Albert Einstein: “May the conscience and the common sense of the peoples be awakened, so that we may reach a new stage in the life of nations, where people will look back on war as an incomprehensible aberration of their forefathers.”

There was time when Long Beach New York’s boardwalk had no benches.

Today, about a thousand memorial benches line our boardwalk. They give us first-row orchestra seating to the greatest show on Long Island.

We might take our benches for granted when we see them on our walks, jogs, or bike rides. Maybe more of us need to read a few of the plaques on them as many of you already do.

I met stand-up comedian Ken Carr when he started his Five Thousand Mile Bike Ride from Long Beach, NY, to Long Beach, CA. He wanted to leave our City of Long Beach from his family’s memorial bench but couldn’t find it at the place he last saw it, Laurelton Blvd. Hurricane Sandy battered our boardwalk.

The city stored the benches after the storm and replaced them on the new boardwalk, but not always in their original spot.

But as Ken rolled down the New York Ave ramp, I told him I’d find his mom’s bench.

After he headed off, I did find it—right away—at the top of the same—New York Ave ramp—he just rode down. So, he did leave from the Carr family’s memorial bench after all. Sometimes, things work out just as they should.

Most plaques reflect losses through natural causes, some not natural—as in the 9/11 terror.

Michael Kiefer was a Long Beach lifeguard and one of 343 FDNY killed in World Trade Center terrorist attack.

But for many of us, the benches are welcome respites from our walks,

jogs,

bike rides,

or just sun fatigue. 

On a warm day, they are places to chat with those we love but who can’t share this bench with us.

Our benches are places of silent mediation…

…or simply a place to raise our feet…

…or signal—a touchdown.

Our benches, made of recycled plastic, were often broken, especially at the seats’ ends. We don’t have much vandalism in Long Beach, but I thought the breakage resulted from criminal mischief.

However, James, part of a Long Beach crew making the repairs, told me it was mainly through exercise enthusiasts who box jump to the benches’ ends. Another source told me exercise bands do similar damage.

I came upon James and Henry renovating the benches this fall.

James said they were making the ends shorter to limit box jumping damage.

James said, “I wouldn’t go to the local cemetery and jump on people’s headstones; these are memorials, why would you jump on somebody’s memorial? If my wife had passed and I had a bench for her, I would be furious if somebody was jumping on my bench.” James has a point.

So, it might be good to heed James’ words, and use other platforms for box jumping and band flexing.

Our memorial benches are as iconic as the boardwalk itself. So enjoy them, but be respectful.

Enjoy them in whatever small pleasures you find.

…or to share stories that come to mind.

Enjoy them in music…

…or musings.

Enjoy the shadows they form…

…or their blankets from a winter storm.

Decorate them for the seasons…

…and be grateful…

…for many reasons.

One day I looked for a military veterans bench…

…and came upon—Air Force Vet, Joe Quinn sitting on the memorial bench for his late wife, Marie. Joe sits there often and said, “She loved the boardwalk, she loved the beach, and breast cancer got her.”

Marie founded the One in Nine Breast Cancer Coalition. The memorial bench is adjacent to Joe’s building, Neptune Towers. Joe told me the bench had been at the boardwalk’s rail, but the city placed it further towards his home post-Sandy. That works.

One summer day, I came upon Pat Dowling, widow of Long Beach Det. Shaun Dowling.

I contacted Pat recently; she now lives in Michigan with her sister, but she says, “It breaks my heart as Long Beach is in my heart and blood.” She said, “I travel to Long Beach as often as I can. I am so happy to be there. My first stop is the boardwalk and a walk on the beach. I love having Long Beach sand in my shoes.” Keep coming back, Pat.

I knew Sharon Moriarty from our Long Beach Recreation…

…others, for her 522 dedication. Sharon was president of the condo association board at 522 Shore Rd.

Sharon’s bench is never without decoration, it even has a plant.

I met a woman, Barbara Schnitzer, decorating the memorial bench for her daughter, Jackie. She told me Jackie died about seven years ago, only six weeks after graduating college. Jackie had gone on a post-grad European trip with friends and died in Denmark.

