GeorgiaBeforePeople

Hurricane Helene left >90% of Augusta, Georgia without power including me. Ironically, in my last blog post before the storm, I mentioned it was a below average hurricane season. Maybe the God of irony was punishing me.

I awoke at 4:12 am on September 26th to take a leak and noticed the power was out. It sounded like a freight train outside, and I could hear sticks and tree limbs striking the house relentlessly. The racket prevented me from falling back asleep. I lit a candle, little knowing how long I was going to have to keep it burning. At the time I was hoping the power would be restored by 5:00 pm that evening because every Friday I enjoy getting drunk and stoned while listening to music on my Alexa. I did not know we would be without power for more than 132.5 hours, breaking the 2014 record 5-day power outage at my house caused by an ice storm. I did realize power was going to be out for some time when later that day we went for a drive around town. There were uprooted hardwood trees everywhere, and many pine trees were broken in half. Fallen trees rested on numerous houses. There were no working traffic lights. (Drivers are supposed to treat these as 4-way stops, but most people don’t know this, and I nearly got into several traffic accidents.) Abandoned cars were left throughout the area because there were few open gas stations, and they had run out of gas. The few gas stations that were open had lines a quarter mile long. Many panicked citizens were filling up gas cans for their generators. Power lines were also down all over the place, and fallen trees blocked some roads. We found a Publix supermarket that was open, and we bought a few things we thought we needed. We stayed in line for over an hour. We bought staples, but I was surprised how much junk food people were purchasing.

Some roads in Augusta were blocked for days by fallen debris.

This power line dangled hazardously on this busy road for days.

It’s still humid during early October in Augusta and with no air conditioning or ceiling fans, we sat and sweated. I did have a battery-operated CD player with a radio that picked up a few stations. I got tired of NPR and their “balanced” coverage of the Arab-Israeli conflict when they give equal coverage to Jew-killing terrorists, and the Jewish victims of that terrorism. It didn’t pick up any sports stations, and we couldn’t listen to football games. Being without television and internet was boring. I hated washing dishes with cold water in the dark. We did not have a good flashlight, and I broke some dishes because I could not see, missed the counter, and dropped them on the floor. A stack of dirty laundry stunk up the house. My wife handwashed some of her panties, and I hung them to dry. We tried some uncomfortably cold showers, but mostly we relied on bird baths. The experience totally sucked. Finally, power was restored over five and a half days later, but it took over a week for Xfinity to restore our internet–about 7 days longer than I thought it would. Luckily, when I signed up for Xfinity internet service, I rejected their deal to switch to cable tv or I would have had no television for another week as well. I’m glad I stayed with DirectTV which was available as soon as we got power restored. That was the longest period of time I went without internet since October of 1997 when I bought our first computer.

A pile of dirty clothes stunk up the darkened house.

I didn’t lose any weight during our ordeal. I had leftover baked chicken, coleslaw and rolls prepared ahead of time, so I wouldn’t have to cook during weekend football games. I bought 1 of the last bags of ice from the corner convenience store and put it in the freezer. I moved food from the refrigerator to the freezer and that kept food cool for 2 days, like with an old-fashioned ice box. On Sunday my neighbor let me use his outdoor propane stove to fry fish and hushpuppies, and I saved the only meat left in my freezer from spoiling. We went to the local community center on a whim and discovered a working electrical outlet where we could charge our cell phones. I used an electric skillet here to make pancakes and bacon. Another supper consisted of canned soups cooked on a chafing dish. We also ate a lot of cheese and peanut butter on bread and bagels.

Potato pancakes, tomato salad, and delicata squash. This was the first meal I made after power was restored. The local grocery store didn’t have any fresh meats, dairy products, or lettuce. I only lost about $15 worth of food–a fairly new jar of Hellman’s mayo, a carton of eggs, and some partly used exotic soft cheeses. I didn’t throw out the hard cheeses, and they seemed ok.

The federal government’s response was impressive, contrary to what some ignorant naysayers claim. The army was handing out MRE’s, bags of ice, and big bottles of water, though we didn’t need them. One of my daughter’s co-workers’ lived in a house destroyed by a fallen tree. FEMA provided them with housing in 3 days.

