New Life For Old Blog

There's that old saying that familiarity breeds contempt, but living in and around DC for most of my life has just led to... more familiarity. I run into someone at a party, and if they are of a certain age and demeanor-given fifteen minutes or so-I can usually find some connection. Just the name Cokinos can do it as my large Greek family has lived here since the early 1900s.

Then there are the circles. My friend Lynn grew up a block from where I live now.
(I actually met her Dad, Mat Thorp independantly of Lynn- he is a very active guy in my neighborhood and not hard to spot taking care of business in his summer suits with the pants cut down to shorts, plaid slip on shoes and yellow happy face socks.) In Lynn's circle there is a couple from her Georgetown University days who I already knew as parents from my son's school. Lynn said one of her Mt. Rainier neighbors was in a band, and when I saw him I realized I knew him from dc space days. Yet another friend of hers, a junk dealer, was a college housemate of mine. I was at a party a month ago, and I talked to a woman I'd never met before. After the aforesaid fifteen minutes or so she suddenly asked me- do you know Lynn?

That kind of thing.

So this blog started out as a homage to my parents and my hometown. It will continue on in that vein, but with the loss of my father it has become harder to keep on writing. So after turning this thing out to pasture for the summer, I hope to bring it back stronger with fresh horses so to speak with DC based guest writers. 

Look for the first guest post tomorrow.

Long Lost Cousin Nat and Bernie Schultz

F. Bernard Schultz in Hawaii

Strange and interesting things happen now that we have the internet to connect the planet. For example, a man in Tennessee recently decided to trace his family history- specifically his grandfather. He did not know very much about him- only that he had abandoned the marriage, leaving his grandmother to raise her children alone.  In fairly short order, however, the man landed here, on this very site. Why? Because my grandmother Bernice was the one his grandfather Bernie ran off with.

Here's the story from my new found "cousin" Nat:

"As you know, I didn't know much at all about my grandfather, barely his name. After my father's death, I decided to take a shot in the dark and googled Frank Bernard Schultz. Surprisingly, the first link was to a memorial from the Mamiya Medical Heritage Center in Hawaii. The article spoke extensively of his professional history, but very little about his personal history.

After reading that article, I went back to the same Google link pages and came across your Pearl Harbor tribute to your grandmother. Wondering how the name Schultz was related to her, I read the article and found out that the two of them had been married. Seeing that your last name was the same as the one in the Mamiya article, I decided to take a chance and to "introduce" myself to you to see if you might know about our family history. "

And so I found my new (step) cousin, Nat and was able to pass along not only information, but also letters and souvenirs from his long lost grandfather who had spent all of World War Two as an army doctor in Hawaii.

Dr Schultz was quite a character. Tall and handsome, he was an accomplished musician who played with Paul Whitman and once had his band Bernie Schultz and the Crescent Orchestra. (You can hit the link and listen. Sometimes the internet just kills me.) My grandmother met him when he played tea dances at the Broadmoor.

Bernie was also a talented actor, artist and writer, and quite the lothario.

He left my grandmother in the wake of multiple affairs and married a third time before his death so Nat and I had one more thing in common.

Mount Vernon Place Once Upon A Time

My father, George Cokinos and Billie Stathes became fast friends when he was six, and she was five  in 1922. Greek immigrants had put down serious roots here in Washington by then, raising families and funds for a church of their own which they wanted to call St Sophia. In 1922, Billie remembers the church was still meeting in an upstairs room rented from the synagogue on 6th and G.

Billie  (front and center)

As she tells it, my father loved to entertain the Sunday school class whenever the teacher had to step out. He would make silly faces and wag his fingers- anything to make everyone laugh. They remained good friends for life. My brothers both lived with her after she moved to Florida to teach at Miami High School. She became my sister's godmother, and she took it upon herself to make sure my children had books every Christmas.

George with the bow

Billie is 91 now, and she recently attended my father's funeral here in Washington. She flew in from Florida where she is retired though she still finds the energy to translate Greek verses which are published in a tiny book. She gave me this remarkable map of the St Sophia neighborhood - drawn specifically from her memories by her cousin, Nick Chacos who is an architect.



