RUDIMENTS, pt. 401
1291 st. george avenue
Well I'd had about enough
of all that. One more
businessman type pouring
their rotten soul out to me
over the printing counter
would have made me barf.
I was so done with everything
by 1990 that I simply, really
did, just walk off the job and
walk home, (6 miles). I guess
that's the best way to do it.
At that particular time, Avenel
was caught between places,
or between visions of itself.
There was this manchild in
office as Mayor, about that
time, an ex-Sheriff power boy,
full of himself and full of shit
too, and the guy I worked for,
and all his Kiwanis dudes,
worshipped him - for his gruff
and foul manners. For some
reason, these business-kind of
people think all that in-your-face
stuff is the way to go - the
principles of force and the
dominance over others by dint
of your own 'stronger' stupidity,
seems to count for a lot. I
never got that idea. To me, an
idiot is just an idiot. (By the way,
this JoJo guy should be glad
#Metoo wasn't around then. He'd
be in a whale of a lot of trouble,
the first-person stories that have
been related to me. Mayor or not.
St. George Press itself had been
doing real well, until this
owner guy somehow got
it into his head to begin
doing real estate too. Once
that happened, he was never
around in the capacity he
had been before. Things
carried on OK, but it was
different and he soon became
consumed by that endeavor.
There was a vacant Shop-Rite
on Avenel Street. He bought
that and went right to work
with a complete gutting and
rebuilding - even using
any number of our staff
guys for his crew. He was
intent on making a 'professional
building' - that was a chessy
real-estate term for anything
of cheap offices for rental to
small-time lawyers and
eyeglass guys and all that.
People with bad taste usually
do just end up making things
of bad taste that they call good.
I'd never seen an amateur
building, so it made no
difference to me, but this
was the ugliest, bunker-like
mishmash I'd ever seen. All
done in absolute bad taste,
no windows, tan-hued rough
stucco (he always had the
same taste for tan and brown
everything. Hideous). The
appointments inside were just
as bad - dark, dead hallways,
a bit of a musty feel, bad
lighting, cheap carpeting. Then,
those who rented from him
started showing as equally
marginal. Bad, and a sorrowful
scene all around. Roofing,
leaks, and occasional
maintenance kept him busy.
But it was in all aspects a
totally ruinous-appearing
building, even when new.
No one complained because
no one saw the difference.
-
There was another building,
over by Mary's Hilltop, Pier
1, and some foreign-car place
which used to be there. It was
a large, wooded and tree'd plot.
He and this local dentist tycoon,
Dr. Feiler, were both vying for
the land - no regard for the trees
or woods or any of that, just gross,
profit-motive bullshit; the sort
they thrived on. My guy, Bob,
won the contest, and acquired
the land - with the intention
of another professional building
and parking lot fiasco, but
larger than the Shop-Rite
one. (This sort of stuff just
made me puke). Dr. Feiler
just wouldn't give up. I'm
making up the numbers, but
if Bob got it for $500,000,
Feiler immediately, again,
offered him $600,000. And
in about 48 hours he had the
deal he wanted. Some quick
turnaround on a huge sum of
money-gain. He owned the place
for like ten minutes and made
a hundred grand plus by just
turning it over again with the
push of a filthy pen. It was crazy,
for like ten minutes and made
a hundred grand plus by just
turning it over again with the
push of a filthy pen. It was crazy,
but the kind of crazy these
Kiwanis clubs swags do
over cocktail and lunch
discussions. No matter that
they wreck and ruin
everything for everyone
else. Too bad. Feiler
soon had a six-story office
building there, plus his
own new practice, 'Eastern
Dental Associates.' Still
there. A dental mill, quick
turnaround joint hiring in
mostly first-practice new
dentists. 'Gotta start somewhere.
Open up your mouth! That'll
be 600 dollars.'
-
Bob later sold that Shop-Rite
building to some Indian investors.
He's long ago moved away, to his
building company way out in the
country, where he straddles the
border of Pennsylvania and
New York, along the high
Delaware River. He builds
multi-million dollar homes,
in groups, on mountain and hill
tops, trading on the heights and
the views, natural settings, and
eagles too. The normal crock.
His wife called me once, at
Barnes & Noble, and wanted the
addresses (we had a book we sold
of famous people's homes and
habits, with addresses) of rock
stars and others in New York
City, because, she said, they
were all coming out that way,
buying leisure homes, getaway
homes, investment homes, and
even third and fourth homes.
They wanted to target some
publicity direct to these folk.
Must be nice. Actually, I never
produced for her, and she was
especially interested in David
Bowie, who was said to be a
big buyer in the upper Delaware
Valley area. (Bowie has since
joined the grateful DEAD).
Bob sold his own home, here,
in Colonia, over on Midwood
Way (his neighbor was the gay
Stanley, with partner, of Stanley's
Diner fame, once a Woodbridge
landmark. That was pretty funny
too). The houses Bob started
building up there basically all
had the same faux-rustic stone
and brown and stucco look of
his own home here.
-
Our short-pants baby Mayor
lives near there now, but all these
new guys live in straight-line,
boring homes, as opposed to
the 1920's harsher rustic of the
old-line homes like Bob's. It's
like a GUERNSEY cow, up
against a raging, flaming bull.
Fake is false, and false is fake,
and always the twain shall meet.
You get whatever you poop out.
-
The Indians who bought the
Shop-Rite building have made
it even worse - just through
neglect. Parts of it are hanging
down and rotted out. Seems no
care is given for anything, and
it's still dark and smelly, stucco
tan and ugly as beefsteak cider.
(Just made that up. No idea).
-
Let me say this, there's not a
stranger feeling in the world
than throwing things down,
quitting your job, and just
walking off. I had had it. I most
certainly probably disappointed
and hurt a number of people
by doing what I did, but it really
couldn't be helped. Life is the
one thing you get ONCE.
Next chapter : More on more,
and better than this.
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