RUDIMENTS, pt. 297
Making Cars
Funny thing was, living right
by the tracks there as I did, I
never took a train except two
times, with my grandmother,
on day-trips to NYC. She'd
occasionally take my sister
and me in - long day of
walking and just looking
around. My grandmother
would come down from
Bayonne, using a bus service
to Newark, and then the train.
She always came with stuff -
it didn't take much. Her store
of choice was John's Bargain
Center, so we'd get any number
of cool, cheap things that we
ended up treasuring as if they
were really expensive and precious.
Toy cars, coloring sets, pencils
crayons, whistles, plastic guitars.
Nothing of it sounds like much
now, but like a captive nation
somewhere getting a shipment
of instant oatmeal to distribute,
to us it was everything. One of the
times she took my sister and me
to the city turned out to be eventful.
Funny even, now. The big city did
beckon, for sure - I was wide-eyed
and gaping, and just loved the idea
of aimlessness - or so it seemed
to be - amidst all those people
and buildings, roadways and things.
I guess it was about 1959, because
a movie was playing, the name on
the marquee, 'Anatomy Of a Murder,'
and really wanted to go see it. She
said no, it wasn't for kids, etc. We
ended up sitting through some crud
called 'The Nun's Story.' A real
crapper. Anyway, after that we went
to an Automat. They were very cool,
and I'll more stories of the Lexington
Avenue one where I used to hang,
later on in these stories. As we
entered the Automat, I was
lagging behind while my grandmother
and my sister were up ahead, getting
seated and putting bags down, and
the rest. Some guys must have seen
us, fumbling and looking like rubes,
and the next thing I knew the one guy
at the table was yelling at me that
I'd bumped the table and spilled
his coffee. Making a fuss. My
grandmother came over to calm
things down, and they went away.
But in a little bit she realized
her purse was gone! I figured the
guy made a distraction, and when
she went over the other guy took it.
We had no money to get home with.
I don't remember exactly what
happened, except I remember her
pleading with the conductor to let
us on, two tired kids and a Grandma
to ride - we had no money, had been
robbed, etc. It was miserable and
she was heartbroken. But, he worked
with us,we got on the train and got
home. Big experience for us.
times she took my sister and me
to the city turned out to be eventful.
Funny even, now. The big city did
beckon, for sure - I was wide-eyed
and gaping, and just loved the idea
of aimlessness - or so it seemed
to be - amidst all those people
and buildings, roadways and things.
I guess it was about 1959, because
a movie was playing, the name on
the marquee, 'Anatomy Of a Murder,'
and really wanted to go see it. She
said no, it wasn't for kids, etc. We
ended up sitting through some crud
called 'The Nun's Story.' A real
crapper. Anyway, after that we went
to an Automat. They were very cool,
and I'll more stories of the Lexington
Avenue one where I used to hang,
later on in these stories. As we
entered the Automat, I was
lagging behind while my grandmother
and my sister were up ahead, getting
seated and putting bags down, and
the rest. Some guys must have seen
us, fumbling and looking like rubes,
and the next thing I knew the one guy
at the table was yelling at me that
I'd bumped the table and spilled
his coffee. Making a fuss. My
grandmother came over to calm
things down, and they went away.
But in a little bit she realized
her purse was gone! I figured the
guy made a distraction, and when
she went over the other guy took it.
We had no money to get home with.
I don't remember exactly what
happened, except I remember her
pleading with the conductor to let
us on, two tired kids and a Grandma
to ride - we had no money, had been
robbed, etc. It was miserable and
she was heartbroken. But, he worked
with us,we got on the train and got
home. Big experience for us.
-
My Grandmother was the only
grandparent I ever had. The two
men Grandfathers were dead (oddly
both were prison deaths), and the
other grandmother was in a mental
ward in Greystone for 30 years
until she died. Figure that for a
pretty good lineage! Legacy.com
kicked me out (joke).
-
Useful additions though, all that,
to me personal code of loyalty to
myself. It made me stronger, and
gave me a particular identity I
could work worth : Nothing to
come easy, no silver spoon, and
nothing to brag of either. I think
when the doctor slapped me at
birth, it was with a billy club.
-
I'd see trains go by all the time,
but - like I said - only very
seldom did I get on one, and
once I was on my own I used
them a lot. Buses were like
slums, back then, when trains
still had some dignity. Now
they're both rolling slums. All
sorts of loud-mouthed, foul,
modern people, mental cases
with phones and food. Noise.
Pride. Third-worlders everywhere
with like 42 kids. Well, they used
to be called that, now they're just
privileged Americans whose food
and slop I have to put up with.
Disgusting people, and there's
not a shred of grace left in this
rotten, unquiet, world.
-
Fields that go fallow do turn
eventually to weeds. That's not
necessarily a bad thing, realize,
because weeds are part of the
original natural world around
us and are far more resilient
than we'd ever be in re-propagating
themselves and re-seeding those
bare lands. It's like that with
Humanity too, the mind and
society and culture and all. The
more we let things turn back to
an uncultivated nature, the
speedier the equivalent of
weeds will re-take the human
mind, and society, and outlook,
and language, and philosophy.
And I think that's already
happening. My grandmother
was a poor survivor who barely
made it through to scrape the
monthly visit by train to our
house in Avenel, but she did
make it, into a semblance of
learning, mind you, (she was
a seamstress at Bayonne Hospital,
repairing sheets and pillow-cases
and hospital gowns), but at least
the nicer weeds propelled her.
I was determined at any early
age that nothing of that would
overtake me. I'd hoe and pluck
and nurse every row within
myself to remove any weeds
or crappy, wild growth. Or at
least I thought - there were
some mighty strong winds
that did, I admit, blow some
real junk weeds my way. I
mean j-u-n-k, like Wild Thing
sowed by some cosmic Tommy
James and the Shondells. That
crap took root everywhere.
Sometimes even I got tired
of the husbandry and work
needed to keep those fields
clean.
-
One thing I know about bad
writing, and that's that extended,
elongated metaphors are killers
of good prose. A writer who
comes up with an idea has to
just touch it lightly, not extend
it or overuse use it or beat it to
death so that the reader then
tires of it, and turns against it.
Like this weeds thing. So - you
got my point and I now let it be.
-
I always wished, as a kid, to be
an adult so I could stay up. Period.
Stay up forever, or late, or until
whenever I wished for or keeled
over. Of course, work and all that
soon got in the way of that dream
too, but now it's over and I do
just that. Writing until I'm dead,
working things up, reading,
drawing, you name it. That's my
life, in the absence of any real
money - by which I'd be able
to put some of this crap into
paper order - but whatever
for that. My grandmother would
never understand what I was doing.
She probably say 'What?' and
ask for some silly clarification
of why I was useless. She always
said I reminded her of Roddy
McDowell. I never knew what she
meant, but just smiled. And then
one day when I saw what she
meant, some movie, 'How Green
Was My Valley,' and other things,
I immediately detested his characters
and portrayals. I couldn't make sense
of any of it - he was a but dweebish
and very weak. Super-sensitive.
I think maybe later he was in
something called 'The Loved One,'
about 1968 - that was pretty cool;
some Gore Vidal book, or maybe
Evelyn Waugh, about a Los Angeles
cemetery, sorta'. Working from
memory, I am. Faulty to a fault.
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