” Cut to 7/20/69 atDodger Stadium (because of the three-hour time difference, that game hadn’teven started when the Eagle landed): Gay-lord Perry hit his first major league homerun off Claude Osteen.Another perk of the job was getting to

meet celebrities. I was punched (playfully)by Muhammad Ali and Joe Frazier. Metgolfers Jack Nicklaus and Ray Floyd (whotipped me ten dollars to carry his bag tothe car), Dionne Warwick (much prettierin person), the Three Stooges (tiny guys),and ‘60s rock group The Grass Roots (theywere impressed I knew Willie Mays, I wasimpressed they knew Paul McCartney). Ilistened to Cubs manager Leo Durocher

regale us during a rain delay withstories about hanging out withSinatra and Sammy Davis, Jr. andtelling us, “Guys, you will nevermeet anything as beautiful as an 18-year-old Elizabeth Taylor. When Imet her, I literally fell off my chair!”

And then there was Gerald Ford,the President of the United States. Itwas the 1976 All-Star game playedin Philadelphia. I no longer workedthere but I thought it’d be fun tohelp out for the day and enjoy theexcitement. I remember my father(Ace) asking me for my Social Se-curity number. He said, “The SecretService wants it. You don’t get inunless they know who you are.” Ithought, “Of course.” The previousSeptember, Sara Jane Mooresqueezed off a couple shots thatnarrowly missed the Presidentwhen he was in San Francisco. Twoweeks later, Lynette “Squeaky”Fromme had tried the same thingin Sacramento. What is it aboutCalifornia?

Before the game, the Presidentgreeted all the American Leagueplayers in their clubhouse, shakinghands with everyone. I happened toknow that the next day (July 14)was his 63rd birthday and when heshook my hand I said, “Happy

Birthday, Mr. President.” He smiled andsaid, “Yes it’s tomorrow. Thank you.” Iwas sure he’d nominate me to theSupreme Court or maybe even Chairmanof the Federal Reserve. Nope. I think hecould tell I was voting for Jimmy Carter.After the players filed out onto the field, I

was in the clubhouse with my father, mybrother, Commissioner of Baseball BowieKuhn, several Secret Service agents, thePresident, and his son, Jack. The Presidentwas absently toying with a baseball that hadbeen left on the table and his son was acrossthe room with a bat in his hands. The Pres-ident made a gesture as if he was going tothrow a pitch to him when my father said,“Curve ‘em, Mr. President.” While Mr. Fordthought it funny, the buttoned-down BowieKuhn didn’t seem quite so amused. One ofthe agents on the President’s detail ap-proached Mr. Ford and asked him to sign abaseball for my father. Ace had made friendswith the advance team, which already spenta couple days in the clubhouse. He signed it,

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“To my good friend, Ace – Gerald R. Ford.”That assured him of at least one vote fromthe Kessler family.In 1966 and 1967, I participated in club-

house celebrations (complete with cham-pagne) when teams clinched the pennantin Philadelphia. On the last day of the ‘66season, Sandy Koufax beat the Phillies tosend the Dodgers to the World Series. Nodivisional playoffs then. It was his 27thvictory and he finished with 323 strikeoutsand a 1.73 E.R.A. He was only 30 yearsold, but he stunned the baseball world byretiring. Why?He was tired of the pain in his arthritic

elbow and he didn’t feel he’d be goodenough to earn the money he’d receive inhis next contract. He also didn’t pitch inthe first game of the ‘65 World Series be-cause it fell on Yom Kippur and he felt itwould be a good example for Jewish kidsin America. It also meant he pitched ontwo days rest in game seven when he shutout the Twins on two hits. If one of hisclients did that today, agent Scott Boraswould be texting the manager, “What areyou doing to my guy?” Sandy also optedout of a lucrative TV contract NBC hadgiven him because he came across aswooden on camera and didn’t feel he de-served the money. This guy should’ve runfor Congress.It was the St. Louis Cardinals who

clinched here in ‘67. I remember some ofthe players chortling, “Hey, baby…we winthe Series, it’s another $6,000.” Six thou-sand dollars? Ryan Howard spends thatmuch at Subway during spring training.The Phillies’ winning share in ‘08 was$351,000. Because of our ties to the Phillies or-

ganization and its visiting clubhouse, ourwhole family has gotten media attentionmany times. My father often was men-tioned in Philadelphia papers. Rich West-cott and Bruce Kuklick mentioned him intheir books about Connie Mack Stadium.He was discussed by NBC commentatorJoe Garagiola during the ‘80 World Series.My father and late brother Teddy were al-ways warmly referred to on the air by thelate Harry Kalas. And I was interviewedby the late Jim Barniak before The Bul-letin folded and had even been inter-viewed by Dorie Lenz on Channel 17.In 2003, I was reading Joe Queenan’s