A weird thing happened to me the Friday night after the hurricane. I have a great CD collection that collects dust, since I began listening to music on the internet. As is my tradition, I listened to music while I drank a bottle of wine and enjoyed a THC edible. I rediscovered the James Gang’s Greatest Hits, Elton John’s Honky Chateau album, and I educated my wife and daughter about how Abbey Road by the Beatles should be listened to in its entirety. After they went to the bed, I sat at the kitchen table (as I do every Friday night) and continued to listen to music by candlelight. I got up to take a leak in the bathroom on the opposite side of the house from where my wife was sleeping. It was pitch dark, and I was so stoned, I forgot where I was. I called out to my wife, so I could figure out where I was, but she was asleep and couldn’t hear me. I suddenly began to think I had died and gone to a different dimension. I tried to relax and accept my fate, though I worried what my daughter and disabled wife would do without me. I felt along the wall and kept going until I saw the faint candlelight on the kitchen table, much to my relief. I was not dead after all.

I got drunk and stoned by candlelight. I went to take a leak and got lost in my house.

I’m writing this article for fellow old men over the age of 55 years old who are experiencing erectile disfunction and are considering the option of getting a prescription for a boner pill.

I always had a reliable erection since well before puberty, and I rarely had a problem performing in the bedroom. Throughout my late 50’s, I noticed a decline in the frequency of my erections, but I still could have successful performances when needed. I used to joke that old people sex wasn’t as good as young people sex, but it was better than no sex at all. My partner (my wife) and I have enjoyed lovemaking twice a week for decades. I long realized I wasn’t the stud I used to be, but I was satisfied with my sex drive for my age. About 6 weeks before my 62nd birthday, I began having a hard time sustaining an erection. I could get an erection, but it wouldn’t stay hard enough for long enough. Sometimes, I would lose my erection in the middle of intercourse. That was not satisfactory. We would then try mutual masturbation, and sometimes I would ejaculate without even getting hard. That was definitely not satisfactory. I began researching boner pills, now constantly promoted on television advertisements.

I take the generic sildenafil. It’s white and round. The original was blue and diamond-shaped and much more expensive.

About 30 years ago, scientists were working on developing a new medication to treat high blood pressure and chest pain. They invented sildenafil, a drug in the class of phosphodiesterase-5 inhibitors. Ph-5 is an enzyme that prevents men from having constant erections. Researchers discovered 1 of the side effects of taking this medication was improved blood flow to the penis. A slightly altered form of sildenafil is used for treating high blood pressure, but the drug company realized the market for treating erectile disfunction was potentially much more lucrative because there already were many blood pressure medicines but nothing for treating erectile disfunction. The FDA approved sildenafil (known as Viagra) in 1998. Several other PH-5 drugs have been approved since including tadafil (Cialis), avanfil (Stendra), and vardafil (Lenitra). Studies show these drugs work better than placebos by a statistically significant margin, though men taking placebos often respond positively as well, showing erectile disfunction can be a psychological issue. Another study found no evidence men develop a tolerance for these drugs and need ever higher dosages, so they are not physically addicting like heroin.

I was concerned some evidence suggests these types of drugs can cause vision problems. A study of 213,000 health insurance claims found men who regularly took boner pills were almost twice as likely to develop vision problems. A case study was published of 17 men who took boner pills for the first time and experienced vision problems that lasted for as long as 3 weeks. Men who take these medications were twice as likely to suffer retinal detachment and 44% more likely to experience ocular vascular occlusions. High risk groups include people with high blood pressure, men who have low blood pressure when they sleep, and men who inherit the risk of getting retinal pigmentosa. Men who suffered heart attacks were 10 times more likely to develop vision problems. I decided to take the risk because it was small, and going blind wouldn’t be the end of the world. I planned to learn how to play the xylophone and figure out how to do housework while blind, if I did become sightless. I made an appointment with my doctor’s physician’s assistant because she could see me sooner than my doctor. When I made the appointment the secretary told me the physician’s assistant was a woman, and I had to assure her this wouldn’t bother me. I wanted to try the drug, but I wasn’t going to order a medicine this important from some dodgy online source. The physician’s assistant gave me a perfunctory exam and classified it as a wellness visit, so the insurance company would pay for it. I described my condition in detail, and she told me it was not unusual for a 61-year-old man to experience erectile disfunction. She prescribed 100 milligrams a day of sildenafil, but suggested I take half a pill (50 milligrams). The generic pills are cheap–$1.25 each–and are definitely worth the price.

