The Wall

People Who Died - March, 2026

By my calculation this is number 60, meaning I have been pumping out this dreck for five years. I checked the first one and it was only three pages, and I have to figure out a way to get back to that. Life (and apparently death) were easier back then. This has been mostly fun, at times taxing, and occasionally, not up to what I want it to be, but I shall press on for the foreseeable future.

My thoughts of living forever have been dashed since I learned that Chuck Norris died at 86. I mean, if he can’t make it to 90 as the modern-day Jack Lallane, how do I think I have many breaths left. He looked great hawking supplements and the fact he could perish ensures that no one gets out alive. Norris, in “Walker, Texas Ranger,” and a host of films, played to our love of the good guy. Who doesn’t love to see a quiet, reserved guy, kick the shit out of the bad guys. That is essentially how Norris made his living and consumers of his style ate it up. He was a cross between Charles Bronson and Clint Eastwood without the ability to act (a New York Times critic once referred to him as “about as emotional as a statue”). But hey, who cared since his action moves were as good as anyone’s. He learned martial arts when he was in the Air Force (one of his brothers died in Vietnam) and deployed to South Korea. After getting out of the Service, he honed his martial arts skills further and was the world middleweight Karate champion. He ran a string of karate schools and when they fell on hard times, one of his students, Steve McQueen, recommended acting. Bruce Lee helped Norris score some film work and after that he took off, appealing to afficionados of B movies. While I never saw his movies, I did occasionally watch “Walker, Texas Ranger,” and have to admit to having an affinity for Norris as Walker. Norris was decidedly right-wing and out of character for the prototypical Hollywood actor. He had an endorsement deal with Glock, the gun manufacturer. He also started Kickstart, an organization dedicated to using martial arts to keep kids away from drugs. He has written both fiction and non-fiction books and has had books written about him, such as “The Truth About Chuck Norris: 400 Facts About the World’s Greatest Human,” by Ian Spector. So now that he is gone, I am going to have to wrestle with my own mortality. In talking about himself, he once quipped, “[I]’ve got a bulletin for you folks. I am no superman. I realize that now, but I didn’t always.” Now he tells me.

I am a Jets fan, one of the curses of my life and from my point of view, child abuse since I got this allegiance from my parents, most notably my father. That is not to say every day has been dark. In my nearly 70 years, I can boast a day or two of satisfaction and even joy being a fan. As for the rest of the time, I would have preferred to root for pretty much any other football team on earth, including some high school teams that at least put a better product on the field than my Jets. One of the great players on the greatest Jets team was Matt Snell, a punishing fullback who scored the first Jets touchdown in Superbowl III. He died this month at 84. While Namath deservedly got most of the attention, he would not be so well known were it for the work of guys like Don Maynard, Emerson Boozer, and Matt Snell, who did the gritty work to get the 69 Jets to greatness. Snell carried the ball 34 times in the Jet’s Superbowl III victory and had some key blocks to protect Namath, a great, but hobbled quarterback. Snell’s running in the fourth quarter allowed the Jets, 18-point underdogs, to work the clock and gain an incredible 16-7 win against the Baltimore Colts. On the Jets last drive, Snell carried the ball six times and although not getting too much yardage (17), he got a much needed first down to run down the clock. While Namath was awarded the MVP of the game, the Jets, in acknowledgement of his greatness in the victory, awarded Snell a spanking new green and white Cadillac. The following year he tore his Achilles tendon, an injury easily dealt with today, but back then essentially ended his career. He never scored another touchdown and retired in 1973. Snell grew up on Long Island and during the summers while in school, worked as a construction laborer who helped build the stadium where he would play his home games as a Jet. While I loved him as a Jet, I have to admit he attended the hated Ohio State where he played for Woody Hayes. At least they did something right. He was drafted by both the Jets and Giants out of college and wisely chose the Jets. He was the AFL Rookie of the year in 1964 and led the Jets in running five times. After his football career, he was a partner in restaurants and securities firms, and ultimately owned a construction company in Jersey City. Truly one of the greatest Jets in team history, I owe him for one of the few good football memories I have.