Barbara choked up as she told me about her bright, Magna cum laude, Jackie, and didn’t want to talk about her death. Yes, seven years after Jackie’s death, her mom can’t speak without weeping. So deep her love.

Barbara didn’t want me to take her photo, but she was okay with my taking pictures of Jackie’s bench.

From a benches book by Long Beach author, and “Bench Mench” Jeffery Singer, “Reflections” available in our library, I found this page which could speak for way too many families across America:

So many benches—so many memories—so much love.

After reading these plaques, one might feel an urge to go home and hug loved ones a little more often, a little bit closer, a little bit longer.

When the temps are low as winter draws near, we find warmth by sharing the seascape with loved ones.

And we look out to sea we might ask, “How far is the horizon?”

A good rule to remember is that the horizon is half the distance, in feet, from your eyes to sea level, or see level as I call it, converted to miles. So, seated on our benches, our eyes are about ten feet in elevation. Half of that would be five feet; the horizon therefore, would be about five miles distance. Someone fifty feet up in their condo would see the horizon at 25 miles.

As we sit, we might try seeing beyond that five miles, beyond those ubiquitous trading ships that connect our globe in commerce—with goods.

We are so good at trading goods but not so good at trading—good.

Perhaps you might look beyond the horizon to an “other,” like you, sitting under the same sun—but where it’s much less fun.

In reading so many books in my life of so many years I’ve wondered if I lived in a country whose policy was so in conflict with what I believed to be right, would I have to courage to speak out? I’ve heard the term so many times, “But the people didn’t speak out.” Please excuse this digression from benches; I have to speak out.

Israel is our friend and friends don’t let friends drive crazy.

A tide of terror surges back and forth across our tiny planet. Such terror surged into America one sunny September day, and we sent a tide of retribution right back.

And so it goes today.

Brother and sister simians, we on planet Earth are an intelligent life form, it says here. Yes, when we simians roamed Earth in protective tribes, we might have savaged all of another’s tribe. But today? Today, can we not abide by the simple code: Civilians are off-limit? No matter the side? No matter the reason?

It is a given there was, on Oct. 7th, savagery beyond grotesque. A massacre so depraved, so cruelly inflicted that the media flinched at reporting the details.

But—children—didn’t—do it.

As of Dec 6, 2023, 16,248 civilians were killed in Gaza, seventy percent women and children: NY Times.

With our sophisticated “intelligence” can we not identify the rising storms of rage on our planet that feed the tempests they become? Doesn’t all, or most of it, spring from basic human needs, such as respect and hope? And do not local opportunists use these needs as leverage for power? And use that power to foster hate of an “other?”

We excel at rocketry; can we not fire hate-seeking missiles to neutralize rising hatred with—lovetry? Can we not identify a

burning need for respect and hope—

and bomb it with baloney and Coke?

From Guns of Love by Maura O’Connell:

With guns of love brought into battle
The nights will burn like never before
Pride will fall and foundations rattle
When guns of love put an end to war

Please—click here: Guns of Love

Yes, that’s right; have a freakin’ food fight. Let the pizza fly and popcorn strafe from the sky.

Maybe the kids of planet Earth will laugh and laugh and laugh—

and not scream under pancakes of concrete.

Baloney!? Sounds ridiculous, right? But what we do now—is not?

Now, I’m not antisemitic or anti-Palestinian,

I’m anti-obtuse-simian.

Of course, instead of flying food, we might use traditional methods of essential compassion. But you get the idea.

Albert Einstein, “Anybody who really wants to abolish war must resolutely declare himself in favor of his own country’s committing a portion of its sovereignty in favor of international institutions.” Al, you always got down to the essential elements.

Maybe we need to listen to our bodies. Does our heart deprive blood to our legs because they are not lungs? If so, all we’d do is—sit on benches.

Religious differences are often the basis for these violent storms. But those same religions are based on writings of peace and love. Can we acknowledge our common ground of fostering love? Can we build on that? Can we offer that love for an”other,” even for those we find so hard to love…

as it is written in so many ways? (Please, again—click link)

Until those blissful days have arrived,

we need to feel so gratified.

Yes, we are in the land of the free…

…because so many died for you and me…

…but we all know, to some degree…

…too many died—needlessly.

Be well,

Leebythesea