 Billie also included this narrative with the map:

 I called the two blocks of Eighth Street near Mt. Vernon Square where I lived from 1922-1933 "the village." Mount Vernon Square with its beautiful park and library was our landmark for an every day visit after school.

On the corner of 8th and L was the Greek Orthodox Church. There was a social hall in the basement where dances for teenagers were held every Friday night. You had to be fourteen to attend. 



 Next to the church was a small two story house where the caretaker Alec and his wife Koula Cokinos lived. Their home was always open for cookies and a visit.

All of the houses on the right were brownstones, three or four stories high. On the left was a row of small homes where the colored folk lived. We all played together.
Dr. Fred Repetti, the village doctor, lived on 8th and L, too.  Every family went to him for advice and medicine. During prohibition, he would give prescriptions for bourbon, Four Roses and rum. The drugstore at the other corner gladly filled them in medicine bottles. We made wine in our basement every year, and even the policemen would be waiting for it. Around the corner on M street was the grocery store and the Chinese laundry. 

Our pride and joy was the corner of 8th and M where there were four gas stations. We were very very proud of them. No one on our blocks owned an automobile. We would go to the corner every day to look at the marvelous cars which stopped for gas. Two blocks were torn down in the late 1930s taking our village with them.

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(9th and L today)

Most of the neighborhood is gone now, although the 1905 Carnegie library is still in tact. The new convention center has obliterated blocks of Billie's history with only a a historic sign to remind people of the past and preserve a few pictures and anecdotes of the way things were.

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St. Sophia moved uptown in 1951- just off Massachusetts's Avenue where it stands today.
Click on the maps above to see details of the gone away village.

GEORGE P. CORKINOS

When my nephew and I proof read the death notice for my father, George P. Corkinos, we both missed that extraneous "r" at first. Everything we have done as a family this past week has been in a collective state of disbelief. It is hard to accept that this man is no longer here with us. Usually when a human reaches the age of 91, people shake their heads and say how sorry they are, but the word shock does not usually come up as it has this week. My father was so vivacious and charming- no one believed he was as old as he was. He had a great run.

His name was actually George P. Cokinos. The 'P' is important. There is my cousin, George A. Cokinos, my nephew, George S. Cokinos and and my cousin Mark, who is actually George M. Cokinos. (He has a son named George as well- George N.) ( Or maybe it's Nicholas George) And that's just off the top of my head. Believe me, I could go on.

My father was on a cruise ship when he fell. My sister says he was wearing sneakers that were too big, but they were a bargain so he loved them. He had been in Florida since New Year's Eve, tanning on the roof of his condo every day that the sun shone. The ship was in port in Mexico when he tumbled down a short flight of stairs. He was airlifted first to a hospital in Cozumel, then to Fort Lauderdale, but he never recovered.

He went out doing something he loved, traveling with my mother and my sister, tanned and vibrant. Whether it was a brief meeting or a lifetime of friendship, he always made an impact on everyone who crossed his path.  (I've actually felt sorry for a car salesman in his presence.)

George was kind. His sense of humor was unique. His special name for me was Gunga Din. "Gunk" for short. What could be funnier than that?

Only about a million stories which I hope to keep adding here.

Do You Know What It Means To Miss...

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I'm sorry to report that Tom Sarris' Orleans House, a somewhat nutty DC area landmark, will soon be razed to make way for "progress."  The restaurant today feels like a cross between a traffic island and a time capsule caught as it is between Wilson and Clarendon Boulevards in Rosslyn. My father George was a friend of Tom's, and he told me the story of how the restaurant came to be.

According to my father, Tom grew up in Washington with Ulysses "Blackie" Auger, and they were good friends. Ulysses created his own landmark with "Blackie's House of Beef" which started with a Western theme, but when others started copying his style, Blackie built a New Orleans inspired courtyard.  Blackie's success and style inspired Tom to want his own "Orleans House," and his old friend gave him his blessing and advice.