I’m very careful when taking drugs, and I take 50 milligrams before lunch on Wednesdays and 25 milligrams on Sunday mornings when I awake. (My partner and I have had a regular twice a week schedule for decades–Wednesday afternoons and Sunday mornings.) I respond well to sildenafil. I start to feel it working after about 15 minutes. All I have to do is think about something sexy, and I have an erection that lasts as long as needed. For some time before I started taking sildenafil, I wondered whether I was simply tired of my partner. We’d made love ~3,148 times, and I thought maybe I just couldn’t keep it up for the 3,149th time. I can now banish that thought. When I have a strong sildenafil-induced erection my partner seems more desirable. The drug exceeded my expectations. I only wanted to turn the clock back by a couple of months, but now I can screw like a 30-year-old porn star. The refractory period is shorter. I can get a 2nd erection after resting for 15 minutes or so, though it is harder to ejaculate–I’m still a 62-year-old man. I’ve experienced no failures so far and have taken the pill over 20 times. However, my partner knows I can perform better, and she expects more from me. She’s a very demanding woman.

Side effects are minimal. My vision does get a little shady with a bluish tint, but nothing close to an impairment. I get a little congested–a side effect I also experience when starting to drink wine. I feel like I need to burp a little–pretty mild, if a person considers this indigestion. None of these symptoms last more than an hour or two.

The last time I made love before I began the medication, I had a successful performance, and I wanted to try unmedicated sex before writing this article. This didn’t happen because I saw no reason not to bring my A-game with boner pills still in my medicine cabinet. I’m going to keep this prescription filled for the rest of my life. I noticed many years ago that I also had better performances when I was hungover after a night of binge drinking, and I wonder if alcohol withdrawal creates a similar biochemical response as a PH-5 inhibitor.

I’m too lazy this week to add a reference section to this article, but there are dozens of studies about PH-5 inhibitors that are easily found and accessible online with a simple google search.

A History of Dr. Arthur Gelbart’s Ancestors

Dr. Arthur Gelbart (1930-2014) was an Ashkenazi Jew born in the small town of Buczacz (pronounced Buchach) when it belonged to Poland. Today, Buczacz is in the Ukraine. Genetic studies of Ashkenazi Jews are contradictory, but the best study that used the largest sample size suggests they are an admixture of Middle Eastern Jewish men and southern Italian women. As early as 400 BC Jewish merchants began traveling around the world. They were seeking better economic opportunities than could be found in the kingdom of Judea which was repeatedly overrun and destroyed by expanding empires. Though Judea achieved some measure of independence for a while, the expansion of the Roman empire ended the existence of the Jewish state for almost 2000 years. The Romans ethnically cleansed Judea beginning in the year 37 AD when King Herod, a Jewish puppet of the Romans, conquered Jerusalem and exiled thousands of Jews throughout the Roman Empire. 

After King Herod’s death the Romans made Judea a province of Rome. The Jews rebelled from 66 AD-73 AD, but the rebellion was crushed, and Jewish men were enslaved and distributed throughout the Roman Empire. According to the Jewish historian, Josephus, 97,000 Jews were removed from Judea and enslaved. The Bar Kohba rebellion (132 AD-136 AD), an even more brutal uprising, was also crushed and more Jews were enslaved and exiled throughout the Roman Empire. Crusaders who invaded the region in 1096 AD produced more Jewish refugees from the remnant population of Jews.

Evidentially, Jewish merchants and freed Jewish slaves married southern Italian women and converted them to Judaism. The genetic evidence is an ironic twist because in Jewish tradition there is the belief a person isn’t Jewish unless their matrilineal line of descent is Jewish. There may have been a shortage of Roman men during this time period because so many Roman soldiers were killed or away on duty when the Roman Empire battled across Europe, North Africa, and Persia.

