Sometimes, the universe gives you a nice little gift. I found an old ZIP disk (remember those?) that had my dad’s familiar idiosyncratic handwriting across the label.

It had “Joel Stuff” as a header and “letters” and “musings” written in underneath. I was eager to read it, as it would be the closest I’m going to get to hearing “new” things from my dad.

One of the things there was a letter to a long-lost friend, circa the year 2000. I’m guessing that he got in contact by way of Classmates.com. Or perhaps some organizing group from his old high-school in Brooklyn got my dad’s email address, and this “Steve” contacted my father.

My dad had a habit of composing his email in Microsoft Word, then pasting it into his mail program. Sort of the digital equivalent of typing a letter out before folding it into an envelope.  I’m glad that he did, as it provided this wonderful autobiography- summation. Reading it was like hearing his voice again.

The grandchildren he mentions at the end are my sister’s children; mine would come a few years later.  The letter is after the “more” link.

Maybe you knew my dad and miss him, in which case this letter will be a treat. Maybe you’ve just heard of him through me; in which case, this will be even more of one, as you can “meet” him in his own words. (In a bit of editorial privilege, he skips over the year at Southbury as a farm-hand.)

Anyway, whichever way you come to it, enjoy. I present you with some words from Joel Dobbin. I’ve added some pictures as well, in the rough time period of the area being covered.

Thanks for your call. I was as excited as a little boy after your call, so I called [name withheld and [other name withheld] to let them know what happened. Both would like to get in contact with you. [first guy's] e-mail address is [email address] and [second guy] is still computer illiterate. His phone number is [number] and snail-mail address is:

[address withheld]
As it turned out, [second guy] is the only one of the guys (at least that I know of) who never left Brooklyn. 

Now…to attempt to synopsize 40 some-odd years into a few paragraphs.

After Madison I went to Long Island Agricultural and Technical Institute at Farmington, LI, majoring in Animal Husbandry.

My Pops, in his High School Yearbook Photo

I went there for two reasons. One: I had visions of going on to Vet. School and besides, I always liked working around animals, and, Two: Given my less than sterling performance at Madison, it was probably the only college in the Western Hemisphere that would accept me. My oh-so-status conscious parents heaped ashes on their heads, rent their garments and let me know that I would probably never amount to a hill of beans – but they sent me off to Farmingdale anyway. I assume they figured that anything that would get me out of the house for two years was a blessing in disguise.

Two years later, I graduated – totally unfit for any meaningful occupation in the world, save one; Artificial Inseminator! So there I was, running around Duchess and Orange counties –  inseminating cows for the New York State Dairy Herd Improvement Association. Let me tell you, knocking up dairy cows is really a gross enterprise for any one who is not a certified dairy bull. It entails donning an arm-length rubber glove, inserting said rubber glove-clad arm deep into the rectum of a cow and pulling all the fecal material out of the lower gut. Then the arm is reinserted (back up the cow’s wazoo) with the fingers probing for the opening of the cervix – by feeling through the floor of the cow’s rectum. The other arm (and hand) is busy inserting the sperm-laden pipette into this poor animal’s vagina. Anyway, you get the picture.

After about four months of this I sort of realized that making a career of thrusting one’s arm up the asses of half the cows in New York State was no career for a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn. I ran pell mell into the waiting arms of the US Army.

I was trained as a Veterinary Technician. At first I had it made. My first duty assignment after tech school was as a Veterinary Food Inspector for the U.S. Army procurement office in Baltimore. It was an incredible deal. Nineteen years old.  The Army paying for my apartment in Baltimore and me taking the bus five days a week to the Goetz Meat Packing Plant to inspect meat used for Army contracts. I, of course, managed to fuck up that deal in about a year. It was the beginning of the Beatnik era and I threw myself into the lifestyle with a vengeance.  It was all sex, drugs and cool jazz with a little work thrown in to justify my existence. We threw a huge party at our place one weekend – actually went on for over five consecutive days. I also made the mistake of going out with a lady who was a reporter for the Baltimore Sun.. Thinking she was doing me a great favor, she took pictures at the party and wrote an article for the Saturday magazine section of the Sun entitled: “Baltimore’s Leading Beatnik Throws a Party”. Within four days of the article hitting the streets, I received orders to Korea.

I definitely did NOT have it made in Korea. I think the word must have been out on me, because when I arrived in Seoul, I was immediately shipped up north to Uijongbo, just 10 klicks from the 38th Parallel. My Guardian Angel went out for an extended lunch and I was assigned as the Rabies Control NCO and the Vet Tech responsible for the Scout and Guard dogs assigned to the Hawk missile sites in that sector. For the next two years, I was either catching rabid dogs or going out on night patrols with assorted infantry squads, their scout dog and his handler. Little brown people I didn’t even know kept trying to shoot me. I fell in love with Korea, its people and the culture, but once again, this was no life for a nice Jewish boy from Brooklyn.

At 19, my Pops, hanging with the locals in Korea

I was discharged early in 1962, still completely unqualified to make an honest living. I went back to college. This time, Cornell University, majoring in Entomology. When I graduated in June 1963, I was probably the world’s only Jewish entomologist and still pretty much unqualified to make any sort of living.