Someone else who provided me with good football memories, although not in the one year he coached the Jets, Lou Holtz, died at 89. Holtz coached six major college teams to post-season bowl games. His college record was 249-132-7 and his record at Notre Dame was 100-30-2 which included the undefeated 1988 season where the Irish won the Fiesta Bowl, to win with the number one ranking – its first since 1977. In fact, Holtz’ only fumble, if you will, was his one year coaching the Jets, where all great players and coaches go to die on the vine. Holtz coached the team for its 1976-77 season, the last one for Namath. He resigned with one game left in the season with his record 3-10, walking away from a five-year contract to go coach the University of Arkansas. At the time, Holtz was quoted as saying that “God did not put Lou Holtz on this earth to coach pro football.” He apparently did put him on the earth to coach college and in particular, Notre Dame. Although not especially built like a football player, he played at Kent State in Ohio. After college he took assistant coaching jobs, winding up with Woody Hayes at Ohio State. Oh the pain. From there he was the head coach at William and Mary, North Carolina State, Arkansas (after the ill-fated Jets year), and Minnesota.

In 1986 he moved over to replace Gerry Faust at Notre Dame. Under Faust, the Irish were wandering aimlessly in the dessert of losses and Holtz was brought in to take them to the Promised Land. Upon taking over as head coach, he was quoted as saying “I’m not very smart, and I’m not very impressive…. I’m 5’10’, weigh 152 pounds, speak with a lisp, appear afflicted with a combination of scurvy and beriberi, and I ranked 234^th in a high school class of 278.” He was always self-effacing but had supreme confidence in his ability to lead. The first thing he did was take the players’ names off the jerseys to reinforce the fact that to win required a team, and not an individual, effort. He instilled respect and a bit of fear in his players. In his second year with the team, they had a Cotton Bowl appearance. The following year was the undefeated year marked by the win over Miami which came to be known as the “Catholics vs. the Convicts” game where the Irish ended Miami’s 36 game regular season winning streak. The following year their only loss was to Miami in the regular-season final game and wound up ranked second in the nation. The 1993 team also was ranked second. He left Notre Dame after an 8-3 season in 1996, saying at the time “it was the right thing to do.” After two years in the booth for CBS, Holtz went back to coaching at the University of South Carolina (who doesn’t want to coach the Cocks). He retired for the second time after the 2004 season. He went back to broadcasting. Holt received every award someone of his greatness deserves. College Football Hall of fame, Presidential Medal of Honor, a statue of him at Notre Dame and many, many more. I love a good, short, speech. One is the Steve Jobs commencement speech at Stanford. Another is Holtz’ commencement speech, I believe at the Franciscan University of Steubenville in 2015, here:

. While Holtz has left us, he would want us all to “Play Like A Champion Today.”

There are lots of people whose lives conveniently fit into a paragraph or two. Then there are a few who have accomplished so much that such a concise space does not do them justice. Robert Mueller is one of those people. He was accomplished in many areas and gave most of his life to public service. He left us this month at 81. Mueller was born into wealth in Manhattan and raised for a few years in a Park Avenue apartment. He went to a fancy prep school in New Hampshire where his classmate was John Kerry. He excelled in sports and exhibited early leadership skills as the captain of the soccer, hockey, and lacrosse teams. He went on to Princeton and then got a master’s in international relations. When his Princeton classmate was killed in Vietnam, he went the unlikely route and enlisted in the Marines where he was trained in the Army’s Ranger School after officer’s training. He then headed off to the combat zone in Southeast Asia where he worked on hunt-and-kill missions where the mortality rate was high. In his first tour he received the Bronze Star for leading a patrol to recover a mortally wounded Marine in the face of being severely outmanned and outgunned by the enemy. His citation noted his “courage, aggressive initiative and unwavering devotion to duty at great personal risk.” Those words pretty much encapsulate his entire life. In a second tour he was shot through the thigh while leading a rescue mission for another soldier. For that he received the Purple Heart. His wife suggested that the law might be a less perilous way forward and he attended the University of Virginia Law School. A few years out of law school, he became an Assistant U.S. Attorney in San Francisco, rising to lead the Criminal Division and handling some of the Office’s most important cases. He moved to the Boston U.S. Attorney’s Office and then to Main Justice in D.C. where he became the Chief of the Criminal Division, overseeing (to the extent they could be overseen) all the U.S. Attorney’s Offices. As Chief, he also had some oversight (to the extent that could happen) of the FBI. He oversaw the bombing of Pan Am 103 over Lockerbie, Scotland and the prosecution of Manuel Noriega. When Clinton was elected, Mueller left the government for private practice. After a few years, he tired of making money for the sake of making money and got a job as a homicide prosecutor in Washington D.C. As the story goes, he called then Attorney General Eric Holder and said that while he may be a bit overqualified for the job, he wanted to prosecute homicides in the Nation’s capital. He got the gig and prosecuted a large number of homicide cases as a lowly line AUSA.