Tom took what once was a Giant food store and transformed it into a two story New Orleans fantasy complete with antebellum columns and wrought iron. His claim to fame was a bargain prime rib served up with a brand new concept at the time - the all you can eat salad bar. Both the rich and famous as well as the little guy on a budget liked to dine here. Blackie thought giving away salad was a bad idea, but Tom stuck to his guns. My father always raved about the salad bar and called it "beautiful."

When my family heard the place was closing, we wanted to go back once more. Everything was frozen in time including one of the waitresses who had been there over 45 years. The salad bar was still tricked out like a river boat and still "beautiful."

The food, I have to admit, was just okay, but it was well worth the trip to memory land. Tom collected things you are unlikely to see in most restaurants these days. Chairs which resemble thrones and a knight in full armor. A clock from the Willard Hotel lives here, too. The Orleans House will officially close on January 15th which doesn't give us much time to say good bye to a lot of history and memories.

Remember Pearl Harbor

In our family, we learned to remember Pearl Harbor early in life because of my grandmother Bernice Calvert. She was an eyewitness to the attack, but her journey to Hawaii started here in Washington, DC.

In 1933 Bernice, a young widow, was managing the Broadmoor Apartments on Connecticut Avenue. She met her next husband when he was playing violin at the Broadmoor's afternoon teas. Bernie was from New York, but came to Washington to attend medical school at Georgetown. The gig gave him some spending money.

Bernie was a charming and talented guy.  He did this sketch of Bernice on the back of his business card. They were married on November 4, 1936.

When Bernie graduated from Georgetown, he accepted a commission in the Medical Corps Reserves and was called into active service in April of 1941 in the territory of Hawaii. Not knowing this trip would be much, much longer than anticipated, they rented out their house, climbed into their car and drove to San Francisco, stopping along the way to take in Old Faithful and other sights out West.

In California, they were stalled for weeks waiting for a transport ship. They killed some time in Los Angeles where they met movie stars like Marlene Dietrich thanks to an MGM studio pass Bernie had scored from his musical connections. A diary mentions lunch with "Spencer and Gable,"  and an encounter with Charlie Chaplin and his family at the bird zoo in Catalina. Bernie remembers chatting up Chaplin and being allowed to take a photo with Pauline Goddard.  (Boy, I wish I could find that shot.)

Finally a Matson Line ship became available. Bernice and Bernie arrived in Honolulu in early July. Back then travelers were traditionally greeted by Hawaiian women with armfuls of leis, but they also saw waves of P-40s and bombers dipping their wings to say "hello" to the new crew. As the ship docked, the Royal Hawaiian band played "Aloha Oe" and other native songs while crowds below shouted and waved. 

After watching a sunset near Diamond Head, Bernie wrote "It was like having walked all your life in a haze and in muck- then suddenly breaking through the mist and seeing a great panorama in front of you."

The attack came just before 8 a.m. on a Sunday morning, Bernie's day off. A neighbor woke them by pounding on the door and shouting. Bernie, in shock, turned on the radio to confirm the unbelievable news. A broadcast of a church service was soon interrupted with the announcement:  "The island of Oahu is under enemy attack...all officers report...all citizens stay off the streets. Keep calm. Everything is under control."  Bernie got dressed, and still feeling dazed, left for Tripler with the captain who lived next door. On the way they saw billows of black smoke rising from the harbor, and three low flying planes. The news became all too real.

At the hospital, the scene was pure frenzy. Wounded civilians and soldiers, both dead and alive poured in all morning.  One victim was carried in on a street sign. A bomb dropped so close to the hospital that a convalescing patient died from shrapnel wounds. Many young soldiers urged Bernie to take care of others before themselves. Towards midday Bernie went home to collect his surgeons' tools, but a crowd stood in the street, blocking the way. It took a moment for Bernie to realize that the front of his house was almost demolished. Most of the windows had been shattered by shrapnel.

