Michael Gothelf gothelf

Posted on: Jun 30, 2025 at 10:47 PM

Posted on: Jun 30, 2025 at 4:19 PM

(Posting on behalf of Buddy Flateman)

IN A MEMORY OF PETER NESTOR
One of my earliest memories is this:
Peter Nestor was at my side when I pulled my very first heist. He and I were
4 or 5, Ricky Hyde 5 or 6; and the three of us lived in the apartment house at 210
Cedar Lane - just off Queen Anne. They were my first friends.
Living where and when we did, we watched the Acme supermarket being
constructed next door, and when it was completed, the three of us walked down the
block to see what it was all about.
After going up and down each aisle, there, by the checkout counters, was where we
found displayed all of Acme’s nickel candy, lifesavers and chewing gum. And
there, by an unattended aisle were the Wrigley’s; and by consensus, Peter, Ricky
and I selected a pack of DoubleMint - for as we knew then (and which probably
still holds today), with its two mints in one there is no gum that gives you more for
the money.
There was only one problem. As already mentioned, we were just 4 or 5 (5, maybe
6 in Hyde’s case) -- too young for allowance. Emptying out all our pockets, the
three of us could not come up with the 5 cents.
But not to walk away empty handed, I took it upon myself to solve the problem.
With Hyde and Nestor at my side, and to their amazement . . . I brazenly stole the
DoubleMint. Yup. Just put it in my hand and walked out. My very first heist, in
what - from there so emboldened - springboarded into a life of petty crime and
transgression.
To be clear. Peter Nestor was not an accomplice nor even a co-conspirator. In fact,
both friends were shocked by my brazenness. But, yet . . . Once the coast was clear,
neither he nor Hyde had any hesitation in sharing the lucre. That’s right - they each
took their piece, and we all had a quite pleasant afternoon chewing away . . . long
past when the flavor was gone.
It was not long after, that my family moved from the Cedar Lane apartments
to the other side of Town - and I was never to lay eyes on Peter Nestor again. Until,
that is, when we were all reassembled years later at Teaneck High.
And through all those intervening years, I had held this heist, and the part that Peter
Nestor played in it, a secret - never telling a soul - as I had imagined Peter did as
well. But there, now passing me in the high school halls each day was Peter Nestor
- a member of the gang I ran with during my young criminal past.
So during our entire time in high school, we were each careful to never associate or
even make eye contact - for fear that someone might catch on to the shameful secret
we shared. But it was more than that: It was evident to all that Nestor was a
somewhat wild-eyed math and science genius, destined for a career in which a
security clearance at the highest level would be required . . . and I was not about to
jeopardize that future over a solitary indiscretion from one juvenile afternoon so
long ago.
And then - after three years of us both not even once acknowledging the
existence of the other - high school ended. Peter went his way and I went mine. I
imagine he led a meaningful and productive life, using that math and science brain
to make this world a better place for all of us; while I continued on a dark and
narrow path of one meaningless misdeed and petty crime after another.
But now, today, with Peter’s recent passing, I wonder whether things could
have been different. I wonder whether on that long-ago life-changing afternoon in
the Acme, if Peter had said “Buddy, leave the gum on the counter”, or “that would
be wrong - let’s go ask our parents for a nickel” . . . Or even if he showed his
disapproval by rejecting the ill-gotten gum - who knows how my life may have
ended up. Maybe I wouldn’t have always looked for the easy way out. Maybe I
would have studied harder; worked to get into a good university; applied myself at
work. But no - why do any of that when another pack of chewing gum was always
an arms-length away, there for the taking; another tootsie right in front of me,
practically begging to be rolled.
And so also now, prompted to pause and take an accounting, I ask myself: what do
I have to show for my years, and what are my prospects? What can I do with the
rest of my life? What place is there for a seventy-something year old grifter and con
man, who never lifted a finger for anyone else? I certainly can’t become President
. . . that office is already taken.
Well, no matter. What matters is that with Peter’s passing, I finally have the chance
to unburden my soul. With Peter’s passing, and the recent dismantling of the NSA
and other government agencies that may have relied on his math and science brain
to keep us safe, I can finally let the world know the ugly secret I’ve held inside for
these 70 years . . . for with his death he is now safe from the authorities and from
society’s opprobrium. Peter has outlived my personal Gumgate, and so there is
nothing they can do to him now. He can’t be caught or captured, demoted or
dismissed. There is nothing they can take away.
And me? Well, maybe being relieved of this dark secret will free me.
Maybe now I can go back to that long-gone fork in the road at the Acme checkout
aisle; somehow right the wrong and place myself on a different path . . . the straight
and narrow path that one would have expected from a son of Teaneck, New Jersey.
And the risk that I am now taking by going public and setting the record straight?
The risk that I will eventually pay the price for the DoubleMint caper? Make good
on my debt to society? Well, whatever price society wishes to mete out on me,
whatever personal freedoms and however many nickels it may cost me . . . I am
ready. I’m ready because my life at this moment matters little; and that whatever
happens to me from this point on will be just desserts - but it will be served on me
alone. It can never touch my first friend. The friend who, by my silence, I have
protected over a lifetime.
I hope it was a good life.
I hope it was a happy life.
. . . a life to which we now say Goodbye.
Rest in peace, Peter Nestor.
Rest in peace, first friend.
Buddy Flateman
June 2025

Posted on: May 11, 2025 at 10:50 PM

Posted on: May 07, 2025 at 11:01 AM

Posted on: May 07, 2025 at 11:01 AM

Welcome Richard. Glad to have you on the site. Why didn't you sign up sooner. Best, Mike G.