On September 4, 2001, George Bush named him the Director of the FBI. Exactly one week later, the world changed and Mr. Mueller was now in charge of perhaps the world’s greatest investigative agency that needed to be totally revamped to investigate terroristic threats while not violating the Constitution; a very tough line to hew and one it didn’t always get quite right; but it was not for lack of trying. When he inherited the Bureau, it was woefully behind the eight-ball on being able to effectively deter the terrorism threat. It was an agency that had been reactive to crime but now had to be proactive to deter attacks. It took years and many missteps, but he reformulated the Bureau which has more recently been minimized, unless celebrating Olympic hockey games is a priority. Because Congress understood, after J. Edgar Hoover’s 48-year run, that placing too much power in the hands of a single individual is dangerous, the Director of the FBI was limited to a single ten-year term. Nevertheless, when his ten years was up, President Obama requested that he stay and, with the concurrence of Congress, his term was extended for two more years. In his years as Director, he was direct, sometimes gruff, but always buttoned-up. He had many a battle with folks, including Presidents, but always kept them to himself and never violated a confidence. He was, whether you agreed with him or not, the consummate professional. After his run as Director, in 2013, he headed back to the private practice of law, but not for too long. In 2017, a day after meeting with President Trump where his returning as FBI Director was discussed (it was statutorily impossible), the Department of Justice named Mueller as Special Counsel to investigate the Russian influence on the election of President Trump. This was guaranteed to be an undertaking where he could not win but it was an important undertaking, nonetheless. He had to know that his legacy at that point was both stellar and secure, and that the Special Counsel gig would be a polarizing mission and one that would inure only to his detriment. Nevertheless, given his belief in this Country and his sense of duty, he agreed to take on the role. It was as tumultuous an undertaking as he thought. It led to the prosecutions of people like Steve Bannon, Paul Manafort, and Michael Flynn, among others. He looked at the President for possible obstruction of justice and when he issued his report, it stated that the investigation “did not find that the Trump campaign, or anyone associated with it, conspired or coordinated with Russia in its efforts to influence the 2016 Presidential election.” The report, however, did not conclusively state whether President Trump himself did, or did not, engage in obstruction of justice. As he did in all his positions, Mueller did not make comments and only spoke about the investigation when summoned to Congress. He retired soon thereafter. Mueller was, as noted, the consummate professional. Bright, hardworking, with a deep sense of loyalty and commitment to his Country and its Constitution. There are not many like him and whether you agree with him or not, I believe this Country owes him a debt for all of his stellar work. For Mueller, fidelity, bravery and integrity were a way of life; and for him, quite a life it was.

John Hammond, (it was his father who “discovered” Billie Holiday, Springsteen, Aretha, Stevie Ray Vaughn, and others) an influential interpreter of blues music who is responsible for keeping it alive at a time when it was endangered, died this month at 83. Although not as well-known as those he influenced, like Bob Dylan, Jimmy Hendrix, Levon Helm, Mike Bloomfield, Duane Allman, and Eric Clapton (but surprisingly not EVH), he was well respected in the musical community as a player’s player. He grew up in the West Village, where his godfather was the actor and civil rights activist Paul Robeson. Mr. Hammond attended Antioch college, leaving after a year to pursue his musical career which largely centered on playing the Blues music of the greats such as Mississippi John Hurt, John lee Hooker, Sonny Terry, Howlin’ Wolf, Muddy Waters, and others. For a time at the Gaslight Café in Greenwich Village, he played with both Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix in the band. He was also instrumental in Bob Dylan hiring the Band (then the Hawks) as his backup when he went electric. Hammond mostly played others’ tunes but occasionally performed his own songs. He once did an album backed by Little Charlie and the Nightcats, which was a great touring band. They had a song with one of my favorite titles: “I Hate to See You Go, But I Love To Watch You Walk Away.” Hammond won a Grammy in 1985 for his album Blues Explosion and was nominated six other times. The sky is crying.

