John Pitts, Jr.: An Appreciated & Appreciative Man

by Steven B. Orkin

 

It is an unfortunate truth that I often end up using this space to mark the passing of someone significant to me, be they housecat or parent. It’s part of my grieving and healing process to speak of them. Unlike life, words are almost always reliable. They come forth when I need them, ready to help me (and hopefully you, dear reader) in some small, meaningful way.

I wish I could tell you I knew John Pitts well. I wish I could share some unique and heretofore hidden insight or memory about who he was. I can’t. All I can do is use my God-given gift to engage in a little word-weaving sorcery, cast a spell to articulate what John meant to me, capture a flicker of his irrepressible spirit and light a candle of memory with it in his honor.

I’ve known John since high school, notably between 1980 and 1982 during our days in the North Babylon High School chorus. There are times in our lives when life seems to be firing on all thrusters, when we have a sense that we are experiencing fleeting, special moments that will never recur. That period, and specifically, that choir, was one of those times for me. A lot of that had to do with the remarkable Tony Eastwood, easily among the finest (maybe THE finest) musical educators I’ve ever known. He led our group with charisma, style, spirit, talent, and audacity, and we reflected it right back at him. We inspired each other to reach farther, achieve more, be more, which is the very essence of what educating is all about.

But it was also defined for me by two of its members. I’m confident that I speak for every single person in that ensemble when I say it’s physically impossible to not smile at the mere mention of the names John Pitts and Benjamin Sandoval. Good-vibe mischief-makers of the highest order, they never failed to make rehearsals and performances fun, funny, and unpredictable. Life is an uncertain business, but those two guys never failed to deliver on interesting, whether good-naturedly riffing on each other or someone else, or presenting yet another ‘liberated’ street sign to what turned out to be a near-criminal volume of them splattered across the chorus room walls by the end of the school year.

John in particular always seemed to have a special kind of iconic magic about him. Though we weren’t ‘hang-out-after-school’ close, he nevertheless always had a kind word for me in class or when we passed each other in the halls. Though far more popular and in many respects, more accomplished than I was, he never spoke down to me or anyone else so far as I know. He was always all about the good stuff, and any thought or memory of him I have always includes that big, Cheshire Cat grin, full of warmth, love, and humor, topped by those big, wide eyes, ever-bright with impending mischief, and accompanied by that wonderful, joyous laugh. 

As time passed, we eventually connected on Facebook, sporadically passing messages back and forth. The mutual respect and appreciation we had for each other felt like something that went beyond the specifics of our friendship, if that makes sense, and I greatly valued that deep, meaningful connection. John had a special way of focusing on people, even if only for a few moments. He appreciated them, made them feel like they held importance, that they mattered. He valued and validated them in an understated, sincere way that is impossible to replicate or even fully define.

Going beyond my personal affection for him, John always represented something to aspire to. Smart, funny, talented, and loving, you couldn't help but admire him. I’m sure he will continue to inspire me as I continue on my road of life, and I am deeply grateful to have known him well enough to call him friend.

In the Jewish faith, there is a phrase commonly used for those who have passed: “May his memory be for a blessing.” Certainly, John’s memory is nothing less than a sublime blessing. The world was a better place for his presence, and it is dimmer for his passing. As I said at the start, I can’t say I knew him as well as I would have liked, but I can say this much: He was a man of faith, wit, warmth, intelligence, and positivity. He was loved, and he loved others. I think that’s as good a way to define a life well-lived as any. At the end of the day, not much else matters, and by that standard, the life of John Pitts was a spectacular success.

May God forever be with him, his family, and all who love and care about him.

