RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,035
(Roger, and the nun)
One time I gave a reading on
the roof of the old Plainfield
YMCA. Back when, about
1981, Plainfield still had a
tiny touch of civilization and
class - leftover manufacturing
days, etc. from way before the
American fall. Not that I was
helping it any, but, that's how
it went. Like the reading at the
Chatham Library, this was an
invite to which I responded,
to give a night's reading. When
I got them, I always said yes.
-
I wasn't aware that it was going
to be held on the roof; outside.
I suppose it was 6 stories up,
but it turned out pretty cool. It
all worked - Summer night,
late and lingering light, etc.
Darkness, when it came on,
added a sort of extra drama to
the words too. Horns tooted
down below, people on the
street and sidewalk. There
were maybe 30 people on
folding chairs, sitting on the
roof; all pretty attentively
listening. I couldn't get much
of a feel from the audience,
however, about them - at
that time Plainfield had a
weird mix of a running-down
society. There were still ladies
clubs and garden clubs and
men's civic do-good clubs.
Lingering 1930's intentions
of wealthy people (in all those
leftover large homes) but all
had been drained. Old society
had died or moved on; and the
new stuff trickling in wasn't
good. By now, some 50 years
later, the place is a negative
space, and nothing more. All
that I ever had known from those
days, now, is gone, destroyed,
boarded up, bankrupt or burned.
Mexican taco places and such
remain, but for the rest, you'd
never know it once existed.
-
Plainfield had never had any
sort of college or higher school.
I think that was part of the
problem, because outside of
crass business, nothing else there
had staying power, and when
common humanity went away,
everything else faltered and,
eventually, fell. I had a friend,
a single guy, who lived there
for a while, in a sort of rooming
house that had been made from
an old movie theatre; marquee
and all. To enter, a person had to
walk beneath the old marquee
and into the old movie-space
lobby. It was weird because I
it felt like there was going to be
one of those oddly uniformed,
cap-wearing, 1930's era guys
there to take the ticket and tear
it in half, and then another one of
those fashlight guys inside. But,
it had all been redone for living
spaces and apartments, maybe
3 stories high. In fact, the building
still stands, but you'd never know
what it had been before, neither
as a theater (marquee is gone) nor
as a rooming house. Now it's
one or two storefronts; Haitian
dining, and some Spanish takeout,
combined into the one old front.
Nasty design factors, sloppy
signage, and any number of
indigents hanging about. Nearby:
Drake House, a McDonalds, a
used furniture place, and some
Chinaman's fish-takeout and
pick-up fry-house. The very
center of that nearby street
crossing(s), which had once
glowed with a nice, central park,
open plaza, with a stock-trading
exchange place, with a 1967
trading day stock ticket display,
a pipe and cigar store, a bicycle
shop, a dress sop, and a bookstore
too, was all plowed over in the
1990's and is now but a civic
center, by the government, for
assistance offices, pharmacy,
and dollar store junk uses. It's
all hideous, tan, designer brick
and pavers, with walkways
and a concrete bench. One.
-
It's weird how all those 'changes'
were in the future but without any
real way for someone to read them
from that (then) present. It felt, yes,
as if something strange was going
on, but no groundwork had been
prepared. I looked out over that
rooftop audience, and it was a
spooky feeling; there were no
means of knowing to whom I
was talking - should I have
been declaiming something, or
going bombastic, or doing some
prophetic Isaiah stuff? There was,
as it turned out, some guy in that
audience, who came up to me
later, with his business card and
a some story line for follow-up.
His name was Roger Williams.
I immediately thought of Rhode
Island, but couldn't get any
connection threaded, except the
name. Nothing ever came of it,
except 10 or 15 years of annual
Christmas cards from Syracuse
NY or somewhere. He'd moved
there, after 'marrying' a defrocked
Nun, or whatever they're called
when they leave the Nunnery
and go straight. For me, it was
all just another failure, and they're
both dead now, Roger and the nun.
But that night, for one moment, had
held promise and expectation most
especially after listening to his ideas
and plans. Which all came to naught;
and probably just as well.
-
As it was, alas, Plainfield itself
never really recovered from its own
disasters. Story-lines can still be made
from those grand old houses, quaint
roadways, the Sleepy Hollow district,
and the Van Wyck Brooks Historic
District, but not one damned fool
in the entire town would know what
you were talking about. It would
need, someow, to be named the
Martin Luther King District, for
the blacks to recognize literary
legacy (?), or maybe the Frito
Bandito District, for the Hispanics
to do so. It bad, and it's sad, but it's
all now what we have come to.
May even Plainfield rest in peace.
Maybe.
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