10,882. RUDIMENTS, pt. 342

RUDIMENTS, pt. 342

Making Cars

I always felt like there was

always someone watching

over my shoulder, judging

what I do, etc. Now that's a

real dilemma  -  and one that's

always twisted me up. For

various reasons, the mundane

to the elevated. For one thing,

in a way, that's exactly what

religions preach, and I'd done

all that religion stuff and saw

it all from the other side : so

the effects of control and its

superstitious-fear-card fell

flat. On the other hand, the

raw discipline and stringent

behavioral punishments of

my own seminary days had

left their mark too. In addition,

I had the sort of father that was

just like that as well. So on all

those counts my ideas of being

under-the-gun at all times, and

under judgmental observation,

were real enough. So all I

ever sought to do, and still

seek to do, is effect for the

good. But that causes conflict

as well, of its own, because my

'good' is usually the opposite

of what's going down today as

progressive, positive, benefit.

I am always at cross-purposes

with what  see. That's pretty

rough, and not much fun. Try

making friends when everyone

already assumes you hate them

and thus set themselves up for

that in return. All it ever did

for me was give me the complex

of a mole or chipmunk or one of

those hidden and solitary weird

ground animals of the darkness

that you only see when they're

quickly scurrying around between

rocks and tree-trunks, or slipping

from one hole in the ground to the

next. I never acclimated well.

-

The few people I met up with

and came through some of this

with, turned out to be as bizarre,

or more, as me. It couldn't be

communicated, but kindred

souls catch these feelings

between themselves and

impart the connection.

-

I look back now, on all these

things, and can not imagine

how I missed the Automat. And,

as I look back now, had anyone

told me about that, in 1967 and

the years right after, it would

have been perfect for me and the

way I was living. Food by the

nickels. What better way? Little

platters, and  with a free seat

too? As it went, it really wasn't

until about 1976 that I discovered,

and used in earnest, the Automat.

Once I got back into the NY swing

of things a bit  -  the bus from

Elmira or Binghamton, or just

driving one of my cars  -  until

1978, when I actually returned.

The best Automat for my uses

turned out to be the one at

Lexington and 42nd. Right

by the Chrysler Building. It

was a bum's heaven, in every

other respect. The Chrysler

Building being in view like that

gave it panache and a certain

mysterious feel too. Inside, it

was large, filled with people

on the move and, always, a

certain coterie too of those

old 1940's kinds of guys who

stared at their soup. The same

gents who would have been

standing with me 6 years earlier

around one of their barrel fires,

if the world transported itsef

and people like that. All these

crazy little flip-window glass

things wherein you could see

your food, and select it  - 

whichever choice you made.

Macaroni and cheese, 3 nickels.

Meatloaf, 5 nickels. The only

currency in the place was

nickels. You'd walk in with

a one dollar bill, a five, or

a ten, if you had that limit of

wealth, and the first thing done

was the walk to the center

changemaker. Whatever

you gave this guy, or woman,

they changed it, in about a

flash of three seconds, into

its equivalent in nickels.

Give the guy a quarter; in

two seconds you'd have your

five nickels flung at you.

Same with any other

designated sum. You could

sit there all afternoon, or

whatever, if you liked; eating

slowly, or not, or tending to a

simple coffee, for hours. People

slumped, slept, and probably

died there, and certain of the

window seat crew of bums

and loafers never left. This

was their stare-out to life  -  the

changing glimmer of a panoramic

views : buses, taxis, the lame,

the fleeing, the dead and the

dying. If they saw a guy walk

by with a fairly typical 1974

knifeblade sticking straight in

at the top of the skull, they'd

not even blink. Man, this was

Hell, with food. Or Purgatory;

I think they still had that. By

the end of the Automat's time,

when they started dwindling

and closing up, the whole system

of getting your food by the

nickels was over. They had a

central cashier, in the same

booth where the change-person

used to be, and they'd count up

your plates and cups and things

and charge you for what you

had. I guess they just assumed

you told them the truth. Maybe

there was a paper-tab slip or

something; I honestly forget.

By the end too, and a really

crummy move, they did away

with their cakes and cookies

and stuff, and instead  -  right

in the big middle of the eating

area, taking up valuable seating  - 

they installed this really dumb

cookie-kiosk-bakery thing, from

Famous Amos  -  chocolate chip

cookies or something that were

big at the time. There was, even

worse, a six-foot, I guess life-size,

stand-up cut-out of this smiling

Amos guy, looking like a bakery

pimp come-on. I dislike chocolate,

so it never caught me much, but

the smell was everywhere, and

it was just no fun. Like having a

large Mickey Mouse stand-up

in a funeral parlor, right there

up next to the casket.

-

The real, authentic, Automat was

cool, a lot of interest was there,

and it was fun too. Once they

changed the very original format,

and, and stopped the nickel-slot

food stuff, it was never the same.

I know a-hole types who thought

they could recreate something

of this and make a fortune off

stupid nostalgia-bound idiots,

but it never works. Face it, to

begin with, that old 1930's

hard plastic, Bakelite, in ivory,

that everything was made off,

those little windows and slots,

the weird, over-active kitchen

crew seen behind the little

windows (always refilling

them) can never be reproduced.

That kind of stuff and those

sorts of people just don't exist

any more  -  and any fool Hebe

who thinks they can cash in

on some crap-ass revisionist

version of all this just shows

how little they know.

-

Right east of this Automat was

the Daily News Building, the

headquarters for that then still

burgeoning photo newspaper,

often hilarious too. At one time,

until about 1970, there were

some thirty daily newspaper

editions in NYC, ranging from

the usual biggies to things like

the New York Sun, and the

Herald Tribune. Which were

both pretty big-deal too.

These papers, the Times, etc.

had morning and evening,

or afternoon ('Late') editions.

So the whole world was

covered with that sort of

late-breaking junk that 

covered the world, (and

the sleeping bodies in the 

Automat too). The morning 

edition covered the world,

all that overnight here but 

morning there newsbreaks,

and the afternoon editions 

simply updated everything 

and changed the headlines 

to reflect the new occurrences 

and developments. It was 

busy, and cool, and weird. 

They had real news divisions, 

and covered real things from 

bureaus in like Praque and 

Bratislava, Tokyo and

Algiers. Not like today, when 

everything is ethereal and 

ephemeral, stylish and hazy, 

and mostly meaningless and 

changeable. Junk news, items

so of no import. Back then, the 

real news really rocked, and 

you could get your fill, and 

every garbage can along the 

street was stuffed with old

newspapers.  Free newspapers 

at that point. Real recycling!