Letting IT Slide

One of the reasons my mother went back to dancing in her 40s had nothing to do with chasing the spotlight. It wasn’t about unfinished dreams or reclaiming lost time. It was because we were broke. My father realized there was money to be made, and putting her back on stage could help. Plus, it didn’t hurt his ego to be connected to someone performing again. He’d never admit it, but it satisfied something in him-maybe even fueled his attempt to start a vaudeville show.

We were on welfare for most of my childhood. My father’s politics leaned left. He was a staunch advocate of civil rights and free speech, seen as a socialist by some, always talking about the importance of looking out for the disenfranchised. He despised people like Anita Bryant, whose anti-LGBTQ campaign made his skin crawl. That stands out now because years later, when my brother came out as gay, he and my father stopped talking. My brother believed it was because of his sexuality. That tension hung in the air for years and sadly impacted their relationship. More on that later.

THE BLACKLISTED BROADCASTER

My father also debated religion endlessly. He’d gone from agnostic to atheist and would spar - respectfully, but eagerly- with any priest, rabbi, or pastor who took the bait. He loved a good intellectual fight, especially if it gave him a platform. His outspoken views eventually made him too hot to handle in radio, losing stations their advertisers and sponsors. He became blacklisted. That was why we were broke-and the reason we received threats.

But entertainment was his true passion.

His early broadcasts focused mostly on entertainment. He loved talking about interviews with celebrities- especially Otto Preminger, the legendary director of Anatomy of a Murder. He’d drop hints about wanting a role, like he was auditioning mid-interview. He used to say the name Marvin sounded too nebbish, but Marvin Burak? That had a ring to it. Just enough like Marlon Brando to sound marketable.

CAMERA, KIDS, CHAOS

We made short films as a family. Scripted them. Cast the neighborhood kids. Once we rescued a cat from some boys who were torturing it, and my dad made a movie called A Tale of Two Kitties. He always had to sneak in humor.

That was one thing he encouraged: creativity and hustle. I learned how to pitch ideas and raise money as a kid, going door to door asking for change to buy film.

Sometime in the mid-1970s, Kodak released a Supermatic 8 processing machine that could develop a 50-foot roll of Super 8 film in fifteen minutes. Around that time, my grandmother passed away and left my father a duplex and a decent inheritance. Trusts were set up for my brother and me. But my father, as executor, used all of it to invest in Kodak stock and buy the developer.

I remember him calling us into his bedroom to tell us about it-thinly disguised as asking permission. We climbed over piles of newspapers and magazines that blanketed the bedroom floor and sat on dirty, half-hanging bed sheets. The mattress sagged. The room felt more like storage than somewhere someone slept. Our house could’ve been the pilot episode of Hoarders.

The machine was massive, industrial-looking, and chemical-heavy. It lived on our enclosed front porch. Marcin-Jeflo Productions was born. He merged our names to make it sound like a family venture, a way to make us feel involved-and less resentful about losing our inheritance. I saw right through it... but what choice did I have? That porch became our production space, sealed off with homemade sliding doors.

We processed film for Temple University students and the Philadelphia 76ers, who needed fast turnarounds to review footage. We also handled wedding reels, local events, and even a huge batch-about 1,000 rolls-of what I think was some kind of travel or exploration doc. The man who brought them had an exotic-sounding name, something like the Maharishi. I can't believe I forgot it. That job was a big deal.

SEEING THE SHIFT

I played a major role in operations. The unwritten org chart went something like this: Dad was PR/COO, Mom was Production Manager, my brother was Senior Operator, and I was Operations. Even at ten, I sensed film was on the decline. Videotape was coming. Instant playback. Easier storage. I didn’t have the vocabulary, but I understood what was happening. My dad fought the shift. He’d rant about how film looked richer, more artistic. He wasn’t wrong-but he was out of step. We were broke.

You won’t find much about the Supermatic 8 online. That’s how big a flop it was. Mostly, we stuck to developing and editing, but I wanted to grow. I pushed for us to sell accessories: empty reels, storage boxes, little things people asked for. I noticed the patterns. I wanted to build something.

LET THEM EAT HOAGIES

But that was hard to do when you were also dealing with vandalism, firebombings, and cops at your door. At one point, my father was arrested-accused of attacking our own house.

Once we had the business, public assistance stopped. Even tiny income meant no more support. Before that, we lived for the monthly Pathmark food runs- paid for with food stamps. We'd load the cart with strawberries, steaks, hoagie rolls. It felt like a holiday feast. We ate like we hadn't seen food in weeks-and in some ways, we hadn’t. That kind of deprivation creates a scarcity mindset. It shapes every decision you make later.

WHAT JOBS SAID

Reading about people like Steve Jobs makes me reflect. In Kara Swisher’s Burn Book, she writes about Jobs responding aggressively to a media leak. His advisors told him to let it slide. He refused. He said:

"The worst thing that could possibly happen as we get big is if we change our core values and start letting it slide. I cannot do that. I'd rather quit."

That stuck with me.

ENOUGH SLIDING

I’m not building Apple. But I’ve always had vision. I’ve had instincts. I’ve seen trends coming. I’ve been on the edge of good ideas-ideas that could’ve worked. I just didn’t have the capital. Or the timing. Or the protection.

Maybe I wasn’t in the right circles. Maybe I was just a kid with a cash box, a roll of masking tape, and a living room that reeked of cigarettes and cockroach spray.

But I saw the shifts. I always have.

For most of my life, I’ve let things slide-the very thing Jobs refused to do. That passage in Swisher’s book hit me. Even now, at sixty, when I’m supposed to have earned the right to speak freely, I still worry. About hurting feelings. About burning bridges. About telling the truth.

Maybe I’m protecting myself-because I’m still looking for a job. Still hoping to find purpose in an industry that gave me so much agita: automotive retail.

Reading about Jobs gives me the courage to write. I’ve owned my part in everything. God knows I’ve replayed the moments a thousand times, analyzing how I could’ve done better. But maybe it’s time I stop letting it slide.