Ashkenazi Jews left Italy during the 9th century and settled in the southern Rhine valley region of what is now Germany where they developed the Yiddish language–a combination of Hebrew and medieval German. Many were merchants and skilled artisans, and the nobility, large landowners who used peasant labor, wanted Jews on their estates to improve local economies. Whenever economic times turned bad, the nobility often used Jews as scapegoats and unleashed ignorant peasants on them. Jews were forced to escape the wrath of the superstitious peasants who viewed them as nefarious outsiders. Throughout history, many Jewish communities were destroyed, long before the holocaust took place. A majority of the world’s population still holds an irrational hatred of Jews today. Most of the world still thinks it is a war crime when a Jew defends himself. 

The Catholic Church and their royal allies forced Jews to leave England, Germany, France, and Spain during the Middle Ages, but King Casomir of Poland invited Jews into Poland during 1343. The Polish nobility were seeking a boost to their local economies. Many countries did not allow Jews to own land, but by the 19th century, they could own land in Poland. By then an estimated 80% of the world’s Jewish population lived there. I can trace Dr. Arthur Gelbart’s ancestry back to some of his great grandparents–Osias Gelbart (1850-1913) and Nettie Gelbart (1845-1936). Dr. Arthur Gelbart’s grandfather, Markus Gelbart (1866-1943), was a farmer who raised bees and made mead from the honey his hives produced. He made his living selling mead delivered from his horse and buggy to taverns. He was a judge of local disputes, and his word was respected. He was also a famous poet, and the emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Franz Josef, invited him to recite his poetry at the royal court. (During this time period Poland was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.) Markus married Nettie Shneier, an orphan, and they had 6 children. She was an older woman with the same first name as his mother. Markus and Nettie were killed by the Nazis in 1943. I am his namesake.

Photo of Markus Gelbart, one of Dr. Arthur Gelbart’s grandfathers. I am named after him. He bears a striking resemblance to Arthur Gelbart.

Isador Gelbart (1899-1983), Dr. Arthur Gelbart’s father, was the 6th and youngest child of Markus and Nettie Gelbart. He was born in Zaleszczyki when it was part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Markus Gelbart couldn’t decide what kind of career Isador should have because his youngest son was physically small, and the kind of farm labor Markus performed was too difficult for him. Then, World War I raged across Europe, and the Austro-Hungarian Empire allied with Germany against France, England, and Russia. It’s unclear whether Isador enlisted or was drafted into the Austro-Hungarian Army, but he was in the cavalry by the age of 16 or 17, and he seemed to be headed for a career in the military. He recounted 3 incidents about his experience in the war. On 1 occasion he blundered and rode his horse behind enemy lines by accident. Instead of shooting or capturing him, an enemy officer turned Isador’s horse around and sent him in the right direction with a good kick on the horse’s hindquarters. On another occasion Isador found himself pointing his rifle at an enemy soldier at point blank range, while the other soldier held him at gunpoint as well. But neither soldier could pull the trigger. For some reason they could not fire, and they just stared at each other. Finally, Isador’s commander shot the other man in the leg, and they captured him. By astonishing coincidence, Isador met this same man many years after the war, and they became good friends.

Isador was promoted to captain, but the war ended the following day. At the time Isador considered this a great tragedy and contemplated suicide. However, he recovered and opened a shoe store in Buczacz, Poland that he managed until World War II. He married Regina Klarreich (1900-1985) and had 2 sons–Josef and Arthur.

Isador saved his immediate family during the Holocaust but lost his parents and all his surviving siblings including a brother and 2 sisters (2 older brothers died long before the war). The details of how Isador saved his family are the subject of a later chapter. After World War II the U.S. Army appointed Isador as a civilian administrative official in Germany. Despite losing most of his family to the Nazis, he protected former Nazis from vigilantes who wanted revenge. This put his own life in danger, so he quit this job. The C.I.A tried to recruit Isador as a spy. They wanted to drop him behind Russian lines using a parachute, but he declined this job opportunity. Instead, he moved to Germany where he met his 2nd wife–Elsa. (His divorce from Regina is also the subject of a future chapter.) He worked during the day and went to school at night and became a lawyer at the age of 60. He owned an apartment in Munich and a vacation home in Switzerland. He died in Lugano, Switzerland at the age of 84.

