11,290. RUDIMENTS, pt. 491

RUDIMENTS, pt. 491

(subterraneans)

As I studied literature

over my years of reading,

learning, and writing, I

often wondered if there

had been a competition

between Oscar Wilde, and

Thornton Wilder. Ha. See,

that was my joke-play with

words, which is something

I just finally ended up

doing constantly. You

get it, right? 'Wilde' and

'Wilder.' Oh well. Then I

decided I was going to

take myself, alone, and

just ride out to America's

Dairyland to just think.

Or, as I called it, to

Wisconcentrate.

-

One of the most weird

things to me, in I guess

it was Aug., 1967, was

walking up to 509 east

11th street and sauntering

in to the dingy, ground-floor

entry room, to ask for the

guy on the premises who

rents ('Superintendent,'

you idiot). I didn't even

know that much. Heck,

I'd never even been in

a place like this before :

All of it was from a

hundred years ago;

ancient, crazy lobby

tile  -  not really a lobby,

more just a spot near

a door and a room,

all adjacent to a half

wall of mailbox things

-  little metal doors with

a scrawled name papered

in. Silver-looking metal,

serrated, with lines, and

each one had a gold-colored

key-lock. It's standard stuff

now, I know, all over the

city. Yet, those remnants

of the old tenements and

apartments, as they slowly

pass from view, get

'modernized' or leveled

and rebuilt, and we lose

all that. I went into that

little room, asking for the

rental, not really knowing

what to expect. The guy

was just a regular guy.

He could have been a

brick-layer for all I knew.

Not a business type at all,

just one of the guys. He

said 'Sure, sure, 60 bucks

a month, payable the first.

It's upstairs, second-landing,

rear, let's go, I'll show you.'

That was it; he throws a

notebook down, says, 'you

can sign here when we get

back.' I entered a room the

sort of which I'd never seen

before. It was 2 rooms, and

a bathroom, alcove. The

walls on the outside faces

were the brick of the outside.

That was tastefully quaint,

yes, interior brick  -  yet so

odd too as to belie my own

confusion at what I was

seeing. The sink was the

only thing that showed me

that there was a kitchen,

of a sort anyway  -  in no

way a 'kitchen' of the type

advertised today. Whatever

stove there was, we never

used. Nor was there any

dedicated floor space to be

called 'kitchen.' I guess, in

1900, you ate where you

lived. There was just one,

general open space area,

plus the little off-room

by the 'bathroom.' That

kitchen sink, with a large

piece of plywood or plank

over most of it, was also

the bathtub. I just looked

right past all that stuff, not

knowing what was up, and

took the place; I figured I'd

worry about anything else

at some other time.

-

I paid him my 60 bucks, plus

another 60 for some future

'security' month that never

materialized (I was always

insecure), and left with 2

keys. Nasty, bare, lower

east side rooms, barren as

the Serengeti, with a noise

quotient of Spanish-tongued

kids already quite high and

the heat dangling in the air 

like torture. Next door, I soon

saw, was a Biker den of

some strange characteristics.

I suddenly realized I knew

the place  -  it was the famed,

old Beatnik 1950's harem

and hangout called 'Paradise

Alley.' It had an arched and

bricked entryway, a courtyard,

and a history worth believing

in. How had I missed that on

the way in, I wondered. Jack

Kerouac had written an entire

book that took place there,

called 'The Subterraneans.'

The funny thing was, his

Random House or whoever

editing people sent him

back to re-write before they'd

publish it. The legal department

was too skittish over the names

and places, and they had him

re-place everything into a

San Francisco setting, with

names and places sort of

cleverly disguised. In any

case, Paradise Alley it was.

I had a sort of a view out over

the courtyard and, though I

never stared, I did see a lot

of things going on. Mostly

the romantic stuff  -  no

executions or drug deaths.

It was currently, by 1967

anyway, the new headquarters

for what would become the

NY Hell's Angels, later of

3rd street. All fun, 
all the time.

-

There were motorcycles

haphazardly parked 

everywhere, along the 

curb and in the opening

of the courtyard. Usually

there'd be someone around

watching the bikes, guarding

the domain. Years later, 

I too was a 'Biker' of those

means; at the Iron Knights

in Brooklyn there'd be

parties and confabs and, 

in much the same way,

except with a more 

trenchant approach to

keeping order, there'd be

an entire block cordoned 

off, with the Iron Knights

clubhouse in the middle

of that block. Across the

way was a weedy lot used

by some car-repair shop, 

and, looking up, you'd see

the tenement apartments

above, most often with

people in the open windows

gazing down. Security there,

all around the perimeter, and

the bandstand, was a few

strongmen thug-type bikers

with cut-off baseball bats,

made into clubs, often with

chain or something drilled

into the top, to also swing 

as useful weaponry. Any 

poor ghetto locals never had

a chance, and, fortunately,

(although I did see one or

two instances) they kept 

away and no beatings or 

apprehensions ensued. It

was probably easier living

next to the Berlin Wall.

-

All that got pretty wild,

Oscar...In both places, the

Brooklyn site as well as

Paradise Alley, anything

at any time was apt to break 

out. Mostly, law was absent.

All the 11th street Spanish

people were used to it all;

their culture and way of

living was all outside stuff

anyway, and they knew 

enough to keep wary and

away from white-guy games.

Motorcycles may entice,

but they also valued life.

-

Looking out the rear 

window of that apartment, 

all you saw really was 

another building. They

had, because the old

tenements were built 

right into one another, 

often 2-deep in small, 

cramped yards (just like, 

for the kitchen, look at 

any old photo of 1900

tenement housing and

you'll see what I mean),

there what amounted to
 'air-shafts' out a window

or two. For the most feeble

ventilation. But, at the 

same time, by habit, in 

those years it had become

customary to just heave

garbage down. So, on 

the ground, foul and

treacherous, you'd be apt

to find anything, and I

mean that word : old

clothing, food trash, 

garbage, broken things

of any description, dead

cats, tricycles, and what

else the tide washed in. 

It was pretty horrid, but

not as horrid as the idea

that, 60 plus years previous,

these had been introduced

as health measures and

positive factors. Yeah, OK.

In addition, here and there

in these tenement backyards,

the second-buildings had

crumbled, or were abandoned,

or squatted in, or used as

drug-dens, bathrooms or

morgues. Take your pick,

and in the lower east side

health measures, codes

and regulations just

didn't exist.

-

What was 509's claim to 

fame? I'll get into all that

very soon. Suffice it to

say, my onetime street

of infamy is nearly

unrecognizable now.