Sunday, February 21, 2021

13,439. RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,146

RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,146
(only what I ever needed)
I always liked the word 'frugal.'
It has a weird and heavy push
to it, the connotation perhaps
being a kind of hard strength
for NOT doing things : Wasting
money, jumping at chances.
One of the secrets to being
frugal, which makes it pretty
easy too, is when you have no
money, you have no choice.
Approaching 'frugality' is par
for the course. Think how, if 
talking cost money, there'd 
be lots of silence.
-
Ask any homeless person what
frugal means, and they'll laugh.
At the same time, they are both
frugal and rich. Havens, hovels,
huