8039. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW (#24)

24. PRINCETON

Going back many years, the first time I

took any interest in Princeton was in about

1966, when I used to ride around endlessly,

a lot anyway, with a friend named Ray, who

would get his father's '56 Plymouth for the

evening or day. His father worked at Reynolds

Aluminum, down on Blair Road, right across,

in fact, from Kuhlman Dining Car Company,

of which I've written before. They made 
those grand old regular American diners 
that everyone's so fond of. For all I know  
they used Reynolds Aluminum sheets, from 
right across the road. That Reynolds factory 
had a funny quirk  -  it was large, very square 
and low, and had a drainage ditch cut out all 
around it, which often filled with run-off or 
rain water. It always gave me the impression,  
then, that it had a moat around itself, and

I'd get all dreamy and medieval near there. 
Anyway, it was Ray who first drove me
to Princeton  -  not by any plan or anything,

just the normal roaming around. This was 
a fresh though chilly April day and when we 
got there, at the Princeton High School lawn 
(the old one, in  use then, on Nassau Street  -  
now all since moved to some new and 
mucky-looking  place on the far end of town), 
they were exhibiting an outdoor art show,  
student stuff, on the lawn, and the usual 
rummage and flea market junk. It was 
interesting, and we stopped and looked 
around. But it was, back then, like nothing 
I'd  really ever seen before. A town, a 
university town at that, which honored and 
proclaimed its creative allegiance to things 
other than the usual crud (I then thought anyway). 
I was struck. I was also inquisitive : what kind of 
place is this? What was this university connection 
all about? We really didn't get much deeper into 
town, just stayed about there, but my interest 
was fired up. Some time later, once I did finally 
get a license and a car of my own, I drove there, 
with my girlfriend no less, and we pretty much 
did the same kind of thing, just wandering 
around, in a sort of wonder at what's up. 
She still talks about this to this day  -  crazy, 
wonderful, first trip anywhere. I admit, it had 
some peculiarities. First off, it seemed always 
balmy  -  warmer and more floral and all, than 
anywhere else and, in addition, it seemed deeply 
southern. A different sort of old place, and back 
then I didn't even know a thing about it, as much 
as I do now. We were walking, as it were, on 
corpses everywhere,  it all having been part once 
of a Continental Army circulation and movement, 
with skirmishes and battles all over what later 
became the center of Princeton University's 
campus too. It always used to amaze me that the 
actual first establishment of Princeton University 
(what later became, after it moved to 'Princeton') was 
actually a place (marked to this day on the wall of 
a very old church and meeting house) right in the 
crummy middle of Elizabeth, NJ. It all had to to 
with the Rev. Burr, Aaron Burr, Sr., the father of  
the Aaron Burr we know from American historical 
fame, and dueler of Hamilton, and Vice President and 
provocateur and insurrectionist too.
-

Anyway, Princeton is where Aaron Burr, Jr. grew 
up and the University was the site of his home, 
and also a field where soldiers on both sides had 
fought and died. The Burrs, each, are buried in the 
Princeton Cemetery nearby. It's now, the field, 
called, Cannon Green, and I know, for one thing,
that  -  in the Department of Lingering Spirits and
Haunted Places, my dog will NOT, in any way 
shape or form, walk across that lawn nor near  
that area. Something completely freezes her up and 
shrivels her nerve, which is usually pretty good.

Well, on that day, my girlfriend and I walked 
around, got something to eat and drink, sat on a 
lawn somewhere, and just took it all in.  After that 
we'd return every so often. It became a regular spot 
for us. Friends of ours from Rutgers took us there 
one night, when females were first being enrolled,
that first year, 1968, '69 maybe. One of them was 
a transferring student friend of ours, Amy, and 

there was a party of some sort, for the new 
girls' arrivals, in a frat house or someone's

house/apartment. All I remember is being

a tad uncomfortable, and some guy with 
a pipe, smoking and somber, all night. No
damper on the night, just a little annoying

to me, and even a bit ominous seeming. All

that academic crud which I never wanted to

be mine, and  -  for myself  -  all that watching

what I said, for fear of alienating one creep

or the other.

-

There was, back on the everyday Dinky, this

other guy, Scott somebody. Some curious and

Italian last name, but very short, like 'Cui' or

'Cusi' or something of that sort. He was tall

and thin, and always wore serious black

clothing - real fabrics and materials, no

'leisure' clothes. He always dressed OK,

but his lack of taste was so bad that all

his outfits would be ruined because

whatever he wore he always had a

two-dollar plastic and way-garishly-

colored finish to it. It killed everything

else, and just never matched. Plus, he

always wore a black knit  watchman's

knit hat  -  like the sort that bank-robbers

wear. Nothing ever looked right, and he

wore the hat all the time. I saw him,

really, only two or three times without

that hat. I could see why; he had perhaps

twenty strands of hair left, long, stringy

top-of-the-head hair, and his scalp,

besides, was heavily freckled and

blotchy. Weird. He always, to add

to the bad effect, always, was dragging

around one of those airport-luggage

cart-and-wheels things, a smaller

sized one. He laughed it off when any

one made fun of him or it, and would

just say, 'I like it; there's nothing in it,

just a small lunch my wife prepares

each day.' I was never really sure if he

meant she made it anew each day, or

if it was the same old lunch every day.

He would always come at me with a

joke of the day from his 'Joke Of The

Day' calendar his wife bought him

each Christmas. Lame stuff, and his

delivery sucked too. This went on

and on, almost ad nauseum.

-

Funny thing was, he was the main

Science Librarian in the Lewis

Science Library, a fancy new building

by Frank Gehry at the time. New, fancy

offices and library rooms. He'd been
doing it for years. That's the Peter

Principle of management, actually, or

Drucker, or someone  -  when you reach

a job point where you've met your match,
reached your talent limit, and they

just leave you there, in place, instead

of advancing you. Be content for small

favors. Be it good or bad, at least if you're

kept right there you won't bother anyone.
Scott was, on the surface, a bit of the kind
of guy you'd think would have had research
papers, books, and a partially-finished
manuscript or something in his wheeled 
cart; but, no, just an everyday lunch.

-

I used to think how we all are like that,

trailing our little closed compartment

around with us everywhere, even if filled with

nothing but crud  -  the everyday run-down

of an old, ordinary lunch. Assumptions.

Ideas. Attitudes. Memories. Refusals. All

those things we never act upon because

we're just more comfortable right where

we already are. And we know

we won't bother anyone.