RUDIMENTS, pt. 470
(swing low, sweet chariot...)
'Sprightly arrogance' was a
motto I used for myself,
inasmuch as so many of the
people around me seemed
dull and dead, or useless
anyway. When I got to
Elmira and had been half
straightened out again, I
was working with a small
group of interesting people.
Women. They each were.
And they all hailed locally,
from Elmira, or within 20
miles. It was weird; they were
not exactly 'country' people,
in that Elmira itself was a
small 'urb' and not rural or
country, unless you went
right out of its boundaries,
when it turned immediately
into the rash, raw, farmland
and rolling countryside of
southern-tier NY. But there
was also a bit of the influx
that comes with living among
the confines of one-way streets
and avenues, alleyways and
parks and riverbank walks
and parking lots too. That's
all the stuff a country person
really doesn't deal with or
abide It makes no sense.
It immediately seems
smothering. Over in
Pennsylvania, my farmer
friend guy, Warren, on the
days he drove the 22 miles
up to Elmira, or his wife
drove, one or the other
of them would come
back all frazzled and jittery
like they'd been to some big,
crazy, over-sized city, saying
things like 'I don't know how
those people do it up there,
managing to live like that..'
or somesuch comment that
could make one laugh.
-
Anyway, these ladies were
all Elmira people, and there
was a bit of intelligence
among them. At least they
weren't totally boring. One
was named Jeanette, the
oldster of the group. Totally
discreet lady, about 45 or
50 back then, which of
course seemed ancient. She
drove this big, tan, wide
as ever, maybe '72, Pontiac,
Catalina, I think it was.
Just the color of it alone
was a turn-off. She was a
totally traditional, elderly
before her time type, but I
enjoyed her. She was my
constant senior moment.
Let me point out as well
that there were guys I
worked with, but this
is just about the women
therein. The guys, I've
written about before,
with their trucks and
porno-flicks projected
large onto the after-hours
work walls, their taunts
and girl-chasing, and
just wild, crazy stuff.
This won't be about
them, yet. And they
too had that same 'not
quite of the farm'
upbringing that Elmira
gave. It was unique.
-
I imagine Jeanette's long
dead by now, and that's
too bad. The other girls
are my contemporaries,
and I know where they
are and what they're
doing. You know how
weird things eventually
just age and go away, like
ulcers (no one ever gets
ulcers anymore? It's never
spoken of, and used to be
everywhere), and pink
Catawba wine (does
anyone ever even drink
that stuff anymore?), well,
in some respects they were
like that to me. They were
just things I didn't do
anymore. One girl, Ann
Winter, or maybe Winters,
she had like a 2-year old
boy, her husband had
caused her all sorts of
problems and abuse,
and was gone, and
she just ended, wounded
and sorrowful, and with
her son, hanging around
my house. We all did things
together - drives and rides
and kid stuff too. It was
sad, she was so vulnerable;
the ladies got on OK. I acted
just as the on-hand moderator
to do whatever I could to
alleviate things. One year, I
recall, it was Aug. 1st, and
we picked up Christina Rosner,
my German Culture and Lit.
Professor, and just all drove
out to some farm-field miles
off, to pick a day's worth of
berries, whichever berry it
was that was in pick-season
the. Everyone got along,
kids, ladies, and me, except
my station wagon always
ran hot, near to overheating,
so to keep the engine cool
(cooler by degrees anyway)
I'd run with the heater on,
full blast, to exchange and
pass heated air around and
off the engine (you laugh,
it worked), with all the
windows down. This day,
August 1, just happened to
be about 94 degrees, and
Christina Rosner freaked.
About the heat, and the
heater. Let's just say she
didn't understand cars
much. The others were
OK with this, since
they'd been through
it before. Christina did
eventually settle down,
calling me some unfound
German combo-words,
but it worked out. Plenty
of berries, a good day out,
and we laugh only now.
-
I lost all track of Ann, I
should add, in contrast
to the others here, a
long time ago. I can
only hope her and her
son got on OK with the
rest of life. Godspeed.
-
Mary Kay Hickey! Ah,
I've written of her before,
way back - she of the
sex-calorie chart on the
wall above her bed
(varied caloric exertions
for varied positions. It
was a MS Magazine thing,
which she kept proudly
posted). Each time I'd
visit, she would always
have playing, by Elton
John, the album 'Tumbleweed
Connection,' and the song,
'Burn Down the Mission,'
because she said it reminded
her of me. Sometimes she
liked guys, other times not.
There was a sometime girl
roommate around too, Kiki
something or other. Mary
drove an original Datsun B210,
puke green, and it had over
200,000 miles on it, back
then. Very cool. She walked
the edge a lot, weirdly enough
often visiting our house too,
staying weekends, etc. and
driving me a little nuts with
her after-bath habit of simply
walking around wrapped
loosely in a large towel.
Forget it; you had to be
there to understand. I've
got plenty of Mary stories
- from Syracuse to Arizona
too, and back. When we
finally did move back here,
in '78 or whatever it was,
Mary came with us to
Avenel, and stayed. She
was my co-driver, with me,
in the rented moving truck,
and she made me listen to
(I forget his name, the
Margheritaville and
parrot-head guy), for the
entire five hours. It was OK.
Kathy followed in our car,
and we eventually all went
back to Elmira again, in
that, leaving the rental truck
in Carteret, at Blazing Star
truck rentals. Mary eventually
moved to Arizona, and has
been there since, only she
does occasionally take
these meandering drive
across country in whatever
her vehicle may be. She
calls us from a few hundred
miles away, lets us know
she's near, and stops over,
to stay a few days. It's fun.
Like I said, boy do I have
Mary Kay stories.
-
Susan Watkins. Long story,
all good stuff. Susan no
longer lives in Elmira, but
up there near. A long life
story, published books,
credible stuff. Not incredible,
but credible. She carried me
along to all sorts of good
connections - Jane Roberts,
Rob Butts, and lots more.
She was a writer, even
way back then, plain
and simple. we had a lot
in common, from that -
and we shared and talked
lots of things - life, death,
philosophy, Seth books,
New York times, Norman
Mailer; it went on. Jeez, no,
we all age so. I don't want to
know who's the first to go.
-
There's a general feeling to life
and all its memories. As if from
a pepper-shaker, that little hot
scent gets in your nose, and
just never goes away.
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