RUDIMENTS, pt. 384
(seems like the cat's always
chasing its own damned tail)
Sometimes it seems to me
there are no limits to the
depths of human stupidity.
I was at the Rahway post
office and this black guy
pulls in with a nice new
Lincoln. He was all puffed
and proud of it, I could tell,
and I felt good for him. It
was a nice vehicle, so I said,
'That's a really nice car.' He
says, 'It's a Lincoln. You know
why I drive a Lincoln? Because
Lincoln freed the slaves.' The
reasoning here was far beyond
logic, but I instantly knew not
to refute - as if I were to say,
'Oh, yeah. And I drive a
Volkswagen because Hitler
killed Jews.' No compassionate
reasoning there, in any way.
Not even, really, any way to
connect the dots in a sensible
fashion - yet, people will
always believe what they will.
It got me started thinking the
usual thoughts : how had he
arrived at this level of ill-logic?
Was it schooling, what people
sometimes call a brain-fart?
Did it somehow actually draw
him in, this thought? I just
couldn't tell, but it seemed
as well to be just sitting on
the edge of anger and a sense
of payback or something. Like
I or any other white person
should be held liable for any
problem he's ever had in life.
There's no arguing with anyone
in such a state, on the verge of
break-out. It could only go bad.
-
When I first moved to Elmira,
827 Lincoln Street, it was
because that location was
right at the edge of the
college campus. One and
a half short blocks, in fact
away. All I had to do was
walk past the Health Center
and then the Student Center,
to get to the college buildings
needed. It has since - I see
on return visits these 35 or
so years later - been closed
off, a road built, and a small,
blocking wall too. That's too
bad, because it was a nice
access and, though still now
available, it's a tiny bit longer a
walk and a bit more convoluted.
Back then, everyone around
looked adult. Now everyone
looks like kids, milling around
the candy-shop at the Student
Center. Where I used too be
afraid to go in. Anyway, the
location was right for me,
because I knew I'd be
spending a lot of time
there, on the campus and
in the college buildings,
and I did. One very weird
thing - from Colonia, my
faraway home town
(Woodbridge), there were
three triplet sisters in the
college too. Debbie, Diane,
and Donna, Brill. I even
knew their house, back
home, where it was. But
I never let on, nor did I even
let them know I was there.
The college had two new
residency towers at that
point, maybe 8 or 10 stories
each, and they lived in them.
As a local homeowner, I
was an off-campus art
dude, studying weirdness.
-
Anyway, when I bought the
house it was pretty ridiculous
how I did it. We'd been living
far out in the country, over the
nearby border, south, into
Pennsylvania (that place I
keep mentioning, Columbia
Cross Roads), on a broken-
up farm spread with a decent
house and 12 acres around it;
what was left of like a 250 acre
farm that had been. The other
local farm guys had each bought
their adjoining acres. It was
nice, I loved it, I'd gotten myself
sort of all squared back up to
re-enter the world, no one was
any longer hounding me, the
law had evidently lost me, etc.
The previous 3 or 4 years had
gone OK. Problem was, the
goodly wife hated it - the
isolation had gotten to her,
the 4 year old kid was to
be needing school, and she
was damned well set against
mixing him in with any of
the offspring of the sort of
crazed, inbred, psychotics who,
we'd learned, populated these
very strange and very rural
hillsides. I've told a few of the
stories here, and I have at
least fifteen thousand seven
hundred forty one more I
could tell. (And probably will,
if my continued existence keeps
me cogent). You'll know.
So, one day after working in
Elmira, I went down the street,
found the house (I'd been spying
it for a month or two) and made
the deal. I didn't quibble, I
didn't really even too closely
look things over. It was nice,
old-style, throwback look and
feel, and was well-appointed
inside. The lady who was
selling it, Jeanne Bollen, or
'Jeannie' as she insisted, was
alright about everything. She
was decent looking too, a real
nice roll in the hay, had it to
come to that for bargaining
purposes or such (OK, joking),
and she was an interior decorator,
with her own little business
somewhere in the town -
which meant this newly
re-done, showcase house
was right up to date with the
1970's sorts of decorating
flourishes common. It sure
wasn't 'me,' but it was new and
fresh and nice. Everyone else
loved it. And Kathy was OK
on it too, since to her it didn't
really matter anyway : plenty
of space, nice rooms, a lot
of old interior, original,
touches, and new stuff as well.
It somehow all flowed together
nicely. Serving window, dining
space, kitchen counters, laundry
room, back patio, front porch.
Etc., etc. I asked Jeannie,
eventually, that dreaded 'Why
you selling it?' question. She
almost started whimpering.
She was losing the business,
and losing this showcase house,
with no idea how any of it was
going to end up...
-
Jeannie had two sons, about
maybe 16 and 17. One kid was
fairly normal, the other specialzed
in brute force, piggishness, and
probably craziness too. I mean,
the kind of guy with whom you
didn't even want to breath any
air in the vicinity of where he
may have just exhaled. That bad.
He was in the Chemung County
lock-up on murder charges.
Involuntary manslaughter, or
whatever the lesser one is when
you didn't really plan and set out
to bury your friend alive, in a
well-dug hole in the ground, but
it just happened. I've mentioned
how the Chemung River ran
through the center of Elmira,
giving it a 'Southside' and a
'Northside.' The Northside had
the college, the large churches,
the rail depot, and all the nice
things. The southside had all
the bad things you could think
of, plus the really poor people
and the lower lying wetlands
on which they 'lived.' Plus the
factories, I've mentioned.
Right in the middle of this
sometimes raging, often not,
river, you could find, within
two miles or so, four or five
nice, tree'd islands. No real
enforcement, no restrictions
I ever heard of. Everyone
went there, the kids, to drink,
fornicate, learn about sex,
party, sleep, and who knows.
Anyway, this Bollen kid and
a friend canoed or otherwise
boated out there one day, with
about 40 pounds of booze, intent
on getting sloshed. The friend
passed out, in an alcoholic daze.
The Bollen kid - local shovel
handy I guess - panicking, and
drunk himself, and thinking his
friend dead, dug a hole, yes, and
buried the sucker, and then tamped
it all down good, and sat there
for a few hours, thinking about
it all until he too passed out to
drunk-dreamland. Word got
out, as he boated back home
alone, that, uh, something was
amiss. Push comes to shove,
the kid was dead, and all
Mom's fame and fortune was
right down the tubes as well.
That's the house I got.
-
The trial was a local headline,
then forgotten about. The kid
got maybe 5 or 7 years for his
stupidity, and I never did know
what ever became of Jeannie.
Nor did I ever get lucky doing
any 'interior decorating' with
her either. The son would have
probably cemented me into the
basement wall had I anyway.
-
Like my motorcycle friend
Billy English used to say, blowing
through Parkway tolls gleefully,
'My name's Crime, and Crime
don't pay!'
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