9061. THINGS ARE DIFFERENT NOW, Pt. 294

294. ONE FAST THING

One fast thing I

did learn was not

to dwell. They key

to operation was to

move swiftly  - if

at all possible, dot

every 'i' and close

every case, but

move along. You

know that old phrase

about a 'one trick

pony'  -  it's got an

equivalent in people

too: the old cadger

who can't move

off-center from

the same old stuff

every time you

see him. The old

war guy, with the

same crappy story

about some heroics,

every time. The

bum in the street

with the placard -

'the End is Near!'

Makes you wish it

was. The first

thing that goes

out the window

is effectiveness.

-

I found that the

more I wanted

NOT to believe,

the more I always

ended up believing

- in God. A very

special God, but

God nonetheless.

Not the God inside

all of those hundred

churches I'd pass.

They seemed

everywhere,

and for all I

knew each held

their own separate

God-version,

sacred to their

own laps and

pews and clientele.

I didn't mean that

one -  Mine was the

out side of things

and place. It had

not yet invented

the concept of

'walls'. Whatever

that may have

been, it was mine.

I met lots of

people, with

numerous and

different variations

on their shades of

'religion.' All still

lost and locked.

It didn't matter

to me. The weirdest

NYCity guy I ever

met was that

Rarleighbourne

Fischbein guy,

'Negotiator For

Extraterrestrials,'

as his card read.

He was a trip  -

and I've already

told the story so

I won't go and do

it again. Yet. Suffice

it to say that, through

him, I did meet two

real extra-terrestrials.

Life-changing stuff.

Everybody's got a

God. Yes sirree Bob.

-

At New Jersey Appellate,

way before all this,

we used to get  -

because our printing

racket there was all

legal and court stuff

-  the subscription

deliveries of a

few interesting

(but boring as

all get out too)

publications that

always fascinated

me. I never knew

why, but they did

-  the 'Journal of

Commerce', which

was a sort of NYCity

legal compendium

of trades and

balances, status

and current lawsuits

and things, of

thousands of

companies, as

listed and profiled;

another one called,

I think, just 'Shipping

News,' which was

an enormous log

of all ships and

freight and cargo

and cruises due

in or out of the

various docks

along New York's

and New Jersey's

piers and waterfronts

-  tonnage, times

of arrivals or

departures expected,

carrying capacity,

available space

left for outgoing,

personnel and captains

and all, etc.; and,

lastly, as I also

can recall, the

'New Jersey Law

Journal,' which I

think came out of

Hackensack or

Newark, maybe

Trenton, I forget,

and of course, in

its purview covered

all or as much of

New Jersey's legal

activity as it could

-  cases upcoming,

docket numbers,

locations, courtroom

expectations, attorneys

involved, legal issues,

steps to be taken,

expected arguments

and speakers and

lots more. Totally

fascinating  -  a

person, if really,

really crazy about

this stuff, could

probably schedule

a life around going

to court cases,

hearing arguments,

watching ships

coming and

going, knowing

who's on board

to sail to LeHavre

or Liverpool,

whatever. There

used to be things

I'd buy, up in

Nyack, at some

little crazy

bookstore there,

called the

'Train-Spotter's

Guide'  -  sort

of the same thing,

but for trains.

There were

crazy cases back

then, guys who'd

go Dubuque or

Cleveland just

to see, witness,

or photograph, a

particular train,

the DD40, say,

running the Ohio

Corridor that June, or

the Helm-Boiler-Honey,

some huge black

train that ran the

Colorado mountain

passes. It was all

like that  -  trains,

law, boats, and

the rest.

-

It was funny,

sometimes,

about me. Ideas

would sweep

right through

me; things of

which I was doing

or caught up in,

would take me

over. Take NJ

Appellate: there

was a month or

so there that all

I wanted to do,

mainly because of

it, was be a lawyer.

Yes, completely

ridiculous, but I

checked everything

out, options, what

was needed, etc.

The Law School

at Rutgers, fortunately,

became my undoing  -

doing a lot of the

printing for the school

there, and delivering

it, I got a good look

at those kids who

were there, all their

fussy, nit-picky

ways and outlooks,

and it just hit me

-  no way Jose.

Same thing

happened, after

the seminary,

briefly, about

wanting to

'convert' to

being Jewish.

I suppose if

I'd done jail

time, I'd

have wanted

to become a

jailer, or if I 'd

met a bus driver,

maybe that.

Who knows.

Too bad I

never met

a gigolo.

-

One guy I did

meet, through

St. George Press,

was a local

Woodbridge

newspaper

publisher, a

real singular and

courageous guy,

until the end,

when he'd gotten

a bit soft and

wimpy, and

comfortable too

with all the local

big-deal cronies.

There was a time

when he'd have

ripped all those

guys up, in print,

but by the end

he'd rolled over.

Anyway, his name

was Larry Campion.

His paper was

the weekly

'Independent Leader.'

And it was, too.

His building and

press plant and

typography offices

were right there

by Woodbridge Oldsmobile

and that tavern I

wrote about in the

previous chapter  -

one building over,

off Rahway Ave, and

on Green Street, I

guess it's called. It's

all gone now, all, no

trace. As is my friend's

Paul's grandfather's

shoe-repair shop

which used to be

there. It's all now

a Quick-Chek and

a cruddy parking,

and near to it is yet

another closed

down big bar,

crossed, at the

street, by some

ridiculous Walgreens

and the train station.

-

You'd never think

much of this

situation  -  small

town newspaper,

a weekly. But Larry

had made all this

into some sort of

real county-wide

force. New Brunswick,

and even Trenton,

was where he went

for all the dirt. The

local town halls

and meetings too.