The concussion of a bomb, which fell across the street from their home, had knocked Bernice to the floor, but amazingly, she only suffered a twisted ankle. Bernie found his wife at a neighbor's house and took her with him back to the hospital.  Bernice washed instruments and cut bandages while Bernie went back to the surgery. They worked through the day and most of the night.

I don't have a photo of the hospital, but I found the photo below with Bernie's things. He was an avid photographer so he may have taken this himself; there are no official markings on the back.

Almost all of the Army wives and children would leave the islands as soon as possible, but my grandmother wanted to stay despite the curfews, blackouts, and a new life which included gas masks always at the ready.

Bernice became a censor at the post office and volunteered with the Red Cross.

By February 1942,  she wrangled a full time position as a paid social worker for the Home Service of the Red Cross. Her evacuation was deferred.

Bernie and Bernice also organized a theater group and gave performances throughout the islands before the USO made the scene. (I wonder if she was rethinking her decision in this shot taken in their living room probably around Christmas of 1942.)

Bernice witnessed both the beginning and the end of the war first hand.  My mother told us that she was the only woman correspondent to cover the war in the South Pacific, and that she was aboard the USS Missouri when the Japanese surrendered.

 After the war, Bernice remained on the islands helping the Red Cross pick up the pieces of many altered lives.  She never lost her love for all things Hawaiian and stayed overseas for twenty years.

The Ambassador Theater and How It Rocked DC

Around 1927, my mother remembers walking with her Dad from Mozart Place to the Ambassador Theater on 18th and Columbia Road to see something new. It was "a talkie" featuring Al Jolson in The Jazz Singer. Now flash forward forty years to 1967 when the shuttered theater became a home to something new again - an amazing place to see rock n' roll. I, unfortunately, was only about eight at the time, but this past weekend, yet another forty years forward, I went to a reunion of those who made it happen. Jeff Krulik our local film maker (and hero) helped bring these guys together from all over the country for this event.

In 1967 Tony Finestra, Court Rodgers and Joel Mednick were three young guys selling fire extinguishers of all things when they heard about the Summer of Love out in San Francisco. Out there they went, and when they came back to D.C., they came with a vision to make things happen here. They rented the Ambassador Theater, fixed it up, and booked The Grateful Dead. The Dead's equipment arrived, but unfortunately the city pulled their permit at the last minute not wanting a hippie project to move forward when things were getting touch in the anti- war movement. But our boys fought back and finally opened on July 28, 1967 with a local band, Natty Bumpo, and headliner The Peanut Butter Conspiracy.

The Ambassador was an enormous space. All 1500 seats had been removed. The Psychedelic Power and Light Company took over the balcony and used multiple projectors and black lights to fill the room and cover the walls with colors and images- a stand alone show of its own. Tickets were $1.50 on week nights, $2.50 on weekends.

The mezzanine level boasted a head shop selling lava lamps, posters and well, you know, hippie stuff. What a scene it must have been. Not only was it a concert hall, but neighborhood kids were invited for special matinees. It was also used as a staging area for the march on the Pentagon. Even Norman Mailer showed up on stage
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A young guy named Jimi Hendrix had been touring with The Monkees that same summer, but his style didn't quite fit that double bill. His manager begged The Ambassador folks to let him play there for 5 nights that August, and Pete Townsend of The Who came to see him. (I'm not making this stuff up- ask Nils Lofgren) This all happened here.

More From Nils Lofgren:
"The room was humming, not only with the expectation of seeing the Jimi Hendrix Experience, but that Pete Townshend was in the audience, and it was just an extraordinary pivotal night for me. Hendrix came out and said he was going to dedicate the first song to Pete Townshend and he was going to do a rendition of 'Sgt. Pepper.' Now being naive, and being a huge Beatles lover, a lot of us thought 'well, you're only a three piece band, how can you play 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,' there's all these other guitars and strings.' We just didn't have a clue of what Hendrix was really about. He counted off the song and I remember he kind of disappeared, he just did one of those things where he fell to the floor, sitting on the floor rocking with the guitar between his legs kind of doing a 'Purple Haze/ Sgt. Peppers' riff, then he sort of bounces back up and does an insane version of 'Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band.' And when he dropped to the floor everyone just jumped up to try to see him, and from that moment on everyone was standing and mesmerized by obviously the greatest rock and roll guitar player that ever lived... There were just a lot of inspired moments like that at the Ambassador; it was this dark, beautiful, haunted, inspired room that you could go to and get lost in the light show and friends and the camradarie and the excitement of being in the audience discovering all this great new music; it was this real pivotal place in Washington, DC for all of the music scene, young and old."

