Musically, Jay's always preferred classical. He hesitates to use the term, because it's so frequently misunderstood. People often confuse "classical" with "elevator." Oh how much pleasanter elevators would be if Mozart and Beethoven soothed the riders.

Jay defines classical music broadly as music that is lyrical, including baroque and even some 20th Century compositions. He doesn't much like modern "classical" music, the stuff that sounds like someone dropped the orchestra - the infernal twelve-tone, for example, plus any a-tonal riffs that sneak in. Mostly, he doesn't like Brahms' symphonies, either, and doesn't care for much of Wagner's melodramatic leitmotivation. A few years ago, he discovered Brahms quartets and quintets at a concert at the Newberry Opera House, and loved them, adding several nice CDs to his collection. But his dislike of Brahms' symphonies persists.

Not much of an opera buff, Jay can't recite the lyrics of even famous arias, much less recount the plots or name the characters. Yet he loves some operatic music. That includes anything sung by Kathleen Battle, most any Mozart except the dire Don Giovanni, the better Verdi, and virtually all of Gilbert and Sullivan, plus the usual Puccini, Vivaldi, Offenbach, Gounod and whoever else. Jay first became interested in opera in the Sixties while working at a newspaper. Relegated to holding down the newsroom by himself on Saturdays, Jay brought along a small radio, and while surfing the dial landed on a Texaco broadcast of Humperdinck's Hansel und Gretel from the Metropolitan Opera. The performances became his weekly thing, except the infamous Ring cycle, respite from the clatter of the teletypes.

Besides Miss Battle, some of Jay's favorite singers are Diana Damrau - her Queen of the Night is way impressive - Detlef Roth, for his Parisian Papageno, and Luciano Pavarotti for, well, everything he ever sang, really, but also for Yes, Giorgio, his fabulous movie. "I saw it five times," Jay recounts, "with a very patient friend in the one theatre in town that played it for the short time it played." There's major irony at work during the linked aria, as the character on stage is victorious in love, while the singer's love interest is busy leaving, added poignancy to an incredible performance. Layers, you know. Lots of layers. Makes for a great movie. Rummage on Ebay for a (scarce!) copy of the video, but don't think you'll ever get Jay's.

Jay's favorite vocation and avocation is photography. Photos gratia artis. He started young, encouraged by his father who at family events proudly took the current-model Kodak box camera off its high shelf in the closet. The old man set everybody blinking with the flash from huge bulbs, even in outdoor sunlight, and after weeks of waiting gleefully showed off curly edged glossy prints, square and sharp, many of them color. Yet, Jay's family album contains very little that survived the internal combustion of his dysfunctional family, so most of what's extant is stuff Jay shot in recent times.

Photographically, Jay started by recording his grandmother's flower beds with his father's Kodak. When the prints came back, an interminable wait later, the flowers were all black and white. Not beautiful, hand printed black and white, but bleached out "drugstore" prints - which is of course what they were.

Jay gave up in despair, unaware that changing the film would have brought color prints. Several years later, Jay received a new Polaroid Land Camera - freshly invented - with a kit of accessories. It was a gift from his father. The camera required some finagling with exposures, but Jay managed to figure out the EV system and went about recording absolutely everything for posterity - the cat, the house, and any relatives who'd put up with the hassle. None of these great images survives, so posterity, the Smithsonian (and the dumpster) are out of luck. After the new wore off, and the cute little Wink Light died for the second time and couldn't be repaired, Jay moved on to other enthusiasms, not to say obsessions, and parked the Polaroid.

Years passed, as years are wont to do. While at the university of South Carolina in Aiken, studying journalism, Jay snagged part time employment as a newspaper correspondent. His Sainted Grandmother bought him a 35mm camera, and a new interest was re-born. Again with the black and white. Only this time the prints got individualized attention from the newspaper's photo lab and even appeared in print.