He had one or two

cub-reporter types

he'd send around.

They'd gather info,

send him back

the germ of a

story, and he'd

do the rest. He

had the connections,

and he really did

know the stuff,

from the inside-out.

I think it was later

on, his daughter took

over, I'm not sure,

and then it was gone

Big relief to the

'town fathers', who

mostly specialized

in promiscuity and

breach-births anyway.

Larry had a grasp on

all the shady deals

that were going on

-  he'd say stuff like,

'Don't listen to them,

that's just what story

they're saying or

putting out, for

the little people.

They believe

everything,

and they eat it

all up, if it's done

right. They knew

all about this 5

years ago when

it was paper-plans,

in the beginning

stages : what land

to buy, who was

holding, how

high the break

was. They even

knew who was

going to say no,

and what they'd

need to do to

break his opposition.

If you ever need

to find an honest

man, don't look

in the town halls,

here, or anywhere.

They wouldn't be

in place right now

if they weren't

getting piles-full

of money.' And

then he'd start

with names and

whats and hows.

Fascinating stuff.

I always felt

beholden to

secrecy, mainly

for his sake  -

bullet in the brain

kind of stuff.

Larry was a

keeper. He

knew the

meetings, and

who gaveled

what, who had

this or that buried,

and what this or

that really cost,

and was still

really costing

and who was

on the take  -

or most rather,

who wasn't. It

always amazed

me  -  things

like paving a

lot, or

updating some

old township

truck shed or

something  -

$650,000 for

like a $15,000

job, if done

commercially.

And then all

the overlapping

names  -  the

paving company

and the roofer,

amazingly

always had

something to

do with someone's

last name or family

or in-laws. Purchase

contracts and

dollar deals  -

police cars,

tow trucks,

plowing. He

was amazing.

The Independent

Leader, as well,

covered all that

low-down crappy

local stuff  -  high

school sports teams

and sports-decisions

and conferences,

schedules, colleges

and local prospects,

weddings, funerals,

movie listings,

etc. Right down

to the most silly

Elks bake-off

or bowling league.

(The Elks had

a women's

bowling league,

a few teams

of wives and

daughters and

(probably)

girlfriends too,

which called

themselves the

'Two Lips' League.

Wasn't that cute.

I always immediately

thought of something

else when I saw

that, but I ain't

telling about it

now). Larry would

scoff, laugh and

say something

about 'getting

the bills paid too.'

By the time I got

to Saint George

Press, some years

later, Larry was

still around and

was now on

top of the

entire election

machine ballot

business. I

worked with

 him on these,

two or three

elections a year

-  big elections

and the small,

April ones,

primaries and

budget questions

and things.

The old kind

of mechanical

voting machines

would get this

long strip of a

heavy card

stock, something

like 3/4 of an

inch by 14 inches,

thereabouts.

Each candidate,

by name and

all that, had

to be printed

(letterpress)

and it got slid

into the

appropriate

slot then, at

the voting

machine

warehouse

in Roosevelt

Park. And then

the machines

were trucked

out, all loaded,

to whatever

appropriate

voting locations

they went too.

It was tedious

printing, real

crap. Budget

questions,

requested

allotments

for new fire

trucks,

ambulances,

building

refurbishments,

up-datings, etc.

(all these local

emergency-service

people were

hog-wild for stuff).

Larry was good,

detail oriented,

knew all the

things necessary

- and all the

while he'd rattle 

on to me, almost 

non-stop, about 

something he'd

'just found out,' 

or an issue that 

was 'getting 

buried.' It was 

some great times, 

to put it awkwardly, 

and I don't think 

they make them 

like Larry Campion 

anymore. Sometimes,

I admit, I wish he 

was even tougher, 

or I wish he'd 

had offered me 

a job  -  I would 

have jumped at 

the chance to 

be all he wasn't. 

Anyway, that's 

all gone now, 

that whole street 

and corridor, 

and replaced 

with a bunch 

of junk. Larry's 

long dead, and 

I don't know 

where they 

stuck him. 

Only two other 

local notables 

I ever met came 

even close to 

him : a real 

boffo-cranky, 

pain in the butt 

local historian 

(I think she was 

also a teacher 

around, in one

 of the high 

schools) named 

Ruth Wolk  -  

a real crusty 

piece of burnt 

toast, gung-ho 

Americanism 

booster, American 

Legion essay 

contests, and 

Vietnam War 

stuff; and a guy, 

from Perth Amboy, 

constantly running 

for something, 

anything, (always 

losing), and always 

in attendance at 

the Perth Amboy 

Council meetings 

and such that I 

had to attend to 

cover for the 

Star-Ledger, as 

a stringer. 

Bill George. 

Ruth is dead; 

not sure about 

Bill George; 

last I remember, 

about 1998, he'd 

gotten hit by a 

car somewhere 

along Amboy 

Avenue. Since 

then, I just don't 

know -  but 

he'd be getting 

a'pretty old too, 

by now. One last
thing  -  being a 
voting machine insider, 
so to speak, as I was, 
I always wanted to go
in to one of those 
machines, at my own 
voting place, pull the 
drawstring curtain (they 
had them then, for privacy 
as you voted, and pull out 
of my pants-leg a hidden 
one of those question strips 
- typed up with completely
ridiculous questions
instead, or even just 
gibberish, a close to-the-real 
question, with like the figure 
of $10 instead of $380, 541.00 
for something, and slide it 
in, in place of the right one, 
which I'd leave with. I was 
always willing to bet no one 
would even have noticed, and 
we'd have passed some
crazy new approvals.