10,964. RUDIMENTS, pt. 371

RUDIMENTS, pt. 371

(wolfe place avenel)

This is probably going

to be a little different. In

some ways a writer is

a bus  -  get on the bus,

sit down, and I'll get you

there. I'm far-reaches

from my home, even

though it's the same

place I grew up. Thomas

Wolfe said, or dared to

say, that 'you can't go

home again.' He's a pretty

good example of how you

can be wrong and right at

the very same time. What's

not the same is the 'you' of

you, and that's the key. So

in the end it doesn't matter.

This life is a constantly

changing continuum; little

flashes of light like in those

old kinetoscopes. Yeah,

things move.

-

Once I get rolling, there's

usually no stopping me. I try

to stay specific, but the sort

of artsy writer I am most often

breeds in me an abstraction

that bursts forth. I'm sure you

know what I mean. It's not hard

to stay with, but it demands a bit

more of your attention. You can

spare it.

-

One time, back working at St.

George Press, I had an account

named 'Wall Trends.' You may

remember how I mentioned about

that job, how when I began it, they

gave me 8 or 10 of the more lame

accounts that were real pains in

the neck to them  -  to see if I

could make them work out

better, finally get some business

flow, etc. Sometimes that's all

it takes, a new face, a different

approach. Or at least a show of

interest. That's how I got, for

instance, those Gypsy accounts

I mentioned. You just need to

talk a little, bring people out. Lots

of people are really interesting;

ones you'd never think. Anyway.

Wall Trends was just off of Roosevelt

Avenue, heading towards Carteret,

but before you really got there,

making a right turn just after

the prison, it was along there,

just a little ways past what used

to be a 'Stewart's. A roadside place

for root beer and hamburgers and

trucker lunches and all that. You'd

never know it now but Roosevelt

Avenue back then was pretty much

an unpaved, gravel road that ran

right into Rahway Avenue and,

in the other direction eventually,

to the Turnpike and the rest of

Carteret, sort of from behind. More

on all that in a bit. This Wall Trends

place was a wallpaper design studio,

and they manufactured a million

different kinds of patterns and

finishes of wallpaper  -  art and

design, textures, wet-look, all that.

I printed their new-product spec.

sheets, catalogue pages, billheads,

all that usual junk. For the most

part it could have been boring as

all get out, but I made it fun. First

off, I liked it there  -  the road and

the area was still old and primitive

enough. And, of course, in each

direction you looked there was

either a scrap yard, junk yard,

truck lot or oil storage tanks. Now

they get all fancy about wanting

to all of a sudden spruce everything

up and build 'presentable' kinds of

Potemkin Village false-fronts, but

back then it was just raw function.

No one cared abut that illusionary

stuff. There was also a camera

company there I did work for, and

another place called Chelco Sound,

which manufactured speakers and

speaker systems, for major stereo

and stage stuff. But they were just

businesses. Wall Trends was fun.

-

They had this really cool little

artist lady there, from Tennessee.

She was southern through and

through, with this massive drawl

and all those cool southern ways

and traits. And she had this odd,

really old-style French family

name. Forgotten now, but it was

deep. I just ate it all up, it was

so neat. She was tiny too, only

maybe five feet, about 40, and

very cool looking. Like hip

before there was 'Hip' as a style

and category. I ran across her

once in NYC too; she was just

walking around like any loose

bohemian artsy type. It was

great. It's always weird when

you meet someone in NYC by

accident  -  someone who know,

from home or where you live.

You'd figure something like

that would never happen in a

place as big as that, but actually

that probably improves the

odds really. It's not big for no

reason; that's where people go.

And it was fun seeing her out

of context too. Like her seeing

me, which she thought was

really cool and all. She was

still by herself, and maybe

some lightning could have

started, but we were both

somehow too wary of that

and, I guess, of each other.

I suppose if I had the guts to,

I could have; but that's always

been my deal : no real guts.

