10,909. RUDIMENTS, pt. 351

RUDIMENTS, pt. 351

Making Cars

I can't apparently exchange one

dream for one particular, or make

a wish come true. My towering

infrastructure won't allow that.

It's taken me layers of years to

become what I am, and these

stories I re-tell here, I hope, are

helpful. In actuality, I think a

bit more 'abstractedly' than this

form of writing (daily) has the

parameters for, but I keep on.

I leapfrog and jump forests. I

ride the wild animals on my

land; yes, they all know me.

-

One hundred times one hundred

couldn't bring me to this point

again. In the 1990's I used to

frequent Trenton, sometimes. By

the old Harley place, behind it,

there was an alley  -  the sort of

old 1920's alleys you see from

when cars were just coming out

and were a new things and no

one knew exactly what to do

with them. It used to be, when

all the grander houses faced

streets, that they'd have all this

supply and service stuff  -  coal,

horses, wagons, even the ice-houses

and cooking sheds sometimes,

running along the back. In service

alleys. Eventually, as all that

horse and wagon stuff began

being given up and no longer

used, these same alleys became

sheds and garages for cars. A

person couldn't rightly bring a

car inside the house. No one was

sure if they belonged out front

either. What too do? Were they

declasse? A symbol of something

other than achievement and

wealth? Should they be hidden?

Weren't they dirty and scratchy and

noisy? A regular gentility fracas

was underway. Trenton still had

lots of those alleys  -  filled with

junk and dead old cars and cast-off

items, but every so often there'd

be a stretch of really nice rear

entries and yards. New York

City still has a few  -  MacDougal

Alley, Washington Mews, Sniffen

Court, Patchin Place even. Along

with a few others, they remain now,

revered and quite wealthy- (Problem

growing: the old Village ones are

now mostly being bought and

padlocked for their own closed use

by the ever-voracious piglet called

NYU. No regard for anything but

the growth and snagging of things

that the 'educational' dollar brings.

Not quite 'education' and longer,

mind you, but things). In Trenton,

these blind alleys and service lanes

got taken over, over time, by the

stretch and paving of households

claiming their rears. If the house

was kept up and taxes paid, etc.,

the lands were eventually ceded

back to the connecting property

owners. Only if up-it-date ('no

rears given if in arrears,' as it

was). They did the same in

Metuchen, where I lived then.

Of course, people just flubbed

them up, absorbed them, and

everyone forget they ever were

there. That's called the 'present'

day. Which, God forbid, is horrid.

-

If I ever were to write a mystery

novel, a whodunit, or something

like that, I'd already have all the

incidentals lined up for me. I used

to dream of this stuff when I was

young, walking streets around

Manhattan, thinking of all those

old tales of intrigue, those weird,

crazy stories of things like Caleb

Carr wrote about in 'The Alienist.'

Before there were really things

like police forces and forensic

detectives, crime-solvers and all.

Right here, in my own stupid

town, all of this was just staring

me right in the face : crime, theft,

corruption, death, murder, intrigue.

And it all got just skimmed over

and no one noticed a thing. Like

Trenton, what we get from it all

is 'Now,'  -  the present day.

-

Gunter Grass wrote a book about

Hitler's time in power; called 'Dog

Years.' We no longer need things

like that, because occurrences such

as Hitler's were are just now part

of everyday life. Now they just

get into your head. Instead of freight

trains filled with people, they have

malls. We have it here, all around us.
They no longer have to gas or kill
people. Now they just gut their brains. 

For the book I'm taking about, here's

how it would work, here is how

I'd have it portrayed. Going back a

bit in time, a local Mayor, gay as a

clam, of whom everyone knows the

story, the cops cover for, his own

personal driver being in the know

of trysts, meeting places, etc. (We

all used to talk, with Hazel, of the

common knowledge of all of this

in the Maple Tree  -  speaking of

Avenel civic centers. She knew the

entire, sordid, deal). This Mayor

becomes Governor, continuing his

shenanigans with his Israeli

agent boy friend, whom he takes

to Princeton with him, installing

him in  a condo, connected by a

wooded path, to the rear of

Drumthwacket, the Governor's

Mansion. It all gets found out, the

appointed job, the secret monies,

the payoffs. His cover too is a 

false marriage to a local Perth 

Amboy girl. He is forced to resign,

uses his 'Gayness' as the crutch to

vault himself out. Thus wriggling

out of lots of trouble. The Israeli guy

gets paid off again, and disappears

forever, out of story, out of country,

back to Israel, and is never heard

from again. In his place in the

old hometown, the replacement

Mayor, an old man, in occasional

ill health, is suddenly seen as 'in

the way.' Those who already know

too much want him gone.  They have
their own plans for the town and 
making its money for their own pockets.
He 'dies.' (Yes, Hmmm). In his place,

begin the interim appointments of

the mayoral people. First in line

is a local crony-pol, State Senator

who jumps in. Knows where the

cards are, covers it; He's still
around  -  the office right in town. 
gets his punch-check for governor

pension, and is gone. Next,

after him, one or two or three

local gold-brick, dumb-shit

councilpeople who also

want the upgrade. They're

each Mayor for a while.

Appointments all, with no

electioneering. (Too much

shit to hit the light of day).

This inter-regnum also allows

time for the cover-ups and the

needed signatures and OK's to 

carry this plot along. Don't

think any of this is too crazy;

for this is the true intrigue of

politics, the stuff you never hear.

This is all 12 years ago now,

remember, the same amount of

time as Hitler's total, when it

had to be 'total.' Then, the

sub-plot, engineered and

put into place by the person

aware of all the budgetary

matters and shenanigans from

his years as the town's accounting

bookmaster; same person

who's been manipulating and

selling out the town's interest.

He lets all these other people

have their moment-play, and 

after enticing them all off, gets

appointed himself to the very

position. Brings in cronies, 

right down to the blond girlfriend

appointed without qualifications

to a high-level position, and family

members, and the veteran criminal
Business manager. He sanctifies the

previous dead Mayor, naming

parks and streets and dog runs

after him, sprints off with the

town plans, gets signatures

needed, and continues appointing

supporters. All successfully covered;

the town itself, about to go under

the knife, is his for the keeping.
12 years is nothing for plans such as
these. A different time-line indeed.

It's all been sold out to corporations

coming in to re-do it all, a massive

re-make. Fortunes to be made. 

He wants to be Mayor for life

while the old, dead, Mayor tells 

no tales and no one's got the

scent anyway. The stupid people 
sleep. Coming soon  to a theater 
near you  -  suckers.

-

So, New York, as I was just

saying to my agent  -  I could be

a very good writer of screenplays

after the books are written too. This

all would make a fine film. We could

call it 'Avenel : A Venal Place.'
-
Now comes the Twilight Zone part,
as I add my Coda. In Elmira College,
early-mid 70's Rod Serling came to 
speak. It was end-of-term, a nice,
lively talk, Q&A. In the middle of
all this, he managed to blow his
daughter's cover, false name, etc.,
who'd been attending the college 
kind of un-noticed. No real big-deal.
I'm holding a box of cookies one day,
clear, crinkly tray-type-thing, with an 
assortment of cookies, one of which I
pick out and turn over. On it is written,
'Ann Serling.' Surprising me. I look
up to the knock at the door, and in
walks Ann Serling herself. I explain
what just occurred : she is happy over
it, exalted, over-joyed. We laugh.
I knew immediately I'd like her a lot.