I Made It

On December 12, 2020 at 7:35 PM I reached the age of eighty. I know that there seems to be a lot of people living past eighty these days, but still, the 2010 census shows that only 4.8% of the population made it that far. I had my doubts that I'd make it, particularly during the past couple years when out-of-control blood pressure issues and a triple by-pass made things look bleak. And then there's family history. To my knowledge I am the first male in both my paternal and maternal line of male ancestors dating back to the early 1800s to reach eighty. I would have liked to have had a celebration, but circumstances are not what they were when I wrote the following post on my old blog in Peru five years ago:

###################

Yesterday me and Frank Sinatra celebrated our birthdays. Frank was 100, or would have been if he hadn’t died in 1998. But when you’re a somebody like Frank it doesn’t matter if you’re dead…people continue to celebrate your birthday. Family, Friends and wannabes show up at some posh location decked out in their finest hoping to be seen on the next day’s news. And they don’t have to pony up for presents.

I was 75 yesterday. I didn’t think I’d make it this far. When I was a kid life expectancy was 67 years. You retired at 65 and died two years later, hopefully having enjoyed the allotted 730 days of your golden years. Now life expectancy is 79. That raises a question…which mortality table applies to me? If I go by the 1940 table I’ve lived eight years longer than average. Based on the 2014 table I’ve can expect maybe four or more years before my ticket to the white light express gets punched. But I guess it doesn’t matter. I’m still on the right side of the grass and enjoying life and that’s what counts.

the Tom Filipowicz Combo 

Frank and I have more in common than just birthdates. Frank was a singer. I was a singer. Frank earned a lot of money and won many awards for his singing. I did not. In the late 1950s and early 60s I had a band called the Tom Filipowicz Combo. There were four of us. I was the vocalist. We performed for weddings, birthdays, graduations and other activities, earning not much more than expense money. I added a female vocalist to the group who turned out to be pretty good, and shortly after that two of the guys suggested we go to Vegas and take a shot at breaking into the big time. I chickened out. They went, and one-by-one became disillusioned and went on to other things, except for Terry (playing the guitar) who stayed in Vegas and lived out his life as a session musician. Those were different times. The band and my voice are long gone, though I can still occasionally be heard in the shower belting out, ’…and that’s why the lady is a tramp!’

as Herr Schultz in Cabaret singing the pineapple song

Frank was an actor. I was an actor. Frank earned a lot of money and won many awards for his acting. I did not. I was okay as a community actor; at least the local reviewers thought so. My favorite role was that of the defense attorney Sir Wilfrid Robarts in Agatha Christie’s…’The Witness for the Prosecution.’ My favorite production was ‘Cabaret’ staged by the Actors Repertory Theater. I portrayed Herr Schultz. The male and female leads were New York professionals as was the director. The rest of us were locals. We did 17 evening shows and two matinees – each performance to a packed house. That was my first paid acting gig. I still have a copy of the first check somewhere. My acting in Cabaret led to some paid script writing and acting for in-house promotions for a Green Bay television station for about a year, but that was the extent of my paid entertainment career. Thankfully I never gave up my day job. For the next few years I acted in and directed more plays at the community level than I can remember, but it gradually reached a point where it wasn't fun anymore, so that facet of my life ended. 

There were gala celebrations for Frank in many major cities in the USA and around the planet plus an all-star television special, but the “really big shew” as Ed Sullivan used to say was at the Saban Theater in Beverly Hills. Frank Sinatra Jr. and everyone who is anyone was there. Afterwards they probably dined on exotic dishes like Coquilles Saint-Jacques followed by bùche for desert and drank Dom Perignon at $400 a bottle.

My birthday party was at a back table in Chili’s restaurant in the Chiclayo, Peru mall. We dined on exotic dishes with names like ‘big mouth burger’ and ‘chicken fried chicken’ and drank Peruvian beer at $2 a pop. Okay…so it wasn’t the Saban Theater and there were no television cameras or tuxedos or fancy foods, but friends being together sharing convivial conversation and laughter aren’t the exclusive domain of high-rollers at celebrity parties, and we had our share of both.

   

In the evening there was another celebration, this time with family at a restaurant on the sixth floor of the Saranga Hotel. These are some of the same folks I celebrated my sixty-fifth birthday with, except for my niece CJ who is seven. At that time I had known them and Maribel for only four days, being on my first trip to Peru.

After returning home Maribel commented that “the whole day flowed like a river.” It really did. This was one of my more enjoyable birthdays. It was a relaxing day spent with friends and family. I couldn't ask for more.

Maybe in five years I’ll write another post about our birthdays when Frank is 105 and I’m 80. I’ll bet Frank’s party won’t be nearly as spectacular as the one this year. Reaching 105 is no big deal if you’re dead. It’s automatic…everyone does it. Turning 80 will be a milestone for me and I’ll be ready for another party. But this time no Chili’s restaurant. I’m thinking that the San Martin Ballroom at the JW Marriott Hotel in Lima Peru will be the place to be Saturday evening, December 12, 2020. Watch your email for the invitation.

########################

It feels like just yesterday that I wrote that post, and yet so much has changed since then. There was no party at the Marriott Hotel in Lima. There was no party anywhere. We had begun thinking about one earlier in the year, considering several commercial venues in the Chattanooga area but ultimately decided that it would be more fun and less formal if we did it at our house. We settled on six couples, totaling fourteen people with me and Maribel. It would have been cozy in our house but doable. We were already apprehensive about Covid-19 and when the "Thanksgiving surge" began we agreed that we did not want to be responsible for a social gathering where the virus could spread so cancelled the plans. I'll admit I was disappointed but as it turned out that wasn't the end of the story. 

A celebration doesn't have to include lots of people, music, dancing or speeches. All that is necessary to commemorate a special event is to have people who think enough about you to want to be with you to mark the occasion. So last Saturday night on my birthday me, Maribel and our neighbor friends Tim and Alisha enjoyed a good meal and conversation at Logan's Steakhouse, followed by cake and beverage at our house. I very much appreciated them being with us. 

And it wasn't over yet. Today there was another celebration at the home of some Chattanooga friends, Pete and Kim (lower). Also there were Dave and Vickie (right). Kim had prepared a great lunch and Vickie had baked my favorite cake...cherry nut.  

A word about friends. In my 80 years I have seen so many friends come and go. It's sometimes sad to think about the people who for one reason or another are no longer in my life, but drifting apart seems to be inevitable. I am happy now with the people who I call friends, and hope that they'll be around for my 90th. 

So considering the birthday dinner with Tim and Alisha; the luncheon with Pete, Kim, Dave and Vickie, plus according to Maribel the seventy eight electronic birthday wishes from friends and family in the US and Peru, and having the best wife a man could have at my side, I would say that I couldn't have asked for a better birthday celebration.