PS (5/6/20 update): I had one of those 2 AM revelations that required me to post this brief addendum. Several years ago, John and I discovered we had a shared passion for the wonderful acapella group, Take 6. He had posted a link to their very first single, 'Spread Love' and in response, I shared a later track of theirs titled, appropriately enough, 'My Friend' featuring the legendary Ray Charles. It's too poetically just not to share that link with you now. Crank up the volume as high as you can stand it, and bask in the glory of this song's immaculate harmony and beautiful message.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kJMQgPM2ai0

Thank you for reading.

~~~

I retrieved this photo from John’s FB page.

I’m pretty sure it’s his high school yearbook photo

but regardless, I think it captures his ebullient

spirit quite effectively. Rest in Peace, old friend…

~~~

Passover in the Time of COVID-19

by Steven B. Orkin

A version of this essay first appeared in the March 2013 edition of a temple newsletter during my tenure as Co-President of the now defunct, sorely missed, Sinai Reform Temple in Bay Shore, NY. I have revised and expanded it for my purposes here.

~~~

Though all holidays, Jewish or not, have their charms, I have to say that Passover has always been one of my favorites.

But not without complaint.

Passover is problematic. First off, it can be a lot of work. In prior years, we switched over dishes, cleared space in our cabinets, thoroughly cleaned everything up. We generally do at least one Seder at our house, generally for at least a dozen people. We try to stick with Kosher for Passover foods for the week but though the selection has expanded significantly over the years, it’s still somewhat limited in certain respects, even more so in light of the COVID-19 crisis. Between the seder(s) and a week’s worth of Kosher for Passover food, it can get pretty expensive. Further, I find that no matter how wide of a selection of food we have, after three or four days, I’m ready to strangle a puppy if it would mean I’d end up with a bagel instead of a piece of matzah.

In light of this, what would possess me to call Passover one of my favorite holidays?

Because the good stuff far outweighs any negatives, even now, isolated as we all are.

Growing up, Passover was always a very special time. Thinking of our extended family seders in my grandparents’ apartment in Brooklyn, at which we’d have (incredibly) as many as 30 people attending, always brings a smile to my face. It was the one time each year we’d see many of those relatives, and tables would meander through the living room, into the dining area, and end up right next to the apartment’s sole exit. We’re probably lucky a fire marshal never wandered by or they probably would have shut us down.

More than anything, however, it was the sense of love and kinship I felt during those classic seders: joking around with my brothers, cousins, and other relatives, listening to the various passages of the Haggadah (the special prayer book used only during Passover) and reading some of those passages aloud myself as we progressed through the service, passing the reading baton from person to person. I can still remember the feel of some of that language on my tongue, the unique, often poetic phrasings. I remember the cloyingly sweet taste of the Concord Grape Juice (which I later discovered didn’t taste any differently than the Concord Grape Wine¹). I remember my brothers and cousins and I negotiating with my grandfather over the missing afikomen² (one of the ceremonial matzahs used during the service). When we were very young, the prize, as I recall, was a silver dollar coin (if only I’d kept them…). In later years, it was a far more commonplace, but equally appreciated, crisp $5 bill. I remember that exciting, magical moment when we opened the door to welcome in the spirit of the mysterious and mystical prophet Elijah (kind of the Gandalf of Jewish history and lore. And did his ceremonial cup of wine lower ever-so-slightly as he took a sip? I like to think it did…)³. I remember our custom of competitively reading the verses of the Passover songs ‘Chad Gadya’ or ‘Who Knows One?’ in a single breath at the end of the service. The smells and taste of the food, as you might imagine, were divine. My grandmother was an inspired cook and she pulled out all the stops for Passover.

Second Seder at my parents’ home was a similar affair. My mom was a formidable cook herself and never failed to impress, especially for holiday meals (she was always a good sport when we teased her about her geometrically pristine matzah balls).

Though I don’t recall us having quite as many people as my grandparents had, we nevertheless had tables winding through our tiny dining room and into the living room. In fact, due to the cramped layout of the house, guests sitting on the far side of the main table near the kitchen would actually have to exit the house via the side door and walk around to the front door to be able to get to our sole bathroom (the only other option would have been crawling under the table). We often wondered whether the neighbors thought walking around the outside of the house on Passover was part of some arcane Jewish ritual.

At some point during his adolescence, my older brother Milt employed his artistic talents (such as they were) in one of our Haggadahs and drew representations of the ten plagues on the page that listed them. In subsequent years, it was fun to see who got the lucky book. No one cared that some of the other books acquired wine stains or matzah crumbs from the previous year. It was part of the charm of the experience. Those books have lived long and interesting lives.

On Passover mornings, Mom would often treat my dad, my three brothers, and I to her immaculate matzah brei (a delicious combination of matzah and scrambled eggs). Over the course of the week, we’d have the leftovers from our seder dinner, we'd have gefilte fish, dried apricots, nuts, macaroons, chocolate marshmallow twists and chocolate ring-gels, among other delicacies associated with the holiday. It was fun using our Passover dishes. When I was very young, we actually used separate dairy and meat dishes and utensils. All these different customs, foods, and family made for a special, memorable week.

Now, so many years later, my grandparents, an alarming percentage of those relatives, and even my parents, are gone. Two of my three brothers live out of state and it’s been decades since all four of us sat at a Passover Seder together. Some of the other relatives who attended those seders have likewise scattered across the country. Some have created their own customs and now spend Passover with their families. Seder duties, initially split between my mom and my aunt after my grandmother passed, later fell solely to my mom when my aunt and uncle moved to Florida. Nancy and I initially provided support to her and in recent years, took on Second Seder. With my mom’s illness and subsequent passing in 2018, we took on both of them.

This year is even more different. Physically gathering with family and friends is not only irresponsible in the time of COVID-19. It’s dangerous. Instead, we’ll be meeting ‘virtually’ using video conferencing platforms. There will only be three of us in physical attendance: Nancy, myself, and my daughter, Julianna.

Does it suck? Totally! Am I struggling to generate enthusiasm about it? That’s a big yes! It would be easy to become maudlin about it. But time marches on. Life swirls with change, evolution, possibility, hope.

Yes, it’s different. Yes, even under non-COVID-19 conditions, attendees at our seders have numbered closer to ten than thirty. Yes, many of the people who gathered for them in those hallowed halls of memory aren’t here to do it anymore. But finding meaning and joy in Life is a matter of perspective. It can still be fun. Old customs mix with new to create something unique and beautiful. We’re blessed with wondrous technology that allows us to share the holiday with a semblance of unity. My daughter remains passionate about her Jewish heritage and loves celebrating it. Even as she approaches the age of 19, I remain able to re-embrace the rites, rituals, and remembrances of Passover by filtering them through her enthusiasm. New memories bloom like the finest flowers of Spring. New history forms like wind and rain etching patterns in ancient stone. Life evolves, flourishes, endures.

I don’t purport to know all that much, but I do know this: Life moves on. It moves forward

And so will we.

Regardless of what faith you follow, I wish you a Passover filled with love, joy, and tradition!

Thank you for reading.

