Excerpts:
Five Kids for One Penny
by Charlotte Birsinger & C.F. Stewart
The following several paragraphs are examples of one of the most poignant, clever, and endearing books written in a while. The two authors, both not spring chickens, collaborated to produce a lasting work that should entertain for years to come.
EXCERPT 1:
I’m sitting in the most comfortable chair I own trying to decide whether to watch “Judge Judy,” finish my taxes, or try and figure out how I got so old so fast. It seems like yesterday that I did the wash by hand and hung the clothes on a cotton rope. I put wood in big iron stoves and tried to guess when it was hot enough to bake a pie. My milk was delivered in glass bottles, and the iceman came every other day. Now, I can do just about everything with the flick of a wrist: check my bank account, pay my bills, put milk in my no-frost refrigerator, and use my very expensive oven that does everything but serve the food.
For me, all this marvelous progress materialized in the blink of an eye. One moment you’re watching your mother change your brother’s diapers and the next thing you know some doctor is telling you that nuts aren’t compatible with an aging colon. In between those life-changing events someone invented television, cell phones, SUVs, and home computers.
EXCERPT 2:
From the Introduction
In 1957 the mafia was killing off their hierarchy at a fascinating pace. Albert Anastasia got rubbed out in a barber shop by hit men from the Gambino family. A myriad of lower echelon bosses met the same fate. In 1957, people talked more about the mafia then they did about sex. All the while J. Edgar Hoover was saying, “There ain’t no mafia.” Then some industrious constabulary types got wind of a crime syndicate meeting in Appalachin, New York. The next thing you know all these non-existent gangsters are running through the woods in silk suits trying to escape from some real life cops.
In the arts, Eugene O’Neill published Long Days Journey into Night, and the Bridge on the River Kwai won the academy award for best picture. In literature, JFK won a Pulitzer for Profiles in Courage.
In Science and politics, Russia launches a Spudnik, Anthony Eden resigns as Prime Minister of England, and Dwight D. Eisenhower is the President of the United States.
All this important stuff is going on all around us and the only thing on our minds was to figure out how to buy a 14-unit apartment house on Fulton Street in San Francisco.
EXCERPT 3:
Naked guys I can handle; naked guys with rifles need the cops. It took me about a New York minute to call San Francisco’s finest. A real problem surfaced almost immediately; I didn’t know where the nude guy lived. Fortunately, San Francisco’s finest are not the Keystone Cops. They investigated the problem and determined that the culprit lived in apartment 9. What ensued was right out of Quentin Taratino.
Over the years we had every character imaginable. From a couple of Russian Sister who were convinced that the KGB was out to murder them or worse to a psychopath who rigged a shot gun to blow the brains out of whomever happened to open his apartment door. After a couple of years of interviewing perspective tenants in our other properties, I developed a sixth sense. I could tell when a perspective tenant had wacko possibilities. But, on a couple of occasions, my wacko antenna was not always tuned to its highest frequency. Sometimes someone would slip through the radar.
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