True Believers – the Tragic Inner Life ofSports Fans when I came upon the sen-

tence, “…a classmate of mine at Cardi-nal Dougherty High School had been thevisiting team batboy.” (Hey. that’s me.)Joe is a prominent essayist/humoristwho has written for numerous nationalpublications and has appeared on plentyof TV shows, including Letterman. Hedid sit in the row beside me for threeyears, but I can’t claim to have knownhim very well, although he seemed like anice guy. I’m thinking maybe I didn’ttalk to him much because he was somuch smarter than me. Memo to Joe

Queenan: Hey, Joe, love your work. Nexttime, put my name in will ya?Aah, but that’s all in the past. The game

has changed, the world has changed, I’vechanged. Too many of the people I’ve re-ferred to are no longer with us and I some-times feel like an old ballplayer who canno longer turn the double play. But thememories will always be there and I betthat if somehow I could get back into thatclubhouse in Connie Mack Stadium, Icould still hit a line drive off that oldsteam pipe. �


The state issued 7211 licenses for December’s black bear hunt,but officials say new litters will outpace the kill.

591 Hunted Down, But…

The Bears Are Still WinningThe Bears Are Still Winning

591 Hunted Down, But…



ome folks are breathing alittle easier. Others may stillbe seething. And a very feware enjoying bear for breakfastand dinner.

Last December’s six-day black bearhunt is history, and now there are 591fewer of them in northern New Jerseythan there were last year. It was the firsttime in five years that hunters could tar-get the bruins, following unsuccessfullegal attempts by anti-nimrods and dewy-eyed bear lovers to halt the killing. Folks, get used to it. Bears and their two-

legged, blaze-orange clad, shotgun-totingpredators are here to stay. The state’s Fishand Wildlife Division reports confirmedsightings of Ursus americanus in all 2lcounties, with more of the hairy crittersmoving each year into suitable habitats,much of it in southern New Jersey. Back in the days of Daniel Boone (who

trafficked in “bar” bacon), bears were asnumerous throughout New Jersey as cor-rupt politicians are today. But by the mid-dle of the last century, their numberswere estimated at fewer than 100. Afterthe state stepped in to protect them, thebears came back. Hunts took place from1958 to 1970 and again in 2003 and 2005. Two decades ago, many South Jersey

residents were panicked by a proposal tocapture North Jersey bears and relocatethem in the Pine Barrens. Although noone had been killed by a bear in this statesince 1852, the plan received so muchflak that it disappeared faster than a freeround in a Wildwood bar.The bears, however, already knew their

way south. According to our Fish and Game Coun-

cil’s 2010 Comprehensive Bear Manage-ment Plan, “the bear population that isreestablished in southern NJ will grow.” There’s no question that a black bear,

especially one that you might see rum-

maging around in your backyard, can beintimidating. I remember the first time Iespied one during a deer hunt in thePocono Mountains. From where I wasstanding, it looked at first like a big blackdog galloping toward me. I thought,what’s a dog doing out here deep in theforest? Then I realized it was a bear…afreaking bear! Even though I was cradlinga .300 magnum rifle in my arms, I wasuneasy. But as soon as the approachinganimal became aware of me, it slammedon the brakes and veered away at a pacemuch faster than I could have run. Fact is, most black bears are not nor-

mally dangerous, unless one foolishly in-terferes with their food or their cubs. Sortof like mobsters.

t the present time, thelargest ursine populationhangs out in four BMZs, orBear Management Zones,covering all or parts ofseven counties in the

rugged north and northwest. It’s a 1000-square-mile area of hardwood forests,farms, and spooky swamps. BMZs in-clude the North Jersey Highlands, aswath of ancient mountains formed dur-ing what geologists call the GrenvilleOrogeny more than a billion years ago.The task today is to keep the bears “man-aged,” which means having enough toensure their future, but not so many thatthey become a nuisance or even a threatto humans. That’s the concern of professionals like

39-year-old Kelcey Burguess, who lives inNewton, BMZ Number 2. He’s Fish andWildlife’s principal biologist for the blackbear--the guy who went to Englewood inBergen County last May to tranquilize abear near the George Washington Bridgefor relocation elsewhere. A month later,our Bear Man was in the city of Paterson

to capture and relocate a 119-pounder thatwas foraging in the backyards of homes. Burguess believes the best way to guar-

antee the bears’ existence and publicsafety is through carefully regulated hunts. “I have a great deal of respect for the

black bears in New Jersey,” he told me.“My staff and I take our jobs very seri-ously, and we want to do what’s best forthe overall health and longevity of thepopulation. I want the black bear to beviewed as an asset to the state, not as a li-ability. And we want people to under-stand that bear hunts are no different

ARTICLE BY GEORGE INGRAM

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“Bear hunts are no differentthan deer hunts or turkeyhunts or pheasant hunts.”

