RUDIMENTS, pt. 405
(marvin gaye comes to town)
The funniest things have often
happened to me. One of my
earliest jobs - I've written of
it, with the mad dashes to
Philadelphia to have legal
papers filed on time, etc.,
in that new Ford the boss
had - was at a firm called
New Jersey Appellate Printing.
It was all court printing, briefs
and transcripts for appeals.
court documents. Anyway, the
company was in downtown
Woodbridge, right on Main
Street, in two different locations,
in succession, as we moved.
A lot of it was Newark
courthouse stuff, some NYC,
and often Trenton and/or
Philadelphia. Those were my
on-the-road days, in that new,
hot Ford I just mentioned.
Dockets had to be filed and
all that by time and clock
stamp. Most often things
were close to late, and my
instructions were to 'just get
there.' Speeding and all sorts
of antics got me done. Nice
car. One time I had to get
to Raymond Boulevard,
Rutgers Law was having a
test in some big room there.
I was delivering both the
test books and the answer
keys. It was tight, Newark
sucked, it was crowded, and
the rest. Back then, all the
Newark cops were mostly
big and gruff, lots of Italian
and German kind of guys -
unlike today, when most
cops seem to look like
they're 12, and tiny too.
These guys weren't like
that. My instructions were
to just get there, and I was
told, if there was a problem
(they had to run this test
that day, allotted time too)
just double park, flip up
the hood, act funny, go
through the motions of
looking for the problem
and getting repairs, and
leave the car with the hood
up and the keys in my
possession, and make
the delivery. Which I did.
Two or three boxes of
paperwork. When I got
around to the rear area
of where I was going,
good God, there are the
law students - a saintly
group of grainy-looking
students (guys) and they
were begging me to give
them test copies, even
offering to buy a few. I
just said 'Can't, sorry,
everything's counted,' and
blasted through them. It
was weird and - oh if I
had known - I'd probably
have made sure there were
some extra copies of the sets.
Damn, the money lost.
-
So, I got back to the 'broken
down' new car, and, yeah,
there's a cop standing there
glaring at me. I made up
some stupid 'stall' story
about the car, went through
my routine, and he says, all
the while in my face, 'Look
kid, you ain't foolin' me. I
let you go this time, but not
the next. Catch you again,
it's trouble.' Off I went,
right past the tall black guys
hawking their 'Muhammed
Speaks' papers.
-
Newark used to be so cool.
There were remnants of the
old jazz clubs and movie
houses still around. Broken
pieces of signs and glass and
things, everywhere. The old
days were just falling apart
right there, evidences of stuff
everywhere. Amazingly, right
there was the chop house in
which Dutch Schultz the
gangster got shot up and later
died. It was still there, brown
wood, a little weird entrance,
some graffiti. If you didn't
know about it, you'd never
notice. It was there a long
time too, probably right
through the 1990's, after
which Newark started getting
aware of itself some and
cleaning and rebuilding
things. The really odd thing
was, as Schultz was dying,
at this Palace Chop House,
(it took a long time, and he
was in a state of death-delirium)
he was continually mumbling
some weird, long stuff that
no one could get the gist of.
One of those present began
writing words down, and it
was later turned into a poem
of sorts, and pretty famous.
It's supposed to have some
clues in it as to where he's
hidden some 7 million dollars
never found, out at Phoenecia,
NY. (Yes, I've been there, by
that Devil Rock, but never
found anything yet).
-
Anyway, here's the main story.
In those high days of Black
Power and stuff, Marvin Gaye
came to town for a concert. Perth
Amboy, actually, was the location.
He was staying at a small group
of apartments, along Amboy Ave,
by the Victory Bridge. It used
to be across from the Inness
House, the artist who once
lived there (George Inness)
at the Raritan Bay. Then it
became a junkyard for years
(that's how the locals around
here take care of heritage things),
and now it's a car wash and oil
change place. We had done the
printing of the programs and
things for the concert. Gaye
and his little possee (this was
the time when his big hit 'What's
Goin' On' still held some sort
of music power), had not paid
up. I was selected (no choice),
to go get the payment, or try
anyway. Gulp. I wasn't so keen
on that, but did my best. I got
to the place and there were a
few big chubby guys, the
management company fellows.
Little white guy me, versus
three or four big time power
guys. Their claim was the
books were closed on the
concert expenses, the tour
bus, etc., had left, and I
was - as they figured it -
probably out of luck on
this one. But they did offer
me a poster. I said, 'No,
actually I think we printed
those too. Already got one.'
And I went back empty-handed.
I don't know what ever came
of the rest of the deal; but
that's my Marvin Gaye story.
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