Last Friday was one of those “Ah-h-h-h-h…..” days. The air was balmy and sweet, and the ice and snow, defeated at last, ran as harmless water in the streets. I took my dog for a long walk in the warm sun, and I wasn’t alone: dozens of us went out walking, just for the sheer pleasure of it. We’d all thrown off our coats and jackets, and wandered around happily, in a short-sleeves sort of daze, in the middle of February.
Sometimes, that kind of joy permeates everything, and the harsh world melts, until there’s nothing left but love. And that’s what happened Friday evening, too, as almost 350 people gathered for an evening of food, music, and comedy at the Hanover Manor.
And all that was very fine indeed – a wonderful supper, some good dancing music (the first tune: “Under the Boardwalk“!), a huge crowd, and some serious belly laughs (more on that later): all a welcome respite from our deep collective case of cabin fever. But the crowd’s eyes – and hearts – really were fixed on the prize: they’d come to raise money to save the lives of sick kids, and to help their families. The evening was a benefit to raise money for Sam’s NICU, the neo-natal intensive care unit at Morristown Memorial’s Goryeb’s Children’s Hospital.
You could see it in the way people got quiet to watch to the short film about the NICU – in the way they listened in eager absorption as Dr. Lawrence Skolnick, Co-Director of Goryeb’s Division of Neonatology, talked about many of the to-date accomplishments of the NICU that has served over 1,000 families since it opened in 2008.
He described it as a “miraculous innovation” in care, and noted several times that this unit is “in the vanguard” of NICU treatment nationwide. There’s a Pharmacy onsite, open 24/7 to get babies the meds they need, sometimes at a moment’s notice; chronic lung disease has been “drastically reduced”; a neonatal syndrome that can cause blindness has dropped to “virtually zero.” Sam’s NICU combines intensive care with nurturing care, and has become a regional NICU today: more and more babies come to Morristown from greater and greater distances.
Phase II of the project is about to begin: the creation of an overnight facility for these long-distance vistors. Parents of very sick children will be able to stay in hotel-like accommodations from the first night.
And every dollar raised by Sam’s Fund goes to the NICU.
Steve Salzberg, the organizer of the event, described the turnout as “mindblowing.” Steve and his wife Doris have pledged $1.5 million, via evenings like this one and via ongoing donations, to benefit Sam’s NICU – named for Steve’s infant daughter Samantha Marie, who died in 1987 at the age of eight weeks, from an infection she’d acquired during transport to Columbia Presbyterian’s neo-natal intensive care unit. A father’s grief has turned to creating joy for other parents and children; is there anything more moving and wonderful than that? I can’t imagine what it could be. (Steve has informed me that the tally is now in, and $31,000 was raised at this year’s event.)
Just before introducing the comedians, Steve presented his business friend, “Big Mike” (“His heart is bigger than he is” – and I don’t doubt it at all, given the company he keeps), with a “Sam’s NICU” hat.
And then there was comedy – terrific stuff, too. Jane (“I live in Greenwich, CT, but I’m still a nice person”) Condon opened the evening. Jane’s from Brockton, MA – a long way, as she noted, from Greenwich. She illustrated this by telling the story of her Irish grandmother, who still lives in Brockton, and the lovely appliquéd pillow she displays in her living room, with its message in delicate script: “Don’t Make Me Hurt Ya.”
Jane also demonstrated some typical Greenwich apparel – she showed us the black velvet headband (“They hand these out at the Triborough bridge”) and the the Greenwich nightgown (“Nothing can get in or out”). She reassured us, too, that if you forget your pearls when you go to the grocery store, management will be happy to lend you some.
My favorite bit: tired of being ignored by her teenaged sons, she resorted to asking them about their plans via mom rap: “When ya gonna be b-back, b-back, b-b-b-b-b-back?” Lots of other funny marital bits, too, about snoring, breasts, and sex. (“What’s the big deal about same-sex marriage? My husband and I have been having the same sex for 32 years.”) Go see Jane, if you get a chance! She’s funny.
Steve Salzberg is himself an amateur comic, and he riffed, observational comedy style, on cars, Facebook, the remote control, and proctologists (docs who’ve been advised to “Set your sights a bit lower” – ba-dum-BUM). And about his mixed-faith marriage, too: his Italian wife puzzles over which shawl to wear to temple.
Jeff Caldwell took the stage next; his is an intelligent and wry brand of humor, with an accent on absurdity – very funny, very dry. “How are things in East Hanover these days?” he asked the crowd. “I’m from Hoboken, so I’m often out this way looking for a parking space.” He’s worried, he says, about all the animals – glowing green butterflies and roosters – in the ads for people with anxiety and insomnia; yikes! That stuff’s scary enough to keep you up all night. And what about all these very active people with herpes? “I’m no epidemiologist,” he admitted, “but maybe we ought to take a look at these rental kayaks.”
He’s an animal lover, though: “In the suburbs, all the dogs are part pit bull – but then, so are the cats.” On still paying off his college loans: “My kids will not only have to pay for their own schooling, but for my college loans as well. I shouldn’t have to pay for information I can’t remember. If I’d have stolen this money, I’d be out of prison by now.”
On the digital age: “My computer’s operating system? It’s….electricity, I think.” On anti-bacterial soap: “I thought anti-bacterial was part of the contract we had with soap. What the hell have I been washing my hands with all these years?” Jeff’s really a funny guy – this is where the belly-laughs I was talking about above came in – and appears at Caroline’s on a regular basis. Go see him, too, if you’re in the neighborhood.
I’d particularly like to thank Marie Percell – Doris’ mother – who more or less took me in hand for the evening, offering me coffee and soda to start, and later, dinner. “Help yourself,” she told me, “there’s plenty of food.” When I demurred, saying I’d eaten dinner before I’d come, she repeated it, staring at me with a steely glint in her eye: “Help yourself. There’s plenty of food.” And then she added, for good measure, “Don’t ever argue with an Italian grandmother.” And at that point I knew I was beaten, so I headed for the tortellini – a good move. Mmmm.
It was a wonderful, inspiring evening. Laughter and food and warmth, all suffused by a sort of quiet awe at the lovely sorts of things human beings get up to – at the amazing things people can accomplish in this world. Sometimes, on some unexpected particular day, it’s just great to be alive.