Just TheBear FactsThere’s a lot of useful informationon the NJ Fish and Wildlife Divi-sion’s website about bears andhow to avoid them.

Log onto: www.state.nj.us/dep/fgw/bearfacts.htm

Black bears in New Jersey:

• can run up to 35 mph

• weigh an average of 400 poundsfor males (boars)

• can detect the scent of foodmore than two miles away

• are near-sighted

• live for 25 years in the wild

• deliver cubs in January, and themost common litter is 3

• love to eat skunk cabbage in thespring

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than deer hunts or turkey hunts or pheas-ant hunts.” His job includes working with the Fish

and Game Council to keep a tally of bears(about 3400 north of Interstate 80 in2009); conducting research on the ani-mals, including assisting in such cooper-ative efforts as East StroudsburgUniversity’s Black Bear DNA database;educating citizens about bears and theimportance of not leaving food for them(using bear-resistant garbage cans, for ex-ample); and helping plan bear hunts, themost effective way to maintain an eco-logical balance.Arming state residents with more “bear

sense” is important. As the Fish andGame Council recommends, albeit inclassic Pentagon-speak, New Jerseyneeds “to educate people living andrecreating in bear habitat about methodsto minimize negative interaction withblack bears.”But the real chore of keeping the bal-

ance belongs to bear hunters. In a statewith some of the nation’s most dracon-ian gun laws, these folks perform a truepublic service. It is not a task for wusses. With a lottery

and over-the-counter sales, New Jerseyissued 7211 bear hunting permits to resi-dent and non-resident hunters. If every-one who applied for a permit actuallyhunted – and that’s unlikely – it wouldmean that only 8 percent of them cameback with food for the table or, I hopenot, a “trophy” for the den.After obtaining a permit, you had to at-

tend a free but mandatory one-hour bearhunting seminar. You no doubt madescouting trips in advance to the area youplanned to hunt. If you were lucky orskilled enough to shoot one, you affixeda bear transportation tag to its hide andfield-dressed it. Next was the Herculean task of drag-

ging the monster out of the woods or

Hunters Dave Drummond (L) and Shawn Morris each bagged a bear in North Jersey.


swamp – the live weight of the largestbear killed (in Morris County) was 748pounds – and transporting it to one offive mandatory bear check stations.There, biologists inspected your animaland removed a tooth. Finally, you earneda legal possession seal to take it home. Let’s take a look at a few of these ded-

icated people who rose to the challenge.

The Little Woman with Big BicepsErin Peek, a diminutive, 25-year-old

lass with piercing eyes, embarked on herfirst bear hunt in December. A state em-ployee from Belleplain in Cape MayCounty, she hasfriends in north-western NewJersey who in-vited her to staywith them whileshe hunted intwo different lo-cations duringthe week. On Friday, the penultimate day of the

bear season, she and her friends werelegally baiting bruins with corn andstale donuts in Sussex County. When aman in the group from Virginia shot alarge boar in a swamp, the “sport” ofhunting got a little more difficult. Thebear, which weighed 370 pounds afterits innards were removed, was lashedatop an ice-fishing sled for a trek to thenearest road. “It took five of us three hours to drag it

out,” Erin recalled. “The sled workedpretty good getting across the creeks. Butonly two of us, including me, had kneeboots. The others had ankle boots. Whenwe’d come to a creek, the sled barelyfloated. The two of us would pull itacross, but the others had to walk andfind a place where they could cross.” Erin is 5’6” and weighs 132 pounds,

creek-water wet.There was another challenge awaiting

them at the Whittingham bear-checkingstation in Newton, where State Policekept peace between a half dozen noisyprotestors and returning hunters. Erin can still hear their taunts: Cow-

ards! Murderers! You’re not Daniel Boone,so get out of the woods!“One person went up to me and

flashed a camera repeatedly in my face,”she remembered. “They also took pictures

Peek


of our cars and our license plates.”Yet if there’s another bear hunt next year, she won’t hesitate

to go back.“I enjoyed it,” Erin said. “It was like hunting out-of-state be-

cause it’s so much different up there than in South Jersey.”I asked her if she’d ever tasted bear meat: “Not that I know of.

But my Dad used to feed us all kinds of stuff, so I don’t know.”

The Two Friends Who Are Eating Bear On Sunday morning before the Monday opener, Dave Drum-

mond, 39, owner of the EcoCape Tree Service in Cape May, andhis 30-year-old electrician buddy, Shawn Morris, of the Villas,took off for a three-hour ride to Morris County, towing Dave’s1971 Prowler camper. After setting up camp, they scouted thenearby 3000-acre Rockaway River Wildlife Management Area toselect spots where they would sit on the ground the next day.On the first day, Dave shot a five-point buck. (New Jersey’s

firearm deer season ran concurrently with the bear season, buthunters could not kill both a bear and a deer on the same day.)It was a serendipitous outing. On Wednesday, Dave and

Shawn returned to the same area. The gut pile of the deer he’dshot was still there, and the omnivorous bears were being drawnto it. Before 7 am, Dave raised his Remington 1100 loaded witha rifled slug and shot a sow from about 120 yards away.Ten minutes later, Shawn used his Winchester pump to kill a

small boar nearby.“They’ve got a bear problem up there,” Dave told me later.