Chip Dale (James Wesley Voight), the songwriting brother of the actor Jon Voight, (who gave us Angelina Joli), and who wrote the song “Wild Thing,” among many others, died this month at 86. In addition to “Wild Thing,” he wrote “Try (Just A Little Bit Harder),” for Janis Joplin, and “Angel In the Morning,” made a big hit by Juice Newton. His songs were recorded by the likes of Linda Ronstadt, The Hollies, Cliff Richard, Willie Nelson, and Marshall Crenshaw. For me, though, it is the abandon of “Wild Thing,” for which he will be known both to me and a generation. Heck, even Hendrix covered it.

. Dale was born in Yonkers, a place he loved, (he was quoted in the New York Times as saying that “it had all the character in the world), and after high school got signed to a record deal that didn’t really go anywhere. He thought he would follow his father, a professional golfer, into a life on the links (Dale, got the name chip from his short game), but when “Wild Thing,” hit, he shifted to songwriting. In the 1980’s he left the music business to become a full-time gambler. Skilled at blackjack, with the ability to count cards, which got him banned from many casinos, he played for years, addicted to the rush, but was generally unhappy. He got back into music and made some critically acclaimed albums including “Yonkers,” for which he earned a Grammy nomination. You make my heart sing.

Dash Crofts, one half of the duo Seals and Crofts, died this month at 87, just short of feeling another Summer Breeze. Crofts was born in Texas and met Jim Seals when Crofts was drumming in a band at 17, and Seals, four years his junior, was playing saxophone. They formed a band and eventually moved to California. They were so young that a guardian had to accompany them. They were in an instrumental band that had a hit with “Tequila,” but eventually drifted from rock music to a more melodic, soft-rock music that became the Seals and Crofts signature. In addition to “Summer Breeze,” they had hits with “Diamond Girl,” “Get Closer,” and “We May Never Pass This Way Again.” They were both adherents to the Baha’i faith which they learned about through Crofts’ then girlfriend and eventual wife. The religion stresses the unity of God, the unity of religion, and the unity of humanity. It prohibits drinking, gossiping, participating in partisan politics, and sexual relations outside the marriage. Homosexuality is also not permitted. In 1974, after the Supreme Court’s decision in Roe v. Wade, which permitted abortion, and against the advice of their business people and the record company, they decided to put out an album entitled “Unborn Child,” which had a decidedly anti-abortion theme. Many radio stations refused to play it and they lost a fair amount of their fan base because if it. Seals later admitted that the album harmed the duo’s commercial viability but did not go so far as to say that he regretted it. Seals and Crofts amicably split in the early 80’s but would occasionally regroup for tours. Their last album, “Traces,” was released in 2004. Jim Seals died in 2022. Blowin’ through the jasmine in my mind.

The guy who led the Woodstock crowd in a chant beginning with “give me an F; give me a U, and so on, that emboldened every 17-year-old that listened to the Woodstock album, Country Joe McDonald, has died at 84. After the chant, the band launched into the anti-war tune “I-Feel-Like-I’m-Fixin’-to-Die-Rag.” For better or worse, it is that song and that chant, on that album, that came to define his professional life. Most of his other material people did not know but all those of a certain age will always remember that chant and tune. Mr. McDonald’s parents were both communists (his father was called before the House Un-American Activities Committee), and they named him after Joseph Stalin. Perhaps to their chagrin, their son joined the Navy because as he put it, “he wanted to see the world and have sex.” Now if that was on the Navy’s recruiting posters, perhaps they would have lines to join. After three years in the Navy and some attempts at college, he moved to Berkley and formed Country Joe and the Fish. The band got signed to a record contract and toured. Scheduled to go on the Ed Sullivan Show, the band forfeited its chance when at a concert in Central Park they tried out what became known as the Fish Cheer (the whole give me an F thing) and got cancelled. What didn’t play for Mr. Sullivan, energized the adolescents in the Nation when they got to the stage at Woodstock. After the band broke up, Mr. McDonald continued as a solo act but never attained the place on the mountain that his gig in the Catskills afforded him. While I was never a big fan of the band, the sentiment of telling the powers-to-be to fuck off is what Rock and Roll exemplifies to me. Defiance. The fact that the entire genre of rock n’ rollers, formed through defiance, would honor themselves by having a Hall of Fame and induction ceremonies with tuxedo-wearing sell-outs, dining on lobster and the like while puffing their chests and proclaiming how great they are, is sickening to me. Give me and F…

