8921. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, Pt. 254

254. THE WRONG 

SIDE OF HISTORY

One thing that was

always interesting to

me -  even if it was

sometimes difficult

as well  -  was to

understand the contrasts

between my own 'lives'

at the present (then) and

before it (then too). I'm

using 1967 as the crossing

line. That was a totally

momentous divide. There

have been others for me

since, yes, but this was

a telling one itself. I had

to sit down some and think.

I'd really have to say that

so much was all gummed

up and just waiting to be

sorted out : look at a life,

it's a huge amalgamation

of events and feelings, but

if it's not sorted and  - so

to speak - catalogued,

none of it's accessible,

and it just gets wasted. It

has to do with my previously

mentioned idea, a few

chapters back, about

establishing 'context' for

things. Without that it's

all nothing but a huge

wad of gum, too large

for the chewing.

-

Realize that, just a

year before, I was

being jammed through

the close of high school,

under the most hideous

group of fingerprints

imaginable, which prints

were all over me. The

churning mill of the

entire operation was

then oriented towards

turning out either

college-bound robots

or the loose ones, who'd

eventually be bound for

Vietnam anyway. The

idea was of the 'war'

having predominance

and a paramount

importance over

all else. After all the

grease and fire of

fighting all that for

a year, seeing myself

instead at liberty on

the streets of New

York was liberating.

All those feckless kids

back in Woodbridge,

even the good ones,

the ones set for Princeton

and Brown  -  there were

a few  -  and the others, they

seemed just, instead, to be

biding time waiting to see

how life disposed of them.

They'd hang around at a

corner place at Grove and

Amboy Ave., back then,

called 'Jardot's.' There was

not much more there than a

soda-fountain, ice cream

and candy store, a few

tables and a long counter.

Not much at all. There was

somewhere around a kid

named Bobby Jardot or

something, whose family

owned the place. Big 

tycoons, in Woodbridge 

terms, owning a corner 

candy-store. All these 

otherwise rancid kids

with nothing else to do 

had somehow made it 

their task to judge or 

gauge their lives by

their presence at Jardot's.

When success begins to

seem inestimable, you

throw long, I guess. Poor

schmucks  -  always able

and ready with the mouth,

but short in the head. At

some point I reviewed all

this. In light of my new

situation, this looked silly.

-

I used to think of God as a

humorist  -  and part of the

humor, I figured, was in us

having been given  -  without

our knowing it or realizing

it  -  unseen means, at every

turn hidden from us, the keys

and the means, of expanding

each and all of our lives,

eternally and outward. But

never knowing it. That was

the joke part; us, working

blindly with a chuckling God

looking on and seeing what

we'll each do with our times

and circumstances. And then,

of course, no matter what the

result  -  even the very worst

ones  -  accepting it all and

bringing us all back in. 'He'
forgives us all, as the religions
put it. Eternity amidst small

moments  -  all we're ever

given to see. I always

figured that was why

the comedy mask and

the tragedy mask were

the very same, with the

only difference being

the upturn or the

downturn of the

facial look. That

was the part left

up to us.

-

This came especially to

light one day along 8th

Street, not too long after

I'd settled in; maybe 

that August. I was 

walking along and all

of a sudden, unexpectedly,

a small clutch of 5 or 6

Woodbridge High School

kids were walking along 

the street, in the same 

direction I was going. 

They caught up to me

and all of a sudden I was 

the all-hail fellow of the 

year, best friend, how ya'

doing and all that. Up until

this time, in school, I had

been the detestable school

foil for all their jaunty fun.

Now I guess I represented

something completely 

different to them  -  the 

breakaway iceberg they

wanted to ride. I said hi,

and fairly left it at that.

-

If you're on the wrong side

if history, can you ever

get to the right side of

the future? That's what 

I thought of as they 

walked away.
-
It was funny, as well, for 
me to think about a place 
like Woodbridge from the 
distance of my newer NYCity 
perch. It suddenly all seemed 
so small and unimportant. 
Gertrude Stein had been 
memorably quoted a million 
times already, saying  -  about 
Oakland, California  -  her famed 
 quip, 'There's no there there.'
The same could have been said
perfectly of Woodbridge too.
The downtown was dwindling to
nothing, old-style haberdashers
and pharmacies dying off, another
one gone, it seemed,  every ten days. 
The societal push of 'strip-malls' 
and 'shopping centers' slowly 
pushing everything away from 
these otherwise valuable and
once secure town centers. With
that went 'America' too. It all
became crooks and deal-makers,
mostly over just these issues
of real-estate, re-zoning, getting
cut in on the deal, pillaging 
heritage, tearing up the old turf, 
and the rest be damned.