RUDIMENTS, pt. 235
Making Cars
Lots of funny things were always
cropping up. I noticed them always
and to me they became markers of
my status. In the seminary, a lot of
the boys I got mixed in with were
from privilege or money, or both.
There were differences - again in
the same way there were found to
be differences at the Studio School.
They were almost geographically
defined : my meager 'Avenel,' set
against Rumson or Spring Lake
or (Studio School) Connecticut
or the upper east side. I came from
a place where when a family got
a 7-year old car for $450, they
called it 'We got a new car!'
Nonetheless, once there, to the
seminary, I slid right in and found
myself comfortable enough pretty
quickly. Many of the things I'd
thought would be bothering me
and upon which I'd be dwelling,
turned out not irksome at all.
While there, while sticking it
out, as I mentioned in the
previous chapters, I found lots
of off-shoots by which to hold
my interest in place, latched onto
some form of being. We had one
guy there, John Banko (later did
become a priest, and died in
prison, sent up for boy-abuse),
I recall him (too) well, always
taking showers, in the athletic
building, walking around with
his little plastic soap-container
thing and a towel over his arm.
His very stupid pet phrase, and
repeated ad nauseum, was, 'Well,
you know what they say, clean
body, clean mind.' Once or twice
he'd change it too, 'clean body,
sound mind.' Either way it made
no difference and he sure was a
schmuck. In fact, I don't know
what else he did, except for my
one story with him : my first year
there (he was two years ahead of
me, older, etc.), I got hooked up
with the Drama Dept., but that
Spring the only opening they
had was not for stage stuff. I had
music training, and they needed
a 'page turner' for the organist music
guy who'd play background themes
and music for the play up on stage.
As 'page turner' I'd get to sit next
to the organist, with a small light
on over the music, and as he was
playing I was to read along with
the music notation and flip the
page for him each time it came
to page-turning time; seamlessly.
It was OK, and I did it. The organist,
unfortunately, was John Banko.
Oh well, got to share a piano
bench with him for about four
weeks and fourteen or so
performances. I look back at
it now and figure, 'better that
than sharing a piano stool.'
-
Along about 1978, speaking of
odd words and phrases and things
that kept me confused, the New
York Yankees had a player
named Reggie Jackson - famed
for being exciting, hitting lots
of home runs, clutch and in a
row, having a vast collection
of expensive cars, hailing from
Oakland or somewhere, in
California. He was always
causing a ruckus, fighting
with his Manager on the team,
Billy Martin. I watched it all
with one eye, as he was usually
the center of controversy. One
time, in response to this, he said
something that baffled me, and
that I thought just way incorrect,
in concept anyway. He said referring
to the excitement he caused on the
team, 'I'm the straw that stirs the
drink.' That always threw me,
because a straw doesn't do anything
unless it's first manipulated or
moved, by another - a separate
agent, in control of the straw, and
its action of 'stirring.' So, it always
troubled me, like bad grammar
or something. Was he unaware
of what he was saying? It was
almost a religious pronouncement
and one that caught me - long
after seminary days too. People
were always saying funny things,
stuff that made me think, and then I'd
have to wonder about what they'd
meant or if they knew what they
had just categorized. Like John
Banko saying 'clean body, clean
mind,' while clutching his seemingly
endless shower equipment....a little
too confusing.
-
I'm sad to have to have brought
him up here, and I thought about it
for nearly a day. He was part of
my life that very first year, and
was part of my experience, which
I'm relating here. He's also public
record, and he's also dead. As a
new young kid, fresh out of nowhere,
to have spliced into his film right
away like that, was pretty freaky.
One of the other aspects of the
story was that, besides being the
'page turner' I was also the fill-in,
had he taken sick or otherwise not
showed for a performance. That
was, believe me, the last thing I
ever wanted to happen. In the dark,
with about 75 or 80 people behind
me, and the only illumination being
the stage lights, and the action on
stage, and the paltry little music
lamp clipped to the organ board,
had I ever needed to fill in for
him I truly would have withered.
It never happened, so that's good.
It was pretty uncomfortable
actually, for me to have to sit
there, each time. Dressed in a
suit (in the seminary, it was
always shirts and ties, things
had to match, the natty kids had
expensive and fine clothes, kids
like me, and Leo Benjamin from
Maine, usually ended up with
shiny suit pants, in need of
laundering. We sure stretched
points on the clothing end). My
back was to the people, that's
where the interesting stuff was.
At least I did get to look at,
from a long angle, the action
on stage, though I had to pay
attention to the music too, and
more importantly. I only did
this once, for that long Spring
term, of whatever plays were
in performance. Another thing
about the seminary, I sort of
touched on, was how it, because
of the clothing and dress codes,
sort of effeminated guys -
having to worry about stuff
like that. I got to learn of and
note the differences between
weaves and buttons, etc., on
cheap shirts (like I wore) and
the really nice Oxford dress
shirts that the big guys wore,
and their nice ties and pants
and shoes and belts. It was
all very weird. Very.
-
I'd also heard-tell how, back at the
priests' and brothers' lodging house,
the alcohol flowed pretty freely.
That was my first exposure to
drinking, to people who drank I
mean, not me. I guess those guys
would get a little toasty with their
Scotch and waters, or whatever.
Back home, I had a friend whose
father liked vodka. That was the
first I'd heard of that and when I
was told it was made from fermented
potatoes, in Russia, I thought it was
fascinating. And it was clear, and
left nothing on one's breath. Interesting
stuff. I never tried it, still never have,
actually, but I've seen others way
zonked on vodka, so I guess it packs
a wallop if you let it. It's funny
how you learn things. I never saw
any out-and-out drunken priests or
brothers, I admit. But things went
on. One of the seminary directors,
a guy named Father Edwards, he
was interesting too - little slit eyes,
a shock of red, curly hair and a very
red complexion. He seemed perfect
for being one of those who drank a
lot. Whatever. The thing about him,
and I remember it vividly, was that
he chain-smoked, I mean constantly,
and the two cigarette fingers on his
right hand had been yellowed, over
time from the nicotine or whichever
factor in a cigarette does that. Or
thousands of accumulated cigarettes.
It was very strange. The five or six
directors guys sat slightly up above
us, at meal times, in the refectory,
as we all ate; they sort of watched
down, gazing over us. Sometimes
they'd break in with some words to
say, a mini-scolding or a mini-lecture
about this or that. The whole bunch
of them, all the time, had cigarettes
dangling : smoke and ashes - as they
ate or talked. And, in the kitchen too.
the main chef, or cook, a Spanish guy
named Pete or Louie, I forget, he
smoked a constant buzz. Right
in the kitchen, over all the food.
(The name was Pete, I'm pretty
sure). The whole this was a
mash-up. A really strange
environment, especially for me,
or one such as me. Round peg,
square hole, all that stuff. Argyle
socks, and witch's sabbath.
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