Gospel is a gateway to rock n’ roll. Sort of like crossing over to the devil’s side of the street. Aretha did it. So too Whitney Houston, Sam Cooke, Little Richard, and Solomon Burke, among others. One of the early crossover artists, the lead singer of the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi, Roscoe Robinson, died at 97. Given he lived a lot longer than Chuck Norris, I have to rethink my priorities in life. Just a closer walk with thee. Sam Cooke and Mr. Robinson knew one another from the Chicago gospel circuit. Mr. Cooke achieved greater fame before being shot at the Hacienda Motel, not long after checking in with a woman who was not his wife. Cooke was shot by the manager of the Hacienda after the woman had fled the room with Cooke’s clothes and wallet containing about $5,000 cash (his take from a concert). Cooke confronted the manager who he believed was protecting the woman. The manager was found to have acted in self-defense and one of the great singers was gone. Cooke was once asked to join a gospel group and declined, referring Robinson, who he described as the next best thing to himself. Ultimately, Robinson moved over to the Blind Boys which was a bit off, seeing as how Robinson’s vision was unimpaired. After the Blind Boys, he moved to mainstream music and had modest success. He found his way back to Gospel. Robinson who, when he first joined the Five Blind Boys of Mississippi was afraid of the blind, wound up also singing for the Blind Boys of Ohio and the Blind Boys of Alabama thus completing the trifecta of blind singing by a guy with perfect vision. Go figure.

I remember the Summer that the band Boston released their self-titled album. It had hit after hit. The guitarist and leader of the band, Tom Scholz, had always said that he could be a rock star if he found the right lead singer. In Brad Delp, he found the right guy. Delp had a great voice and could really hit the high notes. With Scholz and Delp, the band that had first been named Mother’s Milk, and renamed Boston, took off. Tragically, Delp committed suicide in 2007 by putting two BBQ’s in his bathtub and creating enough carbon monoxide to bring about his demise. And I always thought I would turn on the car in a sealed garage. Tragic end. However, with his death, Tommy DiCarlo, who died this month at 60, went from hardware to stardom. Mr. DiCarlo had been a singer in some bands when he was young, and a huge Boston fan. By the time Delp died, DiCarlo was married with two kids and working at a Home Depot in North Carolina. When he heard about Delp’s death, he dug out his karaoke equipment and sang along to two of Boston’s biggest hits, “Smokin’,” and “Don’t Look Back,” and posted them to My Space. Remember My Space? I am surprised it didn’t really survive. Anyway, he also sent the two recordings to the band and offered to sing with them at a tribute show that was being planned for Delp. Somehow the tracks got to Tom Scholz’ wife who played them for her husband. At first, he thought it was a live recording of the band. When he was informed it was not, but rather a Home Depot employee singing along, he invited DeCarlo to the tribute and brought him out to sing. DeCarlo did so well that Scholz asked him to tour with the band. He took a leave from Home Depot (probably keeping his health benefits through COBRA) and became a rock star. The tour worked out so well he quit the hardware gig and continued to tour with the band until it stopped in 2017. The eerie thing about it was that DeCarlo died 19 year to the day the Delp did. More than a feeling.

When I was a kid, we watched The Ten O’clock News on channel five with Bill Jorgenson. That said, if you grew up in New York, at some point you got news from Earnie Anastos, a seemingly ageless newscaster, with an omnipresent smile on his face, who could deliver the worst stories with an even demeanor. Good news was more his stock-in-trade, however, and he even hosted a show called “Positively America.” Anastos, a graduate of Northeastern University, worked for ABC news as well as CBS news in New York. He at times traded the anchor chair on ABC news with Tom Snyder which is odd seeing how good Anastos was and how unpredictable Snyder could be. Anastos also worked at Fox 5 news (not today’s version), and UP9. Over his career, Anastos earned some 30 Emmy Awards and nominations as well as the Edward R. Murrow Award. In one of his more memorable broadcasts, Nick Gregory, the meteorologist gave the weather and leading out if it, Anastos wanted to do a riff on the then famous Purdue chicken phrase it takes a tough man to make a tender chicken. Meaning to say, It takes a tough man to make a tender forecast, keep plucking that chicken, he phrased it somewhat differently stating, “it takes a tough man to make a tender forecast. Keep fucking that chicken.” His co-anchor froze and the station immediately cut to a commercial. Anastos immediately apologized for his misstep and given how well-respected and thought of he was by his bosses and the viewing community, the moment passed without any discipline, although it became a recurring joke on Late Night with David Letterman. Later in life, Anastos formed the Anastos Media Group and purchased several radio stations. March 21^st, 2017, was named Earnie Anastos day in New York, by then mayor Bill DeBlasio. Mr. Anastos also wrote some children’s books which I suspect said nothing about chicken fucking.