Posted on: Mar 12, 2025 at 12:41 PM

Posted on: Mar 11, 2025 at 1:34 AM

https://www.godfreyfuneralhome.com/obituaries/Steven-E-Kornberg-MD?obId=31600771

Hopefully this link works better.If not, here is his obituary:

Steven Edward Kornberg, known to many as Steve, age 72, passed away, leaving behind a legacy of love, dedication, and service. Born with a passion for his various interests and a commitment to the well-being of others, Steve made a significant impact as a renowned cardiologist, dedicating his career to helping patients and supporting the health of his community throughout his thirty-seven-year tenure at Shore Medical Center.

Beyond his professional accomplishments, Steve was a man of varied interests and deep affections. He was an avid fan of the New York Yankees, finding joy in every game and moment spent cheering for his beloved team. His love for food was well-known, and he cherished sharing meals with family and friends, creating memories filled with laughter and warmth. Some of his favorite moments were shared over a cup of freshly brewed light roast coffee with those closest to him, or in his own company enjoying a ritualistic morning double ristretto. When he wasn’t searching for his favorite cup of coffee, he was searching for the “perfect hotdog”.

Steve's greatest pride and joy came from his family. He is predeceased by his mother, Shirley, his father, Eugene, his sister, Janet and her husband, Dick. He is survived by his devoted wife, Cathleen (Cathy) Kornberg (née Porach), who stood by his side through every triumph and challenge.

His son, Andrew, and his fiancée Rachel, his daughters, Emily Hiltner (née Kornberg), and her husband Thomas, and Leah, and her partner Tommy, and his granddaughter, Catherine, all carry forward his spirit of kindness, strength, and compassion. Catherine held a special place in his heart, and he delighted in her playful spirit and infectious laughter. Steve was close to and survived by Cathy’s mother and father, Frank and Patricia Porach, her brothers Stephen and Michael and their families. He is also survived by his beloved Newfoundland dog, Sven, who was his loyal companion as were the six that came before.

Steve's legacy will live on in the hearts of those he touched. He had a knack for engaging in meaningful, selfless, and lighthearted conversation with those in his daily orbit, whether it be a casual acquaintance or close friend.

Steve’s contributions to medicine, his love for his family, and his deep affection for those in his life will be remembered and cherished by all who knew him.

Posted on: Dec 01, 2024 at 9:23 PM

Congratulations on your engagement Randy. Wishing you and Barbara endless love and happiness ahead!

I recently received this note from Buddy Flateman:

In Memory of Andy

This isn’t about Krauser, but of course . . . it is. And this isn’t intended to get too Magical Mystery Tour . . . but I suppose it might.

After giving due credit to our opposable thumbs, I have this somewhat surreal notion that what makes our species unique and enables us to be who we are - and do what we do - is some vast network of invisible wires that connect us to one another. And as such, fix us safely in place.

At the moment of our birth, it’s just one wire. But almost immediately, there’s another one to our father; and in no time there are more and more unseen wires connecting us to our grandparents, our aunts and uncles and cousins. And then as we get older, new wires extend out that connect us - and secure our place - with schoolmates, teammates and friends; to our heroes. And then as adults there are more and more wires that fix our relationships and hold us even more firmly in place - connecting us with employers, employees and colleagues, perhaps with children and grandchildren, nieces and nephews, and with the many and varied communities that make up both our neighborhoods and our interests.

For many of us, Krauser was a strong and enduring wire that connected all of us to each other. He connected us to a seemingly endless time of unbound possibilities and deepest angst; a time of growth; a time of exploration; a time of countless questions and discoveries and friendships. And in continuing to connect us as he did, year after year after year, Andy allowed that time to stand still . . . to remain part of our present. With that invisible wire in place, I didn’t need to see any of you to know that the pretty girls were still pretty, the tough guys still tough, the smart ones still smart. With that invisible wire in place, I didn’t need to see any of you to know that Carin and Clacko were still the fastest, that Ashford could still sky, that Grossman was still outrageous, that Burger could still dance; that Kriegel was still not wearing socks; that Gothelf would still be turning some quotidian situation into a twenty minute entertaining epic.

Krauser held all of that in place, and my wire to him held my connection to it . . And was one of the wires that located my place in my own magical mystery tour and held me tautly and reliably there. That in real time contributed to whatever it is that my story became.

We reach a point in the magical mystery tour in which all those wires begin to sever. Grandparents, then parents; then our heroes, and then on and on. And with each wire that is no longer there to hold us in place, we’re left dangling a bit more, then a bit more, and then still a bit more.

Krauser was a tough guy. With just a few wires left to hold him, and against an opponent that just kept coming at him, he held on for years with remarkable strength. He willed himself to not be counted out. This was for his family, sure; but also for us. To keep alive the memories which that school building looming over a certain highway in New Jersey left to us. This was Krauser’s Bergenfield match, played out over years, not minutes.

But as we know, only dragons live forever.

So when at last the Magical Mystery Tour came to take him away, that was, for me, a big wire that got cut. Without that connection, what took place over half a century ago is no longer a part of my present - but now moves to my past. In a strange sorta way, it leaves me somewhat out there . . . It sorta forces me to take stock and recognize that the tethers which have long held me in place are now both fewer and a bit looser; my time a bit more exposed.

Although in these last few years we hadn’t seen each other and it was often months between texts and calls, in a sense little changed . . . because I knew he was there.

And now I know he’s not.

And what comes into focus is how grateful I am for all the years . . . and all the memories.

Thanks, Krause.

Posted on: Nov 01, 2024 at 9:57 AM

Posted on: Nov 01, 2024 at 9:56 AM

Posted on: Oct 04, 2024 at 10:47 AM

Love the picture!

Posted on: Aug 04, 2024 at 12:54 PM