Isador Gelbart (2nd from the left) with his grandchildren (Susan, Elizabeth, and Mark) along with Dr. Arthur Gelbart. This photo was taken about 3 years before his death.

Regina Klarreich Gelbart was born in Nadvorna, now part of the Ukraine. Her parents were Samuel Klarreich and Henie Krenmitzer Klarreich. She was a generous woman who invited homeless bums over for every Shabbas dinner. She prodded Arthur to invite them back for the following week’s Shabbas dinner after they finished eating. As a young child, Arthur found them disgusting and smelly with snot stuck in their long beards. Nevertheless, he always followed his mother’s orders and invited the poor men to return on the next Friday night. Regina was an excellent cook and often made chicken soup, chopped chicken liver, fish court bullion, and meatballs in brown gravy.

Regina Klarreich Gelbart. She was a generous woman who fed homeless bums.

Regina had relatives living in the U.S. and was determined to leave Europe after the Holocaust. After the war she separated from Isador, but they reconciled. However, the reconciliation was short-lived, as I will discuss in a later chapter. Regina and Arthur moved to the U.S. during 1947, while Isador and Josef stayed in Germany. Regina and Arthur settled in the Bronx borough of New York City where she worked as a restaurant cashier. She was a tough old lady living in a bad neighborhood and often had to play tug of war with her purse in the apartment elevator. During 1972 a Puerto Rican teenager stabbed her and shoved her down a flight of stairs. Following this incident, Arthur moved her to a condominium in Hallandale, Florida where she lived out the rest of her life. She died on a bus ride to the store in 1985. She never learned how to drive a car.

References:

Boher, D. et. al.

“The Matrilineal Ancestry of Ashkenazi Jews: Portrait of a Recent Founder Event”

American Journal of Human Genetics 78 (3) 2006

Costa, M. et. al.

“A Substantial Prehistoric European Ancestry Amongst Ashkenazi Maternal Lineages”

Nature Communications October 2013

Gelbart, Isador Personal Papers

Nobol, A. et. al.

“Y Chromosome Evidence for a Founder Effect in the Ashkenazi Jews”

European Journal of Human Genetics 13 2005

Potok, Chaim

Wanderings: A History of the Jews

Fawcett Publications 1978

Culture Shock

I experienced culture shock when we moved from Niles, Ohio to Athens, Georgia. Before moving to the deep south my experience with the racial divide in this country was nil. As I noted earlier, Niles was a sundowner town until 1924. In the school I attended including kindergarten through 9th grade, there was 1 black child. There were more black people on the other side of town, but they literally lived on the other side of the tracks. The schools I attended in Athens, Georgia were maybe 30%-40% black. Though integrated for about 10 years, black kids and white kids did not sit next to each other in the cafeteria. This surprised me, and I could not understand why there was so little social interaction between whites and blacks. (This was during the mid-1970s. I know the situation is much better now in most Georgia schools.) During daily gym class when the gym teacher didn’t have a lesson plan, gym was more like recess. The white kids played soccer and the black kids played football or basketball. They didn’t even play together, though on 1 occasion the leaders of the white kids proposed a “salt vs pepper” rugby match with the leaders of the black kids. When informed of the potential for violent racial interaction, the gym teacher put a stop to it.