“The bears know when it’s trash day, and they get into dump-sters like it’s take-out at McDonalds. I talked to deer hunterswho said they couldn’t retrieve their deer after they shot thembecause the bears would move in and chase the hunters away.”Dave’s bear dressed out at 180 pounds, which, he estimated,

was probably 230-240 pounds on the paw. Shawn’s was 150pounds, dressed. But before they dragged the animals out of the woods, the

hunters carefully followed the advice in the Fish and Wildlifebrochure they were given at the bear hunting seminar. Becausethis meat must be cooled down as quickly as possible to keep itfrom spoiling, the experts’ counsel is to “skin your bear so thatyou are left with a headless and pawless carcass covered in lay-ers of white fat.” The trip to a bear-checking station had to waituntil the hunters skinned the animals, removed slabs of fat, quar-tered the carcasses, and placed them in four large coolers.When he returned home, Dave set out to grind the meat

and mix it with pork for sausage, meatballs, and other tastyproducts. Shawn, who still speaks with a West Virginia twang after 12

years as a Jersey resident, planned on having bear steaks andmedallions. It was his first bear hunt in New Jersey but not hisfirst attempt at going after the big animals. “In West Virginia, wehunted them with dogs,” he said.On January 2, I caught up with Dave and Shawn at Fletchers

Corner, an iconic archery range and bow-and-arrow shop for tar-get shooters and avid hunters near the Delaware Bay on Route 47in Dias Creek Each year at this time, Fletchers’ owners Guy and Sally Kanas

hold Customer Appreciation Day, and customers reciprocate byschlepping in a broad array of food prepared from the game they

Right Good Eatin’If you don’t hunt for bear but get offered a bear roast by a hunter

friend, what would you do with it? You should know that a small

percentage of bear meat, like pork, may contain parasites that

cause trichinosis and toxoplasmosis in people. The Division of

Fish and Wildlife recommends that bear meat should reach an in-

ternal temperature of 160 degrees for three minutes or more.

“Connoisseurs of bear meat,” the division adds, “suggest freez-

ing, canning, or eating it within a week after the kill as the flavor

becomes stronger with age.”

One of my favorite kitchen guides for the hunter-gatherer is Wild

Game Cookery by J. Carol Vance, an avid outdoorswoman and

cook from Benton in Columbia County, Pennsylvania.

Here is her recipe for Bear Pot Roast:

4 cups red wine

1 medium onion, sliced

2 bay leaves

½ teaspoon dried rosemary

4 to 6 black peppercorns, crushed

3-4 pound bear roast

Oil for browning

To make the marinade, combine wine, onion, bay leaves, rose-

mary, and crushed peppercorns. Place the roast in a deep bowl

or sealable plastic bag and pour the marinade over it. Refriger-

ate overnight, turning every 6 hours to make sure all the sides

have been marinated. Before cooking, remove roast from the

marinade and pat dry, reserving the marinade. Preheat oven to

250 degrees. Heat oil in a heavy Dutch oven and brown the meat

lightly on all sides. Cover and bake for 1 hour per pound of meat,

basting several times with the marinade during roasting.

I asked Dave Moore at Moore Brothers Wine in Pennsauken to

recommend an appropriate wine for bear pot roast. After a

thoughtful pause, he answered: “Real Chianti, such as Isole e

Olena for about $25, or Corzano e Paterno for around $22. And

from the sound of the recipe, you could also think of Piemontese

Barbera. It has direct black fruit, soft tannins, and vibrant acid-

ity – all of which go well with slow-roasted pork and rosemary.

The only Rhone I can think of might be Rasteau 2009 from

Domaine Beau Mistral,” Dave concluded.

There, you heard it from a wine guru.


have killed. In rows ofelectric cooking pots andaluminum trays on thisday was such fare asMoose Stew, “Bullwinkle”Sliders with Cheese, WildTurkey Soup, Deer Chili,and Venison Kielbasa.

