276. BACK HERE AGAIN?
Christmas-time in
New York: big yuck.
That first year I was
there for that, 1967,
was probably the
easiest - I hardly
even noticed it.
There were long
rows, tunnel-like,
of Christmas-tree
sellers along
various parts of
the sidewalks.
It's still like that,
except now some
of the trees are
400 bucks; honestly.
Such bullshit. Back
in the time I'm
talking about it
was different.
Thirty bucks for
a tree was millionaire's
stuff; twenty feet
high and wide as
Big Bertha, and full
too. Seven or eight
dollars got you a
grand tree. All that
stuff you can't do
any more was done
openly, and the heck
with it. Open fires,
barrel fires, a tent
or two, with some
sort of warmth from
a fire, nearby. The
tree guys would
simply, if they'd a
mind to, camp out,
sleep right there.
There were trucks
from Vermont, Maine,
all sorts of license
plates, parked
around, loaded
with trees. Like
a really cool
vagabond kingdom.
They'd put maybe
thirty or forty trees
out, roped on the
sidewalk, and the
rest they'd have
piled high on
their trucks, for
use as needed.
You had to realize,
in every building
around there were
probably forty to
seventy tenants,
apartments. Rooms;
I'm just guessing.
People with money,
and the money
kind of people
are usually the
most traditional
ones about junk
like Christmas,
and Christmas trees.
One for the big room,
one for the library,
a small one for Kenny
and Janey's den and
play-room - stuff
like that. These trees
moved. Not too
much dickering
over price. A lot
of these people
were repeat-regulars,
knew each other
from year after year.
Selection; tie-it-up;
deliver it upstairs.
Thanks for the tip.
I used to think it
was the coolest
thing. A lot of the
tree guys were
crusty old farmers
and outdoorsy
types from the
north woods.
They'd give no
crying shame at
all about 'New
York niceties.'
Somebody'd always
be bringing food
down to them,
making sure they
were OK, use
the bathroom,
etc. They'd do
this, year after
year, for 15 days
or so of the season,
making good
money too. Worth
the trip - anyway,
if you played it
right, planned good,
and kept a decent
spot. I never knew
what politics went
on, or pay-offs, for
good spots, but I'm
sure it was a struggle.
They were all over,
in various locales.
There were people
everywhere, remember.
Part of the deal was
a decent crew too.
They had to be glib.
Good with people,
able-bodied (I guessed)
and willing. Not too
many shysters about,
for a few reasons.
Jewish people
didn't much
celebrate Christmas.
And how much
can you make,
after all, on a
dead tree? After
all that travel and
expenses, etc., it
was probably not
that easy, in
actuality, to make
any kind of killing
- your heart at to
be in it I didn't see
'them' much caring
about that. My
favorite part, I'll
be honest with
you, was the
tree-families
who'd drive on
down with their
trees, etc., and
bring their daughters
with them. Some
of those girls were
killer. I used to
drool. There's an
essential difference
here between the
regular New York
type - the girls
and fashion and
pizazz and style
and all - and these
north country girls.
It has to do with
earthiness and
form. Just different.
I don't know, but I
felt it. They were
usually around my
age, a little older,
and sometimes
there'd be the
feeling that they
knew just what
effect they were
having. Not on me,
I mean - I wasn't
even in the market
for buying trees.
They were just
around in the spots
and places that at
all other times were
'mine,' so I'd see
them - all along
Eighth Street, the
park, and the
avenues thereabouts.
Old-line Greenwich
Village with still
filled with
thousands of
pious and
observant Catholics,
Italians, and Irish.
And the rest. These
girls had the magic.
I swear they could
sell a Christmas tree,
nicely, to a corpse.
For me, it was just
all a big thrill - to
see their scarves and
hats, boots and
overcoats, sweaters,
vests. They were
really something,
all chilled and
red-cheeked.
Christmas had
its own charm.
-
Then Christmas came,
and then Christmas
went, and it was all
over. The plywood
barricades would be
gone. Trees and
remnants cleaned
up, sidewalks brushed,
and the old trucks just
started leaving. Goodbye
to all that. By the first
of January, all was
back to normal.
Oftentimes too,
during the sales
time, like out by the
Breevort and those
large Fifth Avenue
apartments, there'd
be these wealthy
dowager types.
They'd come struggling
down, or swaddling
out, and with major
'grandiosity' go about
selecting their trees.
It was like watching
Bette Davis or Tallulah
Bankhead or someone -
all swirl, and rolling eyes,
furs and cigarette holders.
Funny stuff. They'd pick,
and then go away, sending
'Chauncey' or 'Hargrove'
down later maybe to
make the deal and bring
it upstairs. That was
'Christmas Spirit' to
me, a sort of personified
smugness out on the
sidewalk.
-
It was as if these
folks never really
self-reflected on
what any of this
was. I never liked
Christmas. When I
was a kid, I guess,
yeah. But each year
along, as I grew, I liked
it less and less, and
then, including today,
I just find it detestable.
Consumerist bullshit
fetish. Unfair too.
Everybody's got
their hand out for
something, and half
the other world has
damn nothing. Not
even food or a pantry.
Distended stomachs,
bloated tongues.
Just sadness. What
have we to show for
it? A bunch of geeks
jerking off in Toys r' Us,
or whatever. How are
you supposed to teach
your own kid anything
real and natural, while
living like that? It a
detestable, swank cheat.
Insanity made to look
sane and reasoned.
Disgusting. I can
remember being
maybe seven years
old, whatever, and
finding a stash of
wrapped Christmas
presents that my
parents were keeping
- under their bed, and
a few more in the
bottom of a closet.
I guessed they were
for my sister and
myself, and others.
It had nothing to do
any longer with Santa
Claus or any of that
deceit. It was more
just the open-air sense
of putting one over
on others, or trying
to do so, playing
happy-act while the
rest of the world
went to hell. That's
all it took for me.
From that point on
it was all downhill.
-
It never was as if
the rest of the world
didn't have its fetishes
too, but they weren't
mine and I didn't care.
New York City - and
Avenel, and Bayonne,
and Blackwood, and
probably anywhere -
they all did these things
in the same manner.
The stupid lights
strung up over streets
and in house windows.
Christmas trees,
dancing stars, and
the rest. Frivolity.
'Joy' purveyed as
an acceptable and
changeable sense
of rightness. It was
no wonder that the
most suicides occurred
in that lame season of
mirth, joy, and Noel.
But it was all shameful.
Half of it was shitty
merchants trying to
foist more sales off
on an stupidly unaware
public - using tactics
of shame and sneaky
coercion to force the
hand. If you didn't
'buy' someone something,
you certainly couldn't
really 'love' them? Right?
Here give me that four
dollars and take this
tie; or hat; or gloves.
Or anything. People
never follow logic
through to its end.
It's senseless, and I
never understood it.
Christmas being one
thing, but there were
others - like what's
the big deal about
Jesus raising people
from the dead? And
why would he even
do that? What the
hell was the usefulness
of some scam like that?
I thought he was here
to bring people to an
enlightened salvation
of spirit and soul.
Forever, and in His
father's more perfect
realm? So what's he
do, re-delivers some
schmuck back to here?
Give me a break.
'Oh, Wow! I'm back
here! Thanks, Jeez.'
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