283. AVENEL, Pt. 5
'nice fit'
Combinations of hundreds
of things made this place
what it was - from a
bicycle kingdom for boys
to a swaddling collection
of religions and buildings.
Down across Route One
was the old B'nai Israel
synagogue, and on Avenel
Street the two mainline
churches, sort of always
vying with each other.
Clubs and activities for
kids, dances, competing
Boy Scout troops and
the rest. The Presbyterian
Boy Scout troop, they were
the real guys. Troop 42, I
think it was - intrepid
cold-weather campers,
brawlers, adept fire-starters
and merit badge elite. By
contrast, the later, Catholic,
Troop 73, were a bunch of
pasty wimps, challenged
even by knot-tying. In
the Boy Scout handbook
there were 30 different
types of knots, maritime
knots, wilderness knots,
and the rest, you were
supposed to know, and
master. I got maybe
three of them straight,
ever - and every other
one that failed I'd gleefully
call a 'slip-knot'. Successfully
done. What did I care? You
know how it's said, about
school, 'what do I need to
know all that Math for?'
That's how I viewed knots.
No future utility except,
perhaps, for bondage, but
I had no intention of going
there. The (we) catholic
kids were flagrant violators
- goofing off, hanging
about, doing little or
nothing at all. Catholic
kids were brought
up to worry about all
the other stuff, the
things that, somehow,
Boy Scouts never taught
or even worried about:
Salvation, guilt, darkness,
sin, regret. It was crazy.
They had no business
at all even starting
a Boy Scout troop.
-
At St. George Press I
got a good little perch
from which to view
the town around me.
It was a decent job,
with some prestige.
I got to meet a lot of
Woodbridge people,
deal with some of the
big guys, the newspapers,
the political doers, and
hacks. I was still nobody,
just me, working for
wages, and trying to
remain one step off of
center stage - which
was easy. Against my
will, I got to learn
about business, bills,
accounts payables,
profit margins,
collectibles, loans
and pay-backs, the
wholesale paper-buying
of the printing-trades,
inks and colors, grades
of paper and printing
stocks, bindings,
mark-ups, discounting,
shipping... It was all
crazy, There was
one time - I remember
it well - I'd just bought
a new car, a 1985, and
the purchase price was
18,600 dollars - a
massive sum for me
then, for a car anyway.
I had these 5-rooms of
losers at some office
on Mayfield Drive in
Raritan Center - they
churned through
printing like water,
sold to others as
brokers, and were
always nagging me
for 'cheap, cheap,
and cheaper'.
That was their motto.
It was the October
end of our fiscal
year and I was owed
something like $39,000
by these Heeb jackals.
(I hated dealing with
this crew). They were
living way high off
my money. We'd do
the work, the printing,
and sell it to them for,
say, $100, and - true
to form - by doing
absolutely nothing
at all except some
bullshit and phone
calls, they'd charge
their customer,
in turn, say $210.
Seriously. Rapacious
profit-mongering
on their their part,
by using us as a
bank. Never paying
up. This one time the
strategy was for me
to just go there, make
a scene, rattle their
stupid asses, and get
some money, if not
all (which we knew
they didn't have). They
were slowly going
insolvent. I did my
part, and this head
honcho there - a big,
bloviating heap, named
Joel Greene, he finally
forked over a check for
$18,600. Exactly the
price of the car I'd
just bought. It was
weird. I raced back
to the office and we
banked that money in
about five seconds.
Thank God it didn't
bounce.
-
That was a big
lesson - these jackals
drove around in Jaguars
and new Audis and
things - fancy suits,
pinky rings, Yankee
Stadium season box
tickets to entertain
clients, for a couple
of years they even
extended out some
Super Bowl tickets,
New Orleans one year,
and Atlanta, I think,
the next. Lodgings,
dining, the whole bit,
for a few of their
premier accounts.
It was all based on
nothing but talk,
and we knew that.