Contributing to themakeshift deli of forestcritters was Dave, withhomemade Bear Break-fast Sausage in bite-sizedpieces and sliced BearBratwurst. Shawn camewith Bear Chili withBeans and Mushrooms(made with pre-packaged

Bear Creek “Darn Good” Chili Mix because “I was short ontime”) and Bear and Potatoes in Butter Sauce.I have to tell you, these two guys have made me an aficionado

of bear meat – if it’s as carefully handled all the way fromwoods to home as they did. The sausage was as good as BobEvans’, the bratwurst was moist and tender, the chili was fla-vorful and not too spicy, and the small chunks of meat in bearand potatoes were somewhere between pork and beef in tasteand texture. At Fletchers, I also met a disgruntled bow hunter who is

unhappy with current rules that do not permit archers to huntbears. “Archery equipment has advanced to a point where we can

contribute to bear management,” grumbled Tony Mazzarella.“Like other hunters, we pay state and federal excise taxes onhunting equipment that provide money for bear management.“I’d like to see a separate bow season for bears, just like the

archery season for deer,” he added. “I’d even require all licensedbow hunters to pass a special proficiency test before headinginto the woods for bear.”Kelcey Burguess said he anticipates another bear hunt at the

end of 2011 “because this recent hunt did not impact the bearpopulation in any way, shape, or form. When the cubs are bornin January, the population will still be growing, but only at aslower rate.”What about a bear hunt in South Jersey and what about those

anxious bow hunters like Tony?“Those are questions for the Fish and Game Council to de-

cide,” the Bear Man said diplomatically. “There’s a great deal ofinterest in archery, but we don’t see any drastic changes in bearhunting over the next two or three years. We need to develop adatabase, and we want to get folks used to it. There’s still somehysteria about it.”Yes, and there is no doubt some North Jersey residents are

breathing easier because there are fewer bruins. And perhapsthere’s still bitter resentment among people like those whoprotested at the check stations. But there are also thousands of hunters eagerly anticipating

another chance to bring home a Garden State black bear nextDecember. �


hen he wasn’t watching his players shoot hoops, former Philadelphia 76ersowner Fitz Eugene Dixon, Jr., often was eyeballing orchids. That’s right,orchids. At one point he was president of the American Orchid Society andhis orchid collection was worth more than $1 million.

Chris Rehmann understands that kind of commitment to the legendary plant.“Once you get involved with orchids, it’s difficult not to become passionate aboutit,” he said recently while strolling inside his backyard greenhouse in Hammonton.A civil environmental engineer who is partner at the firm of Adams, Rehmann &

Heggen, Rehmann got hooked during a vacation in Hawaii in 1982. He saw orchids.He bought two orchid plants. And now he has 2000 orchid plants that impress andde-stress him. He doesn’t sell them. Ever. “My office is on the White Horse Pike in Hammonton; I don’t want to start another

business,” he said. “My orchids are my pleasure and their beauty is breathtaking.” What he does sell is the hobby of raising orchids and the beauty of the plants. As

current president of the American Orchid Society, Rehmann would consent to aninterview only if the writer agreed to include information about the orchid society.He explained: “Our mission is to promote and support passion for orchids though

ARTICLE BY ANDREA HARTLEY

Hooked on Orchids


JerseyMan

FREETIME

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education and research. We are committedto conservation projects, funding researchand educating people how to grow betterorchids.” Rehmann said when he decided to be-

come a judge in orchid competitions, hisgolf game got pushed to the back burner,though he still plays. He spent threeyears of study and three years on proba-tion as a judge, now he travels to judgecompetitions in many spots he maynever have seen otherwise. “Golf is intensecompetition,” he said. “The main pointof the orchid show is not really to com-pete, but to show the accomplishmentsof the grower. Everyone seems to enjoythe other’s successes.”Walt Orr, owner of Waldor, an orchid

nursery and store based in Linwood, saidRehmann first entered his store with ques-tions typical of an orchid novice. “Theyare worried that the plant won’t survivebecause they are thought to be fragile,” hesaid, when in fact they are quite hardy.“I think he is one of the [society’s] best

presidents we have ever had. He has takena personal interest in increasing our mem-bership and through his efforts we’re ex-hibiting this year at the Philadelphia

International Flower Show for the firsttime in modern history.” Orchids are “in,” said Rehmann and “it

has become quite fashionable to decorateyour home with orchids,” he said. His tip:If you buy a $20 plant at Home Depot (orwherever), the flowers will stay fresh forabout two months if properly cared for. Aflower arrangement may last only aboutone week.Many plants that are in bloom have

been placed in a small greenhouse off hiskitchen, while the kitchen itself houses aspectacular rainbow of red, yellow, green,pink, blue, and white orchids, giving off asweet fragrance. He said that not all or-chids smell as sweet. Some have no fra-grance at all and others have an offensiveodor similar to that of rotting meat. This isa result of being pollinated by a fly.Looking younger than his 70 years,

Rehmann credits his wife for taking careof him and his hobby for decompressinghim after eight hours of work andevenings spent at council meetings, wherethe firm founded by his father representsmany municipalities. “Sometimes after aparticularly stressful meeting that runsquite long, there is nothing better than to

OrchidsOrigin of nameFrom the Orkhis, Greek for “testicle,”which the root sometimes resembles

Number of species28,000, plus 200,000 hybrids (mixedspecies)

High-priced speciesEndangered type of Ladyslipperspecies grown ona mountain inBorneo. One plant price: $10,000

Big business number2007 Taiwan Orchid Show sold$78.7 million in orchids to suppliers

Men and orchidsOf 25 trustees of the 13,500-mem-ber American Orchid Society, 15 aremen.