You can tell a great deal about somebody if you know what heroes he holds dear. It's like knowing who he hangs out with and in what pub. It’s as good as stalking him for a week through the gutters of the city - or through the coffeehouses or the jazz clubs, as the case may be. We are what we eat, for sure, but we are who we emulate, just as certainly. So, let's get started analyzing Jay (this is, after all, the UNauthorized auto-bio) by detailing who some of his heroes are, were, have been. And why.

Jay’s favorite heroes have rarely been who you might expect, definitely not the usual crowd. But then, Jay’s not the usual lot himself, he urges it to be said. “I’m not noted for conformity.”

First off, the Man of Steel. Nope. No way. Jay's peers admired Superman - that is, if Jay can be said to have had any actual peers. Jay’s "contemporaries," we’ll call them with a wicked grin, took their hero worship seriously. They donned capes fashioned of faded beach towels and were able to leap tall sand sculptures in a single bound. They were faster than a speeding Lionel train set. Big fat hairy deal.

Jay, on the other hand, didn't consider the Caped One eligible for hero worship, much less emulation. On the contrary, he considered Superman’s other half, Clark Kent, the stuff of wannabe dreams. Clark was so immensely coooool. Definitely the stuff of hero-hood, au contraire the brash Superman. The oh-so-cool Mister Manners could do the presto-change-o thing in a handy phone booth, stomp the appropriate villains, and reappear all pressed and clean with his reporter's notebook full of pithy information. And just in the nick of time for the first-edition deadline at the ol’ Planet. Talk about a nose for news!

When Metropolis - the town, silly... When Metropolis was threatened, and Superman’s talents were called forth, Clark was a sure follow-on, dependably scooping up duhh-on-the-street interviews, gathering background information, and oh, by the way, saving Aiken - oops, Metropolis - from harm in his other identity. He never even got winded. Must've never got long-winded, either, ‘cause the editors never appeared to give him any grief about eating up too much space on the front page.

Through it all, and “it all” was quite an ordeal every afternoon on television, Mister Kent managed his double identity without ever requiring the services of a therapist. The Phone Company might have been a little peeved from time to time, but they never let on. His bosses at the newspaper, supposedly none the wiser about his double identity, either never suspected or were too busy with their editorial pens and chose to ignore their reporter’s cute tricks. So, Clark gracefully held onto his job at the newspaper office, gathering the scoops in spite of constant interruptions for saving the town or the dunce Lois from doom. Or themselves. Now THAT was a hero!

Would Clark make a go of it at CBS News now? CNN? Mister Mild Manners probably wouldn't last ten minutes or one dead princess, whichever came first. Something about mild manners and shoving a microphone into a grieving face would probably not click. Besides, the world was easier to save back then, when the good and bad guys were easy to tell apart. And politics weren’t required.

Jay admired not only Clark's dual role, but also his very mild manneredness. Clark Kent was truly a gentle man, keeping his powerful alterself a secret even when showing off would have been soooo much fun.

During most of Jay's early years he was beset, tortured, taunted, and otherwise made miserable by aggressive male contemporaries, not to say peers. So, it’s hardly surprising that his hero wasn't the swashbuckling aggressor half of the Superman bundle, but the debonair Clark. The fact that Clark made his way as a newspaper reporter was even better. Ah, the stuff of heroes: pad in pocket and press pass tucked into the ubiquitous hat, but secretly attired in tights underneath the Fifties’ most conservative suit. Let the next-door neighbor boys and the down-the-street brats emulate Superman with their striped towels, their blue pajamas, and their short flights off high porches. Jay wore glasses and carried a notebook.

Maybe it sounds dramatic from this perspective, but even in Jay’s days as a child he wanted a career in communications. Printing and publishing, maybe, newspapering, bookwriting, even radio. Not television, but that would have been okay if none of the others came through. As it turned (turns?) out, Jay eventually achieved plenty more things that hadn't been invented back in the days of leaping over low hedges with the imagination on high beam. Yes, there was electricity, and you didn’t have to fly a kite to get a charge out of it.

Jay was good enough at some things to make a go of them later in life, and bad enough at lots of things to develop a serious aversion to being laughed at. Kite flying was one of those latter. And basketball. And baseball. And... well, lots of other things.