We'd all make fun
of them behind
their backs - their
ways and means
were so patently
ridiculous, you
had to. Loud, frothy
egomaniacs, these
guys. It all worked
out, over 8 years
maybe, then they
all splintered up,
went broke, and
made their own
separate, smaller
companies. A real
racket. I handled
so much money
- the billings, the
money-owed, and
all that, through
them, that if I
had run with it
I could have
bought a small
African country.
Once again, I saw
the beast of what
'Business' really is,
from their dirty
underside. It was
good - it made
me always glad,
always, to be a
faraway outsider
to all that crud. I
realized I'd rather
dig ditches than
have to deal with
such slime.
-
From inside St.
George Press,
everything looked
different. I look
out at St. George
Avenue - all that
crazy, thrumming
traffic rolling by.
Everything from
mail trucks to ice
cream trucks and
all in-between.
Eskimo pies, over
next door, at the
7-11. Along the
street, nearly every
day, I'd see a couple
of the same people :
a man and a woman,
always walking
together, close and
tight, and determined.
No one ever knew
their situation,
whether homeless
or indigent or
what; but in
every weather,
with some bags
and a suitcase,
they be walking
around, to or
from somewhere,
but never getting
anywhere - they
were neither
friendly nor
congenial, and
just sought to
be left alone.
I had an old
grade school
chum who was
'around the bend'
now, as they say.
Peter Marschak;
he'd just be, also,
fast walking around,
straight-backed,
staring only straight
ahead, eyes blazing.
Never knew where
he was headed
either, but he was
always on the
fast-walk somewhere.
Another grade-school
pal, Ken Lackowitz,
sort of crazed and
shell-shocked out
of Vietnam, was
just always trouncing
around, in his own
little world, on a
bicycle. Every day,
it seemed, I always
wished to connect,
or re-connect, with
these folks, see if
I could help, whatever,
but I never did -
except for Ken, whom
I did meet years later
on the wharf in
Perth Amboy. He
was much improved,
counseled and
brought back,
looked good, had
a new truck,
fishing trips, etc.
We had a beer
or two, and saw
each other off.
Nice fit.
-
Remember those guys I
mentioned, the Raritan
Center bunch? For a while
one of the connections I
had, through printing with
them, was the office of Air
France, the carrier, in NYCity.
It was like the French National
Airline or somesuch. Every so
often, to 'service' the account, etc.
and because of the volume, I'd
hop in our company car and
deliver to NYC, their offices
along the Avenue. I'd get to
meet faces that had just
been phone voices, deliver
the goods, and all that. They
weren't, per se, 'my' client, but
it made no difference to them
and they just thought we
were all the same bunch.
New York City deliveries were
always a logistical nightmare.
This time I parked on
the street, in the 40's, where
I'd found a decent spot, and
planned, with a hand cart,
on making two or three trips
to the elevators, some five blocks
away. Coming back from the
first trip, I saw envelopes and
letterheads blowing all over the
street. Hmmm, they sure look
familiar. Oh no! They're mine.
While I was away, some peering
eyes had seen the boxes in the
rear, figured perhaps they were
something valuable, popped out
the vent window on the Oldsmobile
wagon (it was lying on the front
seat) and, seeing the valuelessness
to them of mere printed paper, just
thrown the stuff all around. What a
mess, and a quirky problem too.
Crafty thieves. I gathered up
whatever I could, popped the vent
window back into place, found a
dumpster to dump it all, drove
out of there, called Air France later,
saying there'd been an interruption
and I'd be returning with the rest
in a few days. I got to the office
later that afternoon, and real
nonchalantly said (when asked) that
they'd liked everything, in fact
liked it so much they'd re-ordered
already! (Scam alert). I thereby did
eventually fulfill the order, arrange
the UPS delivery (as I should
have done before), and simply
'buried' the new order, paperwork,
and billling, with no one the wiser.
Tough life, that business world
- one has to learn how to pivot, and
think on one's feet. Hey! I was
getting to be just like them!