Source: Chris Rehmann, president, American

Orchid Society


walk into the greenhouse, turn the lightson and tinker with the plants a little bitbecause it is stress relieving,” he said.Rehmann’s firm provides civil and en-

vironmental engineering, land surveying,environmental planning and landscapearchitecture. One service it provides is in-tegrating digital images of tax maps withland use databases. As a result, he said:“If I’m doing a road program, our firmcan easily go and notify everyone wholives on the road we are going to pave, ex-plain what we will do, how long it willtake and tell them that we won’t be backfor 20 years. When people are informedabout what is going on, they makeevery effort to be tolerant of having theirstreet torn up.”Rehmann’s efficiency as an engineer

has aided him in his care of the orchids.He said he has streamlined the feedingand watering of his multitude of plantswith an automated system. He has tospend only about six hours a week super-vising this system and doing some re-pot-ting. The rest of the time is pure fun.Orchids grow on every continent but

Antarctica and it is believed that orchidsprobably co-existed with the dinosaurs.The plants are unique because the seedsthey produce contain no nutrients andthe orchid requires mycorrhizal fungi togerminate. Less than one tenth of onepercent of all seeds produced in the wildwill find the source of nutrition that theyneed to germinate. Very few hobbyists at-tempt to grow from seed since it requiressterile conditions.Orchids are also classified as Epiphyti-

cal, which means they depend on anotherplant for support, but not for food. In thewild they grow on trees. Rehmann walksaround his greenhouse, with fans hum-ming to circulate the air, and holds a plantpot. His orchids, he said, grow in barkchips, not soil, except for one plant thathe displays, that grows from a short sec-tion of tree branch.The engineer described a trip to

Ecuador that included a view from atop ahill overlooking a valley of blooming or-chids. From his expression, it was clearthat Chris Rehmann considered that beau-tiful scene at least a few notches above thetee view of the best fairway on the bestgolf course in the world.“Orchids,” he said. “are the queen of

flowering plants.” �


EvernoteWould you like to organize your life and remember everything? Evernote givesyou a single location to store pictures, ideas, notes, and really anything fromyour mobile device and then, even better, access your data from anywhere. Ifyou are trying to keep track of things while moving and shaking like I am allday, this app is for you.

Drop BoxLooking to have access to key information anywhere? Maybe it isn’t key in-formation, just pictures that you would love to pull up on the road. Drop Boxis a great app that will share folders and files among multiple computers andyour mobile devices. I’m suggesting you download this before checking outmy next pick…

Angry BirdsWhat is Angry Birds, you say? It is one of the most addictive games available on any phone. The developers of this game sold the rights formore than $50 million. If you think you are too manly to play Angry Birds you should note that the Innovator of Violence and one of the mosthardcore wrestlers on the planet, Tommy Dreamer, said he can’t put the game down. If it’s manly enough for him, it should be for you, too.

AP MobileWant to stay connected but control your news? This nifty little app allows you to customize the news that gets delivered to your phone. It evensends out breaking news updates. Very cool.

HootSuiteAre you on Facebook, Twitter, and posting all of the time? This app will let you manage both of these accounts with a clean user interface andeven allow you to schedule postings. You can even monitor keywords and hash tags for topics that interest you.

Google Maps This is one of the greatest apps there is – especially if you are like me and are horrible with directions. You can find businesses and getwalking (or driving) directions if you are in a new city. It takes you step by step and plugs into the Google Navigation program, which isnew and amazing._____________________________________________________________________________________________________

There are many other great apps out there, such as Key Chain (It stores all of your cards: supermarket savings cards, gym cards, etc.); theBar Code scanner; and, of course, a Chuck Norris app that updates with “facts” about the great, steel-bearded Chuck Norris. I’m veryinterested to see what comes next and what the top apps will be as the year progresses.

Anthony W. Mongeluzo is President of Pro Computer Service LLC, and can be seen on Fox News 29 every Friday at 6:15 p.m.

