Wednesday, May 23, 2018

10,827. RUDIMENTS, pt. 324

RUDIMENTS, pt. 324
Making Cars
While the Hudson River itself
ran hard and steady along the
West Side piers and boat traffic, 
the fearsome East River, with its
estuary-tidal reverses and mixes
and its proximity to the harbor
flush into the ocean, was, by
contrast, a feared obstacle,
rough to navigate and filled 
with mishap  -  eventually 
leading to, and past, Corlears 
Hook and thenup to 'Turtle Bay' 
(present sight of the United
Nations, and where Yasir Arafat
of the Palestinian Liberation Army
(PLO) once arrived, by water, with
his pistol on his belt, to address the
United Nation's General Assembly,
Sept, 1974, I think it was.'), then to
'Hell's Gate' a point of turbulence.
If a less-than-perfect river pilot 
was going to lose or wreck his craft,
it was at Hell's Gate where it would
happen (where the Harlem River
meets the East River in a great rash 
of currents and eddies and river
obstacles). Like opinions, when
wild currents clash all Hell is
apt to break loose. Oftentimes 
I'd just sit there, outside these
busy wharf areas, and watch 
the men as they worked their
ways up and down the area. I
was able, I was sure, by reading
their faces, to tell the success
or not of a workingman's life.
Some seemed jarred and 
disgruntled, dragging through 
chores instead of work. Many 
years later, I ran across a guy who
was often hanging around my
workplace, at one of my jobs, and
one of his main questions, of
anyone he'd meet (so much
so that I got tired of hearing it)
was. 'Are you happy with your
work? Do you like what you do?'
No one really knew what this
old retired guy wanted, but the
question always threw them.
He'd just say, 'That's very 
important. It means good health,
that you like what you do. Don't 
do it if you're not happy.' I'd
eventually say, 'Charlie, cut
it out.' Maybe he was right,
or maybe not, and it really
didn't matter  -  if you need 
money for life and family, you 
sort of just have to do what you 
have to do. It was like that with
these guys too  -  I'd see fishmongers
all tired and grubby, and I'd see,
as well, some of the most happy,
light-to-the-touch cool guys you'd
ever imagine. It was a world of
differences, all working, somehow,
together. Gentile and Jew too. 
You'd think they'd be at war maybe, 
or hating each other, but a lot of 
Jewish guys were fish-mongers 
too. Many oddball fish things make 
up Jewish cuisine, and even holiday 
fare  - all that herring, in all its 
variations, creamed, pickled,
etc., and the rest. Like any other
merchant, they'd fight and
haggle over 4 cents. You sit and
wonder why. 4 cents a pound on
400 pounds of fish, 30, 40 times a
day, it figures to add up eventually.
That's what these guys, all of them,
were about  -  the price and the
haggling, the cutting corners, the
shirking weight, whatever they
could get away with. Both sides, 
ready to wrangle. And then, once
it was over, the slap on the back,
the 'Screw this, let's go get a cup of
coffee,' they'd walk off talking a
streak to each other. Business 
forgotten  -  until the next time
and the next haggle  -  but human 
trust, in the meantime, made.
-
Things were quite old down around
there. Buildings sagged. Collapsed, 
even. There were a few bars so ancient
in NY terms that you'd be afraid to
sit lest the bricks would unsettle and
come down on your head. To this day,
a few are still there. I see them, they
stand, they do business, and with food.
Cats and rats and all the rest of that
rodent brigade were everywhere.
They opened up, once, one of those 
very old buildings, for tear-down, 
and once the basement was uncovered
all that was seen was this massive
black movement. I swear. Thousands
of rats, at once, awakened or whatever.
They were everywhere, awaiting again
their noxious nighttime forays out. It 
was gross. And they were, mostly 
anyway, flame-torched instantly.
-
The Fulton Fish market's daily 
commerce, its 'work,' was usually
over by 2pm; the rest was
cleanup for the next overnight  - 
the fish boats, oyster and clam  
boats, and the rest, they start  
rolling in near 10pm and quickly
the night's work was underway,
for the 5am commerce that 
began as snappily as a whip. 
Trucks would begin piling up 
an hour or two ahead of
time, parked  - while their
drivers would drink or eat, to
wait and pass time, in any of 
he dive-bars or places around. 
New York City, believe it or
not, was a really big drinking
town; almost traditionally so, 
that everything was sealed 
or discussed over beverage -   
alcoholic or not. It's still like
that  - an amazing amount 
of bars. and all that waiting for
everything. (I'd think, if there
was to be a new world war or
conflagration, the principals
involved, as representative 
leaders, would do best, in a 
New York fashion (like Trump?)
to just sit down somewhere
around here, have a few beers 
or whatever, and then bellow 
and challenge and threaten 
and push. Amid all the stupid 
bombast they want things would
certainly get settled. I call it 
striving for 'the 4-cent solution.' 
Peace-pact and new comity),
-
So, anyway, whatever fish 
company or guy they each 
drove for, the representative/buyer 
for that company would show
up by 4 or 5am and begin the 
process of the day's buy, and 
then the truck would be 
ice-loaded or refrigerated,
and the rush of the early day's 
deliveries to restaurants, fish 
stores, supermarkets and other 
retailers, would begin. All 
those years I worked in 
Princeton, with all its
fancy restaurants and food 
establishments and sushi joints,
I'd see the small, refrigerated 
trucks, from Samuel's Fish 
Distributors, out of Philadelphia, 
every day. And I knew exactly 
the process they'd all gone 
through, except in Philly and
not New York. Same deal;
probably different rodents.




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