Canned Heat, Moby Grape, John Lee Hooker, Vanilla Fudge, The Fugs, The Paul Butterfield Blues Band and more all appeared at The Ambassador. Our own Joe Dolan of The Beatnik Flies mopped the floors there. His cousin, Patty made this hoe-down poster.

The sad thing, as often happens in this realm, the scene wouldn't last. It was partly a matter of bad publicity and partly the atmosphere of the times. (Even I remember how threatened people were by the hippie thing.) At the reunion, stories were told about police who gave parking tickets to legally parked theater goers and waited outside to arrest kids who had violated the D.C. curfew.

The experiment ended about six months later, and the theater was torn down not too long after. Today the site is occupied by a vapid, non descript plaza. The next time you are in Adam's Morgan, you might want to walk by there-and remember Jimi plus all the others that once played music or danced in the light shows.

Remember the ghosts that once were dreams.

P.S. Speaking of ghosts: The Ambassador once stood on the site of The Knickerbocker Theater which collapsed under the weight of snow in 1922. Ninety eight people were killed.

Old School Family Affair at Wilson

Our family has had a decent showing at Woodrow Wilson High School going way back almost to the very beginning when Wilson first opened its doors in 1935. My uncle Nick Cokinos, who graduated in 1939, was a running back on Wilson's inaugural football team in the fall of 1936 and helped win their first exhibition game against St Alban's played in the pouring rain. The team had only one experienced player that year, but somehow managed to win two games before their lack of experience caught up with them later that season. Never one to be to be daunted, once Spring came, Nick played baseball as well.

Nick seemed to be a stellar player. As far as I know he only got into trouble when he wore his brother George's beloved red football jersey from Western The coach gave him hell and made him turn it in.  My father told me this story many times. He must have really loved that shirt.

Nick seemed to be a stellar player. As far as I know he only got into trouble when he wore his brother George's beloved red football jersey from Western The coach gave him hell and made him turn it in.

My father told me this story many times. He must have really loved that shirt and now that I've found a picture of it I can see why:

Leaping forward my brother Pete Cokinos became a Tiger in 1952. Like his uncle, he signed up for as many teams as possible- in his case- football, track, and wrestling. The football team had plenty of experience by then and ended the year undefeated. The Tigers went on to beat Western for the Inter-high Title which took them to Griffith Stadium in December to compete for the City Title. In front of a crowd of thousands, Wilson trounced St John's 24-6 for its one. Our sister and future Tiger, Patsy was there to root them on.

Go team.

Pete Cokinos #37

Now my daughter Zoe is a Wilson Tiger, too, though soccer was about it for her.
Thus the reunion of the champions of 1952 and the Homecoming game this year became a family reunion for us. Brother Pete drove in from Michigan, while my parents who went to Western, my sister and my daughter all dug up their green and white gear. We convened in the bleachers at a school which structurally hasn't changed much since 1952 although Chuck Brown wasn't playing over the PA during time outs back then.  The bleachers and the field are in the same place, but a new "press box" has been somewhat awkwardly erected, and everyone tripped over the footings.

My brother Pete, and what was left of the team paraded out at half time.  Even a cheerleader was able to make it back. A lot may have changed over the years, but what hasn't changed is a stand full of kids cheering on their teams. Even though Wilson was trounced 34-13, camaraderie saved the day.

Ad from The 1953 Wilson High School Yearbook

A Sad State of Affairs

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Mayor Fenty just fired the contractor for the Hardy Middle School renovation. I guess it's one of those bad news good news things. The bad news is that Hardy Middle School, formerly Gordon Junior High and my kids' alma mater, is a year behind and a gazillion dollars over budget. The good news? The contractor was fired, but I'd heard they were doing a good job whenever they could get out from under DC's bureaucracy.

