11,611. RUDIMENTS pt. 625

RUDIMENTS, pt. 625

(wasn't even funny....)

One funny thing I noticed  -  

not funny, I guess I just 

mean that it stood out  -

was how stratified things 

were. This was 1967, mind 

you, and maybe things still 

are (stratified). BUT, my 

essential point here, of 

differentiation, based on

experience, is as follows:

-

In 1967, there was a complete

class of people who have now

disappeared. I refer to that

which was then called 'Puerto

Ricans.' I know that things

have changed greatly, and that

all through the immigration

classes of New York City varied

groups have entered, set themselves

apart, mingled and served these

roles. At one, earlier, level, it was

Irish, then Germans, the blacks,

and later the smaller ethnic groups,

as they entered, Italians, Poles and

Czechs, and of course the ever

present Chinese. Sometime since

'67, however, all of those people

who used to man the underclass

of service industries, in NYC,

as waiters, busboys, cooks,

laundry, hotel, chambermaids,

cleaners, hospital maintenance

staffs, etc., were once made up

of New York's Puerto Ricans.

And they were everywhere, and

in 1967, at every turn, I ran across

them. East 11th Street was a complete
neighborhood strip of that culture  -
-  vibrant, weird, and brash, in only
a NYC way. The blocks all around
had that flavor. Serving. Cleaning,

etc. That's all over now  -  newer

waves have take all those jobs, or

at least it seems to me. Mexicans.

Asians of all sorts, India, Pakistan,

and  -  countless variations  -  the

Africans who come direct, from

Lagos, Nigeria, and Ghana, and,

for all I know, Burundi! The

switch-over has been total, and

I often just wonder if it was

assimilation, economic gain,

or whatever else it may have

been, that did that. What

brought me to this was the

writing of the NY lumberyards,

which once  -  as I noted  -  had

secondary-level workers who 

were Puerto Ricans. They once 

seemed to staff New York, and 

now don't. That's how greatly

things overall have changed, to

the extent that these newer classes

don't even get called out now or

derogatorily nick-named, as it

all used to be. Prevailing habits

of language either reflect or lead

this, but I never fully know. I

just know that between my entry

time of 1967, and  - whatever

this is, 50-55 years later or more,

I live in an altered world. Totally.

-

There was a time when it was 

considered almost sinful to exist

in an altered state, or even to

consider altering it. Now the

means for that, at that level, 

are nearly handed out freely,

dispensed with a blessing, and

probably easily prescribed.

When I first arrived to New

York I had only the vaguest

of ideas on certain topics.

For instance, sensuality very

sexuality. Someone once

pointed out to me that 'She's

not sexual, rather she's very

sensual.' That stopped me short,

in that it seemed a distinction

I'd never considered or which,

at my level, had never represented

itself to me. In fact, I'd never

even heard of 'sensual' except

maybe in the context of massage.

hot oils. Wax. Whatever the 

heck that was all about when

anyone mentioned it. I still

don't know the difference, 

I'd have to say.

-

I've taken a lot of steps along

the way to back up things I say. 

Sometimes it's not really worth 

it. I found this: 'Statistics show

that in 1948 there were eight 

million New Yorkers in five

boroughs; among them, two

million Jews, nine hundred

thousand Russians, half a 

million Irish, half a million

Germans, four hundred thousand

Poles, more than two hundred

thousand Puerto Ricans, and 

one hundred fifty thousand

Britons. The remainder were

immigrants in smaller groupings,

including native-born Americans.

On the lower east-side, shops and

delis featured Hebrew lettering,

and Israeli flags. In little Italy,

along the southern border of

Greenwich Village, signs, books,

etc., were in Italian dialect and 

life was lived much as it was

an ocean away in Naples or

Palermo and Rome; and in

Chinatown, the world apart

was ringed by the elevated

rails that converged at Chatham

Square. Syrians lived along

Greenwich Street; along

Eight Avenue in Chelsea, 

Greeks predominated...' I'd

have to say, except for the

numbers it was probably still

like that in 1967. Many of

the Syrians were displaced

from the 'Electronics District,'

by the construction of the

Twin Towers, and, as well, 

many of the Puerto Ricans 

were driven way uptown as

their blocks of neighborhoods

along what was called 'San

Juan Hill,' was removed for

Lincoln Center. So, my feelings

seemed correct, but the varied

numbers belie the change. I

guess, and what matter?

-

I just grew up differently. I can't

say Avenel was 'segregated' per

se, or by edict, but there was a

prevalence of whiteness everywhere,

only slightly touched by ethnicity,

which ran a distant second to the

plain old category of 'white.' I

ran across but a few black kids

all growing up days, and, in the

same vein, the seminary was

'white'  -  except for one or two

black priests or brothers they'd

send our way. Who were mostly

as white as could be anyway.

My biggest shock, the most

engaging thing I'd ever 

experienced, was in the

seminary, and with the black

priest  -  driving the '63 Ford

or whatever it was they gave 

him. I was one of the kids on

the medical-call thing they 

had, for the few emergencies 

that occurred  -  toothaches,

broken fingers or arms, the

usual sports injury crap. If

any special of quick medical

attention was needed, we'd 

get the sick or wounded guy

and drive with him to some 

place in Camden where the

certain doctors and stuff were.

And we also did the same 

sometimes to the junk and

metal salvage yards, when

we'd get a truckful from some 

clean-up or building takedown.

These trips would bring me

through the most jaw-gaping

Camden poverty  -  any poverty  -

I'd ever seen. And it was almost

shocking, at least heart-rending.

We'd pass row houses, ghettos

of them, with people on their

rickety stoops and porches,

just staring out, almost as if

dumb-founded by the world

passing by them. It was a long,

low, and quiet sight; one I'd

never seen and took all in. I've

been back a few times since, 50 

years later, again, of course, and

though a lot of this is gone  -  

mainly because the places have

crumbled away or burned, much,

yes, much of it still remains. The

grave of Walt Whitman is there,

in one such situation  -  the most

lethal and dire poverty must be

crossed to get to the, rather by

contrast, bucolic, old graveyard.

But it still shocks and is still an

eye-opener. As far as real poverty

goes, this 'ain't sexy at all.'

-

I think back now and wonder if

the black priest guy driving was

maybe given that job as a safety

factor? Sure beats having some

lily-white trolling a neighborhood

like any of those. I was never

much a fan of getting hauled

out of a car and roughed over.

Forget sexy, that wasn't

even 'sensual.'