I could understand the southern accents spoken by the white kids, but I could not understand a single word the black kids were saying. It was like a foreign language to me. Nearly 50 years later, I now understand this language, partly through experience and partly because regional language differences are disappearing. Dialects are becoming more homogenized due to television and movies. I found certain phrases interesting. A common phrase was “I’m going to hit you upside the head.” I’m not sure exactly where “upside” is. Instead of saying, “I’m going to put the book away,” they would say, “I’m going to put that book up.” Also, in the south they don’t say, “I’m about to go to work.” They say, “I’m fixing to go to work.” My sisters were speaking southern dialect within weeks, but I never imitated it. To this day, I encounter people who think I talk funny. They think I have an English accent.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The natural history of Georgia was quite different as well. In Ohio oak trees prevailed. Most of Georgia’s landscapes consisted of abandoned cotton fields that by the 1970’s became 2nd growth pine forests. Originally, Georgia’s piedmont hosted oak, hickory, and pine, but when we lived in Athens our neighborhood was almost entirely pine. Oak woodlands were so rare that a UGA botany professor who lived a few doors down from us, specifically picked his house because it sat in the middle of a stand of pure oaks.

There was a beautiful pond within walking distance of our house. I believe it was manmade, but the outlet was a pretty little waterfall that led to a chain of beaver ponds nestled in a bottomland hardwood forest. It looked like wilderness. There were centuries old oaks on the edge of the pond. I went fishing with my friend from Texas, Mike Scott, every Saturday. He was my best friend during this time period and lived next door. Like most Texans, he was obsessed with guns and went around shooting birds with his pellet gun, even after his father warned him not to shoot songbirds. His father was a soil conservationist who worked for UGA. We almost never caught anything. So, when I caught an enormous catfish but lost it on the string I put it on, nobody believed us when we told them we caught a huge catfish. Another time, we were about to give up and leave, and as a joke Mike cast an unbaited hook with his back turned to the pond. He caught a crappie.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

There was 1 thing in common between northeast Ohio and the Deep South–football. The Niles Red Dragons high school football team had a 43-game unbeaten streak between 1959-1963 and still fielded good teams during the late 1960s and early 1970s when we watched them play. Football was so important the steel factory town of Niles had a stadium that seated 12,000 when the population of the whole town was 19,000. I decided to become a Georgia Bulldog fan when I learned we were moving to Georgia in late 1975. The first game I watched as a Georgia Bulldog fan was when Georgia scored 42 unanswered points in the first half against Georgia Tech. For a football fan that is a pretty good start. I attended several games during the 1976 SEC championship year. As a staff physician for the students, my father got free tickets and was busy during some of the game treating passed out drunks and old fat fans who suffered heart attacks from the excitement. The roar of 60,000 fans was awesome, though not as loud as today since the stadium now seats 90,000. Sanford Stadium had not yet been enclosed, and southern hippies sat on railroad tracks on a hill overlooking the field where they smoked pot and drank beer during the game. I listened to road games on the radio and learned to like the late Larry Munson who had a different style than the radio announcer of the Niles Red Dragons. Football was important in Ohio, but I’m not sure it is such a religion as it is in the Deep South.

Hippies sat on the railroad tracks watching Georgia games before Sanford Stadium was enclosed.

I’ve decided to start publishing new material on my blog again. The ads are less intrusive than they were 4 months ago, though occasionally the WordPress monkeys still stick one in between paragraphs, much to my annoyance. I tried to contact them to see, if they would compensate me, but I discovered it is not possible. It isn’t like the Wizard of Oz. I pulled the curtain back, and there was no one there. I sent a letter and got a return to sender notice.

I can’t even contact the people who own WordPress. Incidentally, that is my Yiddish studies in the notebook underneath the letter.

I’ve been working on my memoirs all summer. The title is The Living Crutch: My Life as a Longtime Caregiver. I am no longer self-publishing my books, and I hope a literary agent who wants to promote me discovers my work. That is the main purpose of this blog now, but I still have an interest in natural history and will sometimes write articles on that subject too. Most of my blog, however, will be devoted to releasing excerpts of my memoirs.

During the pandemic, publishers and literary agents were inundated with submissions from bad amateur writers who wrote about their experiences in isolation. They begged people to stop. I think I am better than most, but I am not a celebrity, and I can understand why not many agents or publishers would believe in the potential of my memoirs. I think it is too much to ask for an agent or publisher to pick out my manuscript when they are tired of reading through a slush pile of shit all day. Besides, my printer doesn’t work, and paper and ink are expensive.

First Record of the Giant Short-Faced Bear (Arctodus simus) in South Carolina

Squirrels and Blue Jays vs Acorn Tannins