11,333. RUDIMENTS, pt. 509

RUDIMENTS, PT. 509
(joyce kilmer walks to highland park)
Queasy I am, and then

just call me that. Though I

can walk a five-mile bridge,

I won't, having not the need.

I can drive well enough. There

was one time, long back, I

walked from Metuchen to

Inman Avenue, Avenel, all

of it about 7 miles, maybe 6,

just to see what it was like,

and about. Boring as all

Hell could be -  and that

was when I realized we've

pretty much lost the world.

Everything along the way,

even any parks and other

leisure spots, they've all

all been turned over to

the automobile. There's

not really anything left.

Roadways, drives, tar,

trucks and paving. All

the other things anywhere

have been twisted or

ditched   -  waterways

into sluices and pits that

go under roadways or into

channels. Ridiculous parks

which, by Freeholder and

county oversight, lose more

land than they gain each

year, with concrete and

paved pavilions, ice-rinks,

segregated play areas set

off by paving and parking  -

fake theater sections, Plays

In the Park drivel using the

lawns and drives for a

furtherance of parking and

drains, NOT parkland.

And then, of course, the

dumb, bastard freeholders

and and mayors take credit

for the defamation  -  names

and faces plastered everywhere,

sinful amounts of money

squandered on staff and on

upkeep. I learned a long time

back that it's all trickery.

-

My friend, Frank, and

his girlfriend Mona, one

time walked from Colonia,

where he'd grown up on

Longfellow Drive, to the

far end of Livingston Avenue

in New Brunswick, where

he had an apartment. They

walked Route 27, all the

way, and I said to them,

later, actually unsure

myself, since I wasn't

living there and was not

real sure what exactly

was along Rt. 27, I

asked then what was

there as they walked it,

what had they seen?

(This was about 1981). I
don't know what I expected,
but to my mind it was as if
they'd undertaken some
grand and grueling trek.
(People never seemed to get
excited over the things I
grandly enthused over).

They just kind of shrugged,

saying, 'Not much, some

stores, a McDonald's, and

houses.' Nondescript, pretty

much, and it even left out

Highland Park, which

hugs one side of the

river, the Raritan, by

which bridge they had

to cross, walking over

to get to New Brunswick.

I remember the car wash

along there (still in place),

just before Highland Park,

for about 10 years after

John Lennon was killed,

it said, in black paint, a

scrawled, 'Lennon Lives!'

That was there a long time.

Now there's an area there

called Koreatown  -  all

sorts of Asian/Korean little

businesses, with their language

proliferating on signs and

things. Highland Park itself,

being overly a Jewish

community, also has a

few businesses in that area 

too -  Glatt Kosher Catering,

and a small Glatt Grocery

(recently shuttered). There's

a Jewish weightlifting/sports

workout place, with a Jewish

name and Hebrew lettering

  -  it's really funny, because,

with that same name on the

side, they keep an ambulance

van parked there, I guess in

case anyone over-freaks

at their workout. The Korea

part (the American-owned

musical instrument store

that had been there for years,

'Lou-Rose Music' - named

after the couple who ran

it  -  it too is now gone. I

used to do their printing,

and their son's too (a NYCity

hairdresser guy, on Fifth at

51st, 2nd floor over the street),

and the Koreatown places

have this cool watch repair

guy, Jimmy's Watch Repair

or something like that. I

took one of my wind-up

watches in once for repair,

thinking it would be simple,

and he nearly threw me

out for bothering him.

'What you think? Cheap?

That very expensive repair!

No!' I said, 'How much?

$70? $125?' He said 'NO,

lots more. No do! Not here!

Throw it away!' Oh well, I

tried. That's a real story; I

pass the place all the time.

Never have I seen a

customer. And the time

I was there, he got so

apoplectic over that little

repair I thought for sure

he would need that

Jewish ambulance.

-

Also, speaking of those 

walks, it's funny now, 

but my days in NYC 

often get me covering, 

easily, 11 or more miles 

by the time I'm done. It 

goes easy and without 

care, because of the 

thousand eye-grabbing 

things always going on, 

the short street distances, 

the curbs and traffic, 

bicycles and cars and 

trucks and buses  - 

everything basically 

intent on running you 

down. Really, a mile 

there is nothing like 

anywhere, and who's 

counting anyway. Except 

that there's about 20,000 

old people too, in the 

course of a day, that you 

see, for whom 40 yards 

of walking must surely 

be a struggle. Bloated 

legs, bent backs, wheezing, 

bad eyesight, postures 

gone, the speed of a snail, 

or less. New York City 

might be a mess, yes, 

but it's not like anywhere 

else either, for the mix, 

the topsy-turvy overlap 

of space and distance, 

up-closeness and 

far-awayness too, all 

at once. It's a good thing

though, all that contrast;

survival being what it is,

you really have to hand

it to these struggling people

hanging on. Especially with

all the whiz-bang runners, 

joggers, and bicycle people

raging by. It is said, has
been told to me (back here
to New Brunswick and that 
walk) that when the New
Brunswick poet Joyce Kilmer
(who wrote that landmark
and mostly tritely-terrible poem
'I think that I shall never see a
poem as lovely as a tree...')
lived in New Brunswick all 
those years, he would walk that
bridge (the previous version of
it, rickety and made for horses, 
not cars), each day, so as to
have coffee, and a drink, on the
porch of the large hotel and
rooming house that was there,
in Highland Park, at what
is now a 'V' in the road where
Route 27 and Woodbridge
Avenue converge. It's all gone
now, traffic rules the roost, but
right where the porch area
was is a statue of a WWI 
Doughboy (soldier). (This
was all told to me back in the
1990's when I had a friendship
with the old fellow who ran
the 'Joyce Kilmer House' on
Kilmer Avenue, in New 
Brunswick. The museum
was housed in the home of
Joyce Kilmer, back then. It
was (both home and museum)
small, and almost non-descript.
But, there were photos of those
old days  -  the house, the road,
that bridge, and the hotel and
rooming house, with Kilmer.
At the location of the Doughboy
Statue there was NO mention 
made of Joyce Kilmer, nor of the 
real past of that spot. One Memorial
Day, before the parade and all
that, in the morning as people were 
assembling, he'd invited me
along, to go with him to this
location, with the Kilmer poem 
and a sort of memorial scroll
which he'd had made up; to
add to the memorial, and,
it was hoped,  read the poem 
aloud, as well. We nearly got
hung! The assorted veterans'
groups there, and VFW and
Legion lodges, wanted absolutely,
in no way, anything to do with
some stupid 'poet' riding on
their Memorial War Dead
festivities. The poor old guy was
wounded to the quick, very hurt
and offended  -  making matters
worse, in his eyes, was the fact
that he'd invited me there, with 
him, only to witness his humiliation
and utterly failed attempt at
something we'd both cared 
about. Which, I just figured,
went to show that you can fight
your wars, and drink your beers,
but DON"T bring up poetry
at the legion bar. (But boy,
did I feel bad for him).