I try to write about ancient stuff, before our daughters were born. I always wanted to know what my Dad was doing before I was born, and presume that it will interest our daughters, and the thousands of people, who will eventually read this article.

Ancient History

I met Jayne on a 1981 Friday night, at Mickey’s bar, in TriBeCa. Mickey’s closed two weeks after we met, and ironically became a gay heath club. We lived in a large, one bedroom apartment, on Riverside Drive, with a piano, and an eight-foot Brunswick Heirloom pool table in our living room.

TriBeCa was trendy, but it was not expensive at that time. After Mickey’s closed, three of the bartenders (Ace, Gary, and ?) were able to open The Raccoon Lodge, which is still open, two blocks away.

Jayne and I liked going there on Sunday afternoons, when it was nearly empty. We always sat at the far end of the bar, near the pool table, usually with Annie and Rob.

Annie was a thirtyish elementary school teacher, who was friendly with Jayne. Annie lived in a large loft, on the fourth floor of a converted warehouse, that you reached in a manual elevator — it moved when you pulled on cloth covered rope.

I liked Annie, but I did not spend much time with her. I chiefly recall that she sewed her own blouses and skirts, and came to our apartment a few times to play with Jayne’s sewing machine.

What Happened to Rob Anthony?

I enjoyed playing pool with Rob. Rob was a very good player, and also popular with women, partly because of his looks, but mainly, because he was a nice guy. Rob was almost always happy, too.

Rob Anthony looked like a soap star, except for a small bald spot on top of his head, and crow’s feet, around his eyes – from 40 years of happy living. Rob built expensive custom cabinets, in a small basement workshop, just south of Canal Street. But his love was his theater company — I wish I could remember its name.

Incidentally, I would like to know if Rob is still alive, because I could not find him with Google.

Not so incidentally, my back is starting to hurt, very badly, so I will make this quick.

Rob was unhappy one day. He had a sold-out, six-day production, opening in two days, and his piano player, who was the entire orchestra, just broke his arm. I challenged my wife, who always bragged, “I can play whatever I can read, and I can read everything,” to fill in. Jayne took a day off work, to practice, and performed admirably. I cannot recall the name of the play, only that there was a lot of piano background music.

Nevertheless, I can clearly recall, the first time Jayne met Rob at Raccoon Lodge, after her performances. Rob was beaming, and bought us drinks. He removed a small leather notebook from his jacket, and was about to say something to Jayne, when she held up a finger, and said:

Don’t ask me to do that again

We met in November 1981, on a blustery evening, at Mickey's Bar, in Manhattan’s TriBeCa, and got married six weeks later, in Manhattan's City Hall.

Jayne was the most intelligent person I ever met, and we were attracted to each other immediately. She used to say that I was smarter than anyone she met in medical school, except for a fellow named Monty, who dropped out of medical school, to become a professional surfer.

I never met Monty, who supposedly moved to Hawaii, although Jayne made several attempts to locate him.

Jayne and I constantly encouraged each other to learn new stuff. I studied computer programming at NYU for six weeks (long story), and she entered an anesthesiology residency at St. Vincent's Hospital. Jayne was the last American to complete this residency in two years, before the requirements were changed.

Playing Pool

Shortly after our marriage, Jayne and I decided to become better pool (pocket billiards) players.

First, we bought a used, eight foot, Brunswick Heirloom pool table, from Ron Blatt, of Blatt Billiards, for our living room. Then we studied Willie Mosconi On Pocket Billiards, and practiced until we were able to win a few tournaments at Raccoon Lodge, which was located on Warren Street, two blocks East of Mickey's Bar.

Raccoon Lodge, named after the fraternal organization in The Honeymooners, was opened by three of the bartenders from Mickey's, after Mickey's closed in early 1982.

We were known as “the newlyweds” at Raccoon Lodge, until we regrettably gave up our rent-controlled apartment, on Riverside Drive, and moved to Georgia, in 1986.

We moved several more times, to Fort Lauderdale, Atlanta, and finally to Bedford, New York, in Westchester County, before a 1995 divorce.

More About Jayne

For more about Jayne, read what I wrote on her last two birthdays, in 2007, and 2008. I promise to write more about her in the future, because nobody changed my life as much as her.

Jayne also saved my life, after a horrific car accident in 1986.

Jayne died in 2004.

I met Jayne at Mickey’s Bar in Manhattan, on a Friday in November 1981. Mickey’s was a great place, in a great location, on the corner of Warren Street and Greenwich Avenue, back when TriBeCa felt like a small town.

We both liked going to Mickey’s, which catered to varied tastes, with a pool table, and a dance floor. I came to play pool, Jayne came to dance, and we got married six weeks later.

Our first Christmas together was in those six weeks, and it was the day we decided to get married.

Jayne said it was a good day to visit her friend Cliff, and she drove about 60 miles, from Manhattan, to Eastern Long Island, to do so. We chatted on the ride out, but all she said about Cliff was, “You’ll see.”

Cliff was the owner of “Elm Air,” and he had a plane reserved for Jayne. She nonchalantly rented a Cessna 152 from him, and flew us to Martha’s Vineyard.

Martha’s Vineyard was wildly appealing, although wildly impractical. Since neither of us had ever been there before, we chose a modest goal for our trip: Lunch.

We had our choice of taxis after we landed, but all the drivers laughed when we said that we wanted Lunch.

“You can’t eat anywhere without a reservation, and you can’t get a reservation on Christmas.”

When the cabbies quit laughing, they came up with a restaurant, and the fellow at the head of the line drove us to an attractive restaurant, where the limos were double parked. Inside the restaurant, several well–dressed couples scowled, when we joined the reservation line, which was lorded over by an employee, the head scowler.

Jayne seemed resigned to a long wait, but I recognized this as an opportunity. I excused myself, and got around the line, and into the restaurant, by asking for the bathroom. I had worked as a waiter, and I had an idea. I looked around, and found a busboy who did not seem very busy. I said, “Tell the waiter you work for to come speak to me, and I will give each of you something when he arrives.”

Moments later, we were marching triumphantly through the dining room, blazing a new trail, for a new table. Busboy was in front, carrying a table, chairs were spontaneously generated, and Waiter had the rest. This stirred up the scowlers, culminating when an ill–mannered scowler grabbed Busboy, and held his arms so he couldn’t open the table. The head scowler appeared almost instantaneously, said something about “ejected,” and Busboy was freed to a collective sigh from the scowlers.

The defining moment came after we were seated. We looked at each other and we knew. We were married three weeks later.

We flew together many times, and she delighted in torturing me by turning the engine off, and asking:

“How long can I wait before I have to turn it on?“

Jayne and I believed that between the two us: we knew everything. It’s too bad that we didn’t know enough to stay married.