The guy who owned the place

was an Israeli named Amnon

Zaflika. Spelling is close

anyway  -  I'd always thought

he was Lebanese or something,

heavily accented but what did

I know, and then one day I

met his family. Two boys, looking

like they just came off a kibbutz,

and his wife was one of those

pioneering Jewish-lady kind of

original settler kibbutzniks. It

was very exotic to me. And

they had an entire assortment

of Jewish things too  -   on

their car, hanging from the

mirror inside, around their necks.

All that 6,000 years of chosen

people stuff, prayers and G-d and

heritage and all that, it was enough

to knock me over  -  and I'd never

had exposure to that extreme stuff

ever. The few Jews I knew from

Avenel were just otherwise regular

people except for the Temple visits.

But otherwise, you'd never really

notice unless you knew. I guess.

Maybe I just didn't notice. New

York City, before this, was full

of Jewish people; they made the

place run, for pity's sake. In fact,

in the Art and Culture world, it was

most usual that you were either

Jewish or gay; a large factor of

it anyhow. Here, in the mid 1980's

I'd never thought about it being

present. Over along Avenel

Street too, as I was growing up,

there was this place called

Stanziola's Coat factory. My

baseball friend's family owned

it. His name was Frank. Right

across from the Security Steel

plant entryway. They made

'carcoats' and jackets and things,

in like a small factory-mill.

A lot of locals worked there  -

well not a lot, maybe 10 or so.

Women cutting and sewing. A

small-scale local businessman

venture. Women cutting and
sewing. Garment District stuff,

had it been in NYC. But, by

the 80's they were gone (the

building houses a nursery school

and day care place now, all

ugly and orange). By the time

I got there, with an account, it

was a place even cooler that

than Wall Trends. It was called

Werfel Studios. It was run by

an artist guy, from NYC, who,

with his wife, lived in Colonia.

Sanford and Rita Werfel. He was

an old-style Jewish artist who'd

originally sold bibles and Jewish

religious articles and scripture

books and stuff all over the lower

east side. As he developed

into a commercial artist, he did

some nice, illustrative-type stuff.

He was very meticulous about

lettering, script styles, space on

a page, placement of words, etc.

Everything had to fit. He'd opened

his studio, employing 4 people,

and sold memorial find-raising

brass and metal leaves and trees

for hospital walls, schools, etc.,
on the corner of 'Wolfe Place.'

The kind of stuff you see in

lobbies where each leaf on the

'Tree of Life' has someone's

name inscribed, memorialized

in that way, after the donor

forks over money for the leaf.

He had the idea, and then the

market cornered, for a while.

Now there are copiers and

imitators everywhere. That's

how that goes. I used to go

there and just sit around a

little too. The talk was always

cool, except on tense days.

You could feel it as soon as

you walked in  -  old-line

Jewish people like to argue

a lot  -  just like their rabbis

and Torah studies people

and the rest  -  intense, futile

arguments over like the 'shape'

of G-d or the divine orders

of Moses  -  any of that stuff.

If the rest of the world ever

went on like that, nothing much

would ever get done. So, on

those days, I'd walk in there

(with some laborious printing

matter to go over  -  revisions,

errors, new decisions about this

or that illustration)  - and you 

could feel the ice and fire in

the air. Sometimes they'd stop,

and then other times (mostly

between him and his wife Rita,

who also worked there, doing

the payments and bookkeeping

and stuff), in the middle of a

sentence about something else

an idea would hit and he'd go

back arguing with her. Pretty

weird, but now I see how that

happens, about most anything.
It's kind of how the religious
mind works, always stewing on
about fractions of divinity and
light and reasons for being. Once
that gets rolling, you can't stop

it People get committed about

their stuff. Eventually they all

moved out, to a larger studio

kind of building out along Rt.

130 in North Brunswick. I'd 

still go there. Now they're in

Jamesburg or somewhere, and,

retired and old now too. Their

'assistant' from back than has

taken over running the same

old business as ever. Sandy and

Rita live in Monroe or someplace

near there. For a long time along

that Avenel corridor, there

was some fun stuff. More 

stories to come.