 ~~~

Footnotes

 

1. There’s a hilarious scene in an episode of the sitcom, ‘Frasier’ in which the aristocratic, decidedly non-Jewish Frasier pretends to be Jewish in order to placate the mother of a woman he's dating (who at first believes him to be Jewish as well). Frasier convinces his brother and father to play along to typically disastrous effect. During one scene, Frasier and his brother Niles are preparing drinks but are stymied by the fact that Manischewitz is not part of their wine repertoires. In desperation, Niles dumps two heaping teaspoons of sugar into an otherwise normal glass of red wine, briskly stirs it and offers it to Frasier, who takes a sip, scowls, and declares, “This is dreadful!” Niles replies, “It’s perfect!"
2.  Contrary to standard tradition in which the seder leader hides the afikomen, the children find it, and are rewarded for their efforts, our family tradition was for the kids to hide it and then bargain with the seder leader (my grandfather) for its return. On describing this custom to Nancy many years ago, she gave me one of those slightly bemused, slightly dismayed expressions that every person who has ever had a significant other has at some point seen from that significant other. Then, with typically hilarious sarcasm, she said something like, “I see. So, you’re okay with our daughter stealing a valuable item necessary for use during a religious service and extorting you for its return? Such a great lesson!” Once she put it like that, I became a staunch proponent of the standard custom…
3. At one such seder before my time, the participants arrived at this pivotal moment. Someone rose from their chair to open the door to welcome in Elijah, only to find Agostino Gualitieri, a family friend, standing in the doorway with his fist raised to knock on the door. He was just dropping by for a visit; had no idea it was Passover…