After The 13th

Last night saw the premiere of a new movie "The 13th Day" about the miracle of the sun near the once-little town of Fatima in Portugal. I had the opportunity to go, but the demands of work, in the face of preparing to leave for Ohio, got in the way. The story of the three shepherd children continues to fascinate both Catholics and non-Catholics alike, not only for the supernatural phenomena attributed to the event, which was witnessed by thousands, but for its glimpse into the state of world crisis in the century that would follow.

On a sad note, tonight and for many nights to come, Italian-American social clubs along the Jersey coastline and beyond, are mourning yesterday's death of Al Martino. In the words of Allmusic journalist Steve Huey: "Martino was one of the great Italian American pop crooners, boasting a string of hit singles and albums that stretched from the early 1950s all the way into the mid 1970s. However, he was perhaps even better known for his role in The Godfather as singer Johnny Fontane, a character supposedly based on Frank Sinatra, but with eerie similarities to Martino's own career."

We include a clip from a performance of his signature hit, dating from the 1970s. Despite a decade of wide lapels and bad haircuts, it doesn't matter. The song remains the same.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I gotta pack.

(POSTSCRIPT: This writer is on the road and on hiatus, from this date until at least the following Monday. Be sure to check back early in the week, as mwbh reports on his travels, and comments briefly on a few things he was too busy to catch on the internet or the cable news channels. Things like ... well, you know.)
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