TechTime


SIX AWESOME MOBILE APPS AT THE RIGHT PRICE: FREE

by Anthony Mongeluzo6

including his cousin Joseph (“Skinny Joey”) Merlino. In a hearing last May, a deputy state attorney general produced

records of thousands of phone calls between the applicant andsuspected mob figures, as well as documented evidence of phys-ical contact. The commission ruled that the evidence providedonly suspicion and speculation and voted to allow the license.“I wrote a lot about that Joey Merlino, and while he might have

gotten a start from the connections of his mobster father, I thinkhe certainly has legitimatized his company,” said Anastasia. “Thatrebar work is hard work and he and his brothers are on the 12thfloor in cold weather getting his hands dirty. It’s not somethingyou can make light of.”The transcript of the hearing can be found at http://www.state.nj.

us/casinos. Once there, search for “transcripts” and click on May5, 2010.

The Mob’s “Away” Field in South JerseyIt’s not as though there is a minor league mob team in South

Jersey, said Anastasia. “South Jersey doesn’t have a team of itsown, but everybody else plays here. You’ve got the five New Yorkfamilies, an indigenous New Jersey family [DeCavalcante] basedin the Princeton-Hamilton area that traditionally moves aroundthe state, and the Philly family, all with people in New Jersey. It’salways been like that.”South Jersey was always incorporated into the Philly mob, and

Nicky Scarfo was banished to Atlantic City back in the ’60s, care-taking a city that nobody cared much about. “But he was in theright spot when casinos came and all of a sudden he was the bossand grabbing money with both fists, another reason the organi-zation came apart,” the reporter said.He said Scarfo at one point controlled the bartender’s union,

which became the biggest union in the city and provided him with$10,000 to $20,000 a month. Before poker was permitted in thecasinos, a bellhop or bartender connected to the union in everycasino could direct players to “a big poker game in Room 407,”Anastasia said.Is there organized crime in Atlantic City now? A big financial fraud case will break soon that will have Jersey

implications, involving a well-known Philly mob name and shell

companies and subprime lending, he said. “And organized crimeis involved in running junkets to Atlantic City from Chinatownsin Philadelphia and New York. There is a great story out of NewYork about two different Asian crime groups, with one group havinga junket bus that was at a rest stop on the Parkway and three guyspull up in a car and they rob everybody, just like in the Wild West.Those kinds of things are going on.”Anastasia likes to quote these opening lines of Dice, Brass

Knuckles and a Guitar by F. Scott Fitzgerald: “Parts of New Jersey, as you know, are under water, and other

parts are under continual surveillance by the authorities.” Nothing has changed much, he said.

Boardwalk Empire“I like it. It’s not the Sopranos but nothing is. From what I

know, it had a lot of historic basis, though I don’t think there wasas much violence as they put into the show, but you need that foryour narrative. There really were a set of Italian brothers fromPhiladelphia back in the ’30s, all named after popes like the onesin the show.”As for the crime: “They’re still playing all those games.” �

Mob Writer [continued from page 9]


in the pocket,” he said. “It’s amusing.It’s the CliffsNotes of handkerchiefs.”As for Hastings, he won’t give up on his

plain, white handkerchief. It just has toomany uses. One such reason to carry ahankie: to assist the ladies and loved onesin your life.“When I was growing up, young

women would never go into churchwithout wearing a hat or something ontheir head,” Hastings said. “In an emer-gency, they would actually use a hand-kerchief. They could bobby pin on top oftheir head.”“You can also give it to your wife if she’s

crying,” he added. “I think you’ll find theycome in very handy at a funeral.” Hankiescan help a child, friend, or co-worker. “Igive it to people if they spill something,”Hastings said. “Personally, at least 50 per-cent of the time when I use the handker-chief, it’s not for me,” he said. “I’m givingit to someone else to use.”When his hankie isn’t being used on

someone else, Hastings has it in case heneeds a nasal accessory. “Another usage is

obviously substituting itfor a tissue, for a runnynose or something likethat,” he said. “One way oranother, the handkerchiefgets used on a daily basis.”What if his hankie gets

dirty? Hastings said hewould never carry a soiledhandkerchief.“I always have addi-

tional handkerchiefs in mycar,” he said. “When it getsdirty, you obviously put itin the laundry and clean it for future use.”One use for the handkerchief he did not

mention: their long-time appearance atmagic shows.In the 1880s, Lewis Carroll – author of

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and alsoa magician – delighted audiences byfolding a handkerchief into the shape of amouse and making it jump.“I use about five or six different

handkerchiefs,” said an Egg HarborCity magician who calls himself MattCadabra. “With a lot of sleight-of-handand close-up work, they’re great to con-

ceal small objects andlive animals.”

Cadabra, whose realname is Matt Bakalian,said the hankies used bymost magicians are usu-ally silk and brightly col-ored, to help add someflair to the act. “Somemagicians make thehandkerchiefs disappearand reappear, and youcan do tricks where theychange color,” he said.

