They came; they saw; they Concord: A Catskill Tale
“Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.” –Samson Agonistes, John Milton (1671)
Once upon a time, there was The Concord, the Crown Jewel of the Catskills. The biggest and ritziest of the hotels, it featured Garland, Berle, Sinatra, Streisand, Seinfeld and Martin Luther King, Jr. (speaking to a rabbinical convention, not entertaining.)
Its “Monster” golf course was “world-famous” (providing one’s world began in NYC and ended in Liberty, NY.)
In their prime, one could find (as in Alice’s Restaurant) anything you want in the Catskills. In the words of Thomas Jefferson: “Give me Liberty, or give me Monticello.”
This story takes place past their prime in the mid 90s.
I was vacationing there with my family.
Their fitness room had acquired their first stair climber, then, a novelty. Two guests simultaneously wanted it.
The taller one, bald, protruding ears, resembled Myron Cohen (a frequent Concord star.) The shorter wore a toupee resembling real flaming red hair (from a great distance.)
Their commonalities were potbellies and inability to tolerate not getting what they wanted, instantly.
I was on the treadmill, my eight year-old daughter on an exercise bike. I heard the wannabe stairclimbers shouting at each other. Apparently, Red had placed his towel on it, but Myron had touched it first.
Myron was now touching Red (as well as appearing so.) My daughter, alarmed, asked me to intervene..
“I put my towel on it! That means I’m using it! Those are the rules!”
“Says who? Because you’re a big Schvitzer, you think everything belongs to you? Why don’t you put your Farshtunkener towel on every machine so the entire gym belongs to you? Let me tell you where you can put your towel!”
Experienced in both marital therapy and unreasonable people, I was able (after wasting half my workout-time) to convince them to alternate.
(Of course, each ran out of breath before their allotted time elapsed.)
We were delighted to see they both left the gym before we did.
We made our way back to our room in the Towers.
Waiting in the lobby for the elevator were Myron and Red glaring at each other. (Of course, both were standing arms-length from the elevator so they could be first on.)
My daughter and I always take the stairs, but even if we didn’t, this time, we would.
As we climbed, she turned to me: “Daddy, can I ask you a question?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“If they fight over the stair-climber, why don’t they take the stairs?”
Good question. I didn’t have a good answer.
RIP Concord.