Monte Rock III, an individual with no true artistic talent, who made a living in showbiz touting how he had no true artistic talent, died this month at 86. It is beautiful to essentially be a fraud by proclaiming that you are a fraud, and being accepted, and at times aggrandized for it. You’ve gotta love America. The President, I am sure, whether you like him or not, learned a few lessons from Mr. Rock III. Mr. Rock III (at times he was the I, II III and IV, but somehow the III stuck), was born Josehp Montanez, Jr., in the Bronx. He was a hairstylist who desired to be more star than star-stylist. His parents had disowned him because of his homosexuality. He decided that one way to steal the limelight was to out-Liberace, Liberace. He made appearances on the Merv Griffin show and was a near-regular on The Tonight Show (where he had more than 40 appearances), which is where he showed up on my radar. Although he had no singing ability, he fronted Disco-Tex and the Sex-O-Lettes, who had two notable songs in the 70’s. The beauty of Mr. Rock was that he was devoid of talent but was the first to admit it. It was not as if he was a fraud, he basically came right out and said it, and it was that willingness to admit his lack of any ability that made him, in a way, endearing. Appearing on the Joe Franklin Show, the sort of dustbin for has-beens, he said, “if I had talent, I’d be great.” That could perhaps be said of me as well. Howard Stern has called him one of the most interesting talk show guests of all time. While most people trade down to “The Love Boat,” Mr. Rock the I through IV, was apparently never invited to appear. Gotta hand it to him, he attained the fame he craved.

Baseball season started this week. There is always something uplifting about the start of baseball. Spring is in the air; new beginnings foster thoughts of greatness and hope springs eternal. However, as a Met’s fan, eternity is generally short lived. I used to view the Mets like I did my lawn. In the spring it started growing lush and green, it looked great. In June it was dammed good. Midway through July it started to brown and by August, it was a burnt mess. Its arc of life too often mirrored the arc of the Mets seasons which also mostly petered out in July and was dead by some point in August. Anyway, call me Charlie Brown lining up to kick the football in baseball season because I can still believe that this may be the year. I started writing this to let you know that Bruce Froemming, the baseball umpire, died at 86. Froemming was a major league umpire for 37 seasons. That’s a lot of opening days. Froemming was a no-nonsense guy who would throw you out of the game if you pushed his buttons. He once called Tim McCarver out for knocking over the Houston Astro’s shortstop to break up a double-play. McCarver’s manager, Frank Lucchesi, came running out of the dugout and engaged in a 14-minute argument before Froemming threw him and one of his coaches out of the game. He also was tough when calling balls and strikes. In 1972 Froemming, in only his second season, was behind the plate for a game between the Chicago Cubs and the Sand Diego Padres. Milt Pappas was pitching for the Cubs, and he retired the first 26 San Diego batters. He was on the cusp of what would have been the tenth perfect game in baseball history. The 27^th batter was the pinch hitter, Lary Stahl. Pappas got ahead of Stahl one ball, two strikes, and then two close pitches missed for what Froemming deemed balls. On a full count, Pappas delivered another close pith that Froemming called ball four, ending the perfect game. The next batter popped out leaving Pappas upset with a no-hitter. Pappas never forgave Froemming for his having lost his perfect game bid. Perhaps with the robot umpire rule they instituted this season, Pappas would have had his perfect game. Not at that time, but at others, when Froemming had is eyesight brought into question, said the sun is 93 million miles away and I can see that. Such is the life of an umpire.

That’s it. Number 60 in the books. The weather will eventually warm up and before you know it, we will be complaining it’s too hot and we’ll want to try and Stay Frosty. Enjoy the month of April.