The renovations were supposed to be done in stages while the students remained at the school, but with all the delays the decision was made in 2005 to move the entire population out to a swing space so that the project could be completed on time- within a year. My son graduated last June in the half vacant Hamilton School, and this year's class will certainly not be graduating in the new building either. The truth about the delays, I'm sure is in its usual position- nestled down just out of sight, somewhere in the neutral ground between all that finger pointing.

The thing is I still can't help -once again- but look across town to that new baseball stadium.
I love baseball as much as the next guy, but groundbreaking there was in May 2006- a long time after the Hardy project was well under way. Of course it's all politics... and economics and apples and oranges. But can someone explain how all that works to the children of this city?

(And when they are done, could they explain it to me?)


(Hardy' s Moving Day 2006)

Go Tigers

Wilson's back to school night got off to a rough start yesterday. The doors stood open, and the auditorium was very warm not having the benefit of air conditioning. The first speaker urged every one to move up as there was no PA system. The principal seemed to be running a few minutes late. Lights kept blinking, and if you looked up, you noticed the large areas of plaster rotting up there in the ceiling. But then, with no press, photography or fanfare, up popped our new mayor, Adrian Fenty.

Fenty's voice was clear and strong while he gave the mandatory short spiel on making school improvements. It was such a morale booster that it really didn't matter what he said. The most important thing to me was that he was there with us in that stuffy room, and that it was not the first time he had been at this school. It is somewhat comforting that he is from this town as generally only people who are from here can understand things here, and even we find it A Challenge.

The rest of the night went well. The teachers, for once, were not complaining about a lack of books or other glaring oversights. There was even a glimmer of optimism. The stadium and field have been renovated, and the pool is finally under reconstruction.

Wilson was a brand new school back in the 1930s, when my dad's brother, Nick Cokinos attended. You can literally feel its age going up the stairs which are concave now like the steps of a Roman coliseum. It's still a beautiful building despite its age, but it desperately needs improvement- as do the vast majority of our city schools. Perhaps there is a tiny glimmer now,  just there at the end of this long dark tunnel, but it sure is amazing how fast that new baseball stadium is getting built.

Rodman's Rocks

With all the construction going on up there in Friendship Height's, it's comforting to me to see Rodman's still going strong at 5100 Wisconsin Avenue. Starting in 1955 as a drugstore, today the store sells everything from shallots to Gumby. As Arlo Guthrie once said in Alice's Restaurant "You can get anything you want" at Rodman's, but there is a minor drawback or two.

The first problem with going to Rodman's is getting out of there. You might go in for one quick thing like LU's Cinnamon Sugar Biscuits which Safeway doesn't carry anymore, but as soon as you walk in, there are 30% off fireworks right next to the BBQ sets and the Toblerone bars. This is the back entrance which is a narrow one person aisle created by stacks and stacks of food and drink: tomato sauce, olives, chutney, baby clams, wine, vinegar, sardines, curry paste, Parmesan cheese and stuffed peppers. (Wait is that a topping or a side dish?) All kinds of jam, marinated artichokes, and olive oil.

The second problem is which aisle to run to first?
Wine? Beer? Snacks?
Look- there's those Italian cookies, the ones in the big red tins.  Lazzaroni's used to have the wrappers you could light on fire and make a wish on as they rose to the ceiling. And those weird chocolate cigar type cookies someone bought for us in Greece once, not to mention digestive biscuits, whatever they are, and those cinnamon ones I just remembered I came in here for.

Oh, and they have Lady Grey Tea. Safeway doesn't seem to stock that anymore either. Fritos, Doritos and crystallized ginger. I don't what to do with it, but I'm intrigued. Here are squirt bottles of Kalamata olive puree under a sign that says "dessert toppings".  And something that looks like shrunken heads over there in the produce aisle turns out to be celery root. Celery root? Oh look- they've got a great deal on lemons. Does anyone need a scratch off ticket? A baguette would be good for later. And do I have enough tuna fish?