I got married on June 21, 1963 to a “nice” Jewish girl from Ave K and E. 22nd St. It all would have worked out except for one minor detail. She was attractive, working as a dental hygienist and came from a nice (and somewhat wealthy) family. After a few months of marriage I discovered the kicker. She was (and is) a fucking sociopath. I was an asshole, all filled with splendid ideals. Love conquers all, I thought. Was I ever wrong! Four years and two children later, the marriage wound up in Divorce Court and I wound up broke and alone. At this time, I was working as a pharmaceutical detail man for Upjohn. I had achieved a reasonably envious sales record and was the number one man (in total sales) in the Manhattan office. Nevertheless, the “Suits” called me in when I requested some leave time to work out the divorce. They explained that divorce just didn’t fit the image of the Upjohn Corporation and requested my resignation. Now I was broke, alone and out of a job!

At this point I figured, “Fuck the straight life”, I’m going back to sex, drugs and (this time) rock and roll.. I had met a club owner in Waterbury, CT who offered me a job managing a club band he sort of owned. I went for it. I met a skinny 19-year-old groupie chick in the Waterbury club. Although she originally came from Naugatuck, CT, she was living in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn. For some weird reason I realized this was my soul-mate. We moved in together, in an apartment in Brooklyn Heights, in 1968 and we were married in December 1969. It was (and is) the single best thing I have ever done in my life.

I had sort of straightened my life out a bit and was working for the Shearson Hammill stock brokerage firm on Wall Street as a bond interest clerk. By the time we got married, I was the department manager and was slated for an Assistant VP slot. In February 69 I saw in add in the NY Times for a Reptile Keeper at the Bronx Zoo. The pay was shit but it had always been my dream of dreams to work at the Bronx Zoo Reptile House. Jeannie told me to go for it and so I did. Thus began the best six years of my life!

I won’t go into an awful lot of details about the Zoo because telling that tale would involve at least a small volume. I achieved a certain amount of fame (?) by posing for an “I got my job through the New York Times” poster adorned about every Subway station and Subway car in the City. The kicker was a 20′ X 30′ billboard atop the Times Building in (of course) Times Square. I also began to hustle the network TV quiz shows since just about all of them were produced out of the New York studios. I did pretty well for myself. Five time Jeopardy winner, two-time “Who, What or Where” winner, and a guest contestant on “To Tell the Truth” and “What’s My Line”. I figured I had a sweet racket working for me until I received a little love-letter from the FCC. It seemed that since the TV Quiz Show scandals of the 50′s, FCC regulations dictated that no individual could appear on more than two network quiz shows in a lifetime. I had already done four and was trying for an appearance on “Tic Tac Dough”. Tough shit for me! I was officially barred for life from appearing on any TV quiz show.

In 1974, both Jeannie and I were sick of the city so we took our son, Joshua, who was just over a year old and moved to her hometown, Naugatuck. For the next 18 or so months I commuted from Naugatuck to the Bronx Zoo (86 miles each way). Fortunately, I had won a 1975 Chevy Vega on my last appearance on the nighttime Jeopardy show. I wound up putting about a 1,000 miles a week on the car.

By mid 1976, the daily commute was taking a heavy toll on me and I felt it was only a matter of time until I got wiped out on the road. I was (at the time) a member of MENSA and I had attended a few MENSA seminars dealing with psychic phenomena. Seeing allegedly intelligent people lose their sense of skepticism both puzzled and interested me and I figured there was a television show in all this. I had appeared as a guest on a local NBC affiliate TV talk show, so I took my balls in hand and went to the station manager and presented my idea. Two or three auditions later, I got my show.

“Journey to the Mind” ran for four years and became the longest running show dealing in that subject in the history of television. Big deal! I made a living but certainly wasn’t getting rich. I was pretty good as a producer/host but really didn’t know a thing about how the business really worked. Consequently, I made the biggest mistake anyone in the business could make. I didn’t have an agent. To make a long story short, the show ran four years and then I was out on my ass.

I joined the Connecticut Air National Guard in 1979 and in 1980 got the opportunity to go fulltime as a member of the Air Force. I had a great job. I was the Public Affairs spokesman for the Connecticut Air National Guard, editor of the Air Guard newspaper and a regular contributor to Air Force Magazine and National Guard Magazine. I was also the manager of the audiovisual branch. My duties included producing motivational and training videos, running the still photography and graphics shops. I loved it. I managed to attend Intermediate and Advanced Photojournalism schools, every Public Affairs course available, and even wound up doing a TDY as an instructor in copy editing and feature writing at the Defense Information School at Ft. Benjamin Harris in Indianapolis, IN. It was a pretty good life. Once I made Master Sergeant, just about everybody pretty much left me alone and I had a fair amount of autonomy in running my branch.

Since you cannot remain as a member of the military past the age of sixty, I retired April 30, 1999. Jeannie had started a condominium management business in 97, working out of an office she set up in Josh’s old room. He moved in with his girlfriend just before that – they got married in May 1998 and now live in [location withheld]. She has since moved the business to a suite of offices down the road from us and has five employees at this time. It not only keeps the wolf from our door, but insures that I don’t have to work unless I want to.

I am doing some freelance writing assignments and occasionally take a contact to do corporate or organizational newsletter layouts. I was also offered a part-time teaching position at the Wesleyan University School of Graduate Studies beginning in the September 2001 semester. The subject is: “The History of the Occult and its Effect on Western Civilization”. Jesus, what a kick in the ass that is!

So here I am, 61 years old, a balding, pony-tailed, aging hippy – three beautiful children, two wonderful grandchildren, a wife who, after 31 years, is still my best friend,  one minor stroke and two silent heart attacks – but still kicking!

Here endeth the sermon. Go in peace.

Sorry to burden you with all the details, but what the hell – you asked.

Please, please keep in touch. Forty some odd years are much too long.

Regards,
Joel