Bakalian is aware that customizedhandkerchiefs are the rage today, used assymbolic gifts for the father of the brideand other loved ones. So he orders hisown customized version. “When I dochildren’s parties, I have a special ‘HappyBirthday’ handkerchief made up that Imagically produce for the birthday boy,”he explained.Bakalian goes to no magic show with-

out his hankies. As for hankie addict Hast-ings, his loyalty has no bounds. “I can’timagine going anywhere without one, tobe honest with you,” he said. �

Hankies [continued from page 37]

Mike Hastings with hisback pocket buddy.


unday afternoon, and a virtually empty blue2Orestaurant was a quiet refuge from the maddeningRoute 70 traffic in Cherry Hill. This very attractive,cool-named, seafood-friendly place opened in 2008on the site of a burned-out steakhouse. Althoughblue2O is joined architecturally and by corporateblood ties to Chili’s next door, it does not seem to bepart of a chain.

Because we had no reservations and there was no waitingline, we walked past the sleek bar into a large dining room, opt-ing for a booth next to a wall from which sprouted gorgeous“flowers” of blown glass by artist Mark Wallace. Our server, an engaging young lady who wants to become a

pharmacist, brought a basket of warm Romano-pesto bread andtook orders for a glass of Kendall Jackson chardonnay ($9) andSamuel Adams draft lager ($5.25). Speaking of drinks, a goodtime to visit here is during “Uncorked Friday,” when all 42 bottleson the wine list are half-price. You can even pick up a decentPortuguese Albarino then for a mere $11. In the kitchen these days is executive chef Michael Merski, a

local guy from up-the-road Marlton and a 2005 graduate of theAcademy of Culinary Arts in Mays Landing. His menu is ampleboth in scope and size – it’s actually an 11x17-inch sheet. Listedon it were nine of that day’s “fresh” catches and their geographicorigins. I wondered how they found one haul, “Littleneckclams,” way out on Georges Bank off Massachusetts. I’m a raw oyster man. It pains me when you put lipstick on

these noble bivalves and turn them into such strumpets as Oys-ters Rockefeller. Not at blue2O. I had a sampler of eight oysterson the half shell ($14), including briny Blue Points from Long Is-land and Island Creeks from Duxbury, Massachusetts; FannyBays from Vancouver Island; and Cockenoes from the Connecti-cut side of Long Island Sound. They were superb, served ice-cold and with cocktail sauce and mignonette. (My preference isalways mignonette or a sprinkle of fresh lemon juice.) As goodas they were, I regret not having tasted the Nova Scotia Tatam-agouches, the Malpeques, and the Kumamotos, which were onthe menu but not on the sampler. My partner and I shared an appetizer, Sriracha shrimp ($9).

Sriracha is a hot chili sauce that’s made in the USA. The dishwas a mound of medium-sized shrimp, flash-fried, on a nest ofNapa slaw and served with chopsticks. I think there were at least12 crunchy shrimp, but they were so irresistible we lost count. Next was an appetizer of two crab cakes ($13) lounging on a

shallow pool of shallot-tomato butter and topped with a sheaf ofmicro greens. Each large cake had lots of crab meat. She lovedthem, but I like a crab cake that asserts itself, one that talks backto me in the language of green peppers, onions, and spices. To

me, these were more like attractive wallflowers at a dance – justa little too shy.My partner wanted risotto as a side. It wasn’t listed as such on

the menu. No problem, the server said, and in a little while anice risotto with peas appeared.Then came bouillabaisse. Like gumbo, there are many culi-

nary paths to a good bouillabaisse. But the foundation – fla-vorful fish stock with garlic, tomatoes, and saffron – is aconstant. And the trick is to bring it to the table without over-cooking any of the different seafood. When my $28 bowl ofbouillabaisse arrived, it was piled high with mussels, clams,shrimp, several kinds of fish, scallops, and half a small lobster,punctuated by a generous slab of toasted bread. Each was ten-der, moist, and not overcooked. But something was missing.Peering deep into the bowl I discovered a rather bland puddle ofundistinguished broth carpeting the bottom. To the restaurant’s credit, when I pointed this out to our

server, she went back to the kitchen and returned with a bowlof stock that contained chunks of tomatoes and strands of saf-fron. I poured it over my bouillabaisse, and felt better.Finally, though there was little room for desserts, our server

touted bread pudding topped with cinnamon ice cream. The bestthing about it was the ice cream, because the top of the breadpudding put up too much resistance to my spoon. Cost before tax and tip: $97. (Note: It recently began offering

one of six different entrees, plus a house or Caesar salad, foronly $15.)Bottom line: I want to return and try some Ahi tuna grilled

over a hardwood fire, even if it means navigating that God-awfulRoute 70 traffic again. �

REVIEW BY GEORGE INGRAM

“I want to return and try some Ahituna grilled over a hardwood fire.”


1906 Route 70 West, Cherry Hill, NJ

near Haddonfield Road

Phone: 856-662-0297

blue2Oseafoodgrill.com

W H E R E W E E A TFOOD

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