Over in the beverage aisles, I am befriended by DC native, "Hoppy Dave" who educated me as best he could on the amazing variety of beers he stocks. A happily bewildering experience that almost involved me getting a second cart. (Warning-one cart is bad enough in there- something akin to navigating a Hummer through the back streets of Georgetown.)

By the time Dave was finished with me, I had a basket full of beers I'd never heard of, but couldn't wait to try-including Bell's Batch 8,000, a commemorative ale which only gets made every 8,000 years. ( I might be wrong there, but my head only holds a limited amount of numbers) He also filled me in on my high school teacher, Bob Tupper who went on to produce Tupper's Hop Pocket Ale, an excellent adult beverage courtesy of Old Dominion Brewery which, Dave tells me, has been bought now by Budweiser. What? That's why there was no Tupper's in sight as the Tuppers don't deal with "Bud.

Now I've solved the problem of leaving Rodman's. My cart is full even though I didn't even make it downstairs where the household products are.  The coffee makers, the watch repair, play-doh, hair brushes and oh, yes, Gumby. Not to mention the pharmacy and the vitamins which will all have to wait until next time.

Mat Thorp "Cokinos"

Because "exclusive" is not in my family vocabulary please welcome my neighbor, Mat Thorp into the fold of this blog. Although Matt is not from here, he has spent enough time here to have plenty of street cred since his arrival after serving in World War Two. Here is Mat's "inclusion":





"To make sure that I get included in your, obviously exclusive blog; here are my Greek bonafides: The second photo from the right margin on the top line is Lynn`s mother, Lynn, with Nick Gaston owner of the Old New Orleans night club on 18th Street at Connecticut Ave. This was taken by the Old New Orleans cigarette/photographer girl. On Lynn`s and my first date in 1949, she asked me to meet her at Nick`s house on the Virginia side of Key Bridge where he had Sunday poolside parties. Nick`s main business was brokering restaurant deals. When Lynn and I were married the second time, Nick had the wedding group to the Old New Orleans before opening time."

Thanks for the memories, Mat!

Birthday Ray

(Jeanne and Bebe 1952)

Once upon a time a woman named Jeanne Lightbound went to Western High School for just one year and became good friends with a Greek kid named George Cokinos. Jeanne went back to Bethesda Chevy Chase High school, but she never forgot George. If she hadn't kept up that friendship with George, we never would have met all her BCC pals like Charles Bernard, whom she married, and Ray Stone who is celebrating his 90th birthday today.


(Irene, Bebe and Ray 1945)

The gang, Ray and Irene Stone, Roy and Marge Cross and Jeanne's husband Charles Bernard met George and Bebe in the late 1930s. After the war everybody started having children and playing Bridge. George, Ray and Charles went into the home building business together before Ray began Bethesda TV and Charles got into selling Oldsmobiles. The friends went to the beach and later traveled the world together.


(Peter and Roger Cokinos w/ Ray Stone 1950)



(Trip to Bermuda 1970 back when everybody got dressed up to get on a plane)

In the late 1960s, George and Ray built beach cottages side by side in South Bethany. The property was cheap after a huge storm destroyed most of the beachfront houses on Ash Wednesday in 1962.

Bethany Beach after the storm

The two houses ended up being so close together that we could communicate with an intercom which was fun but unreliable. When that didn't work, we used sign language. We didn't have phones at the beach.

One time George urgently summoned Ray, telling him that a fire had broken out. Ray rushed over to our house only to find George grinning, standing over a griddle full of pancakes. Too bad Ray forgot to tell Irene, who was waiting anxiously next door, that it was just a joke.

Bebe recalls the time they went out on Ray's boat and their friend, Nadine spilled a cocktail down her front. She went below and took her bra off, and they hung it on the rigging to dry. When they came back to dock for dinner, they made quite the entrance with Ray coming in a bit too fast, and the red bra flying.

Happy birthday, Ray. You still have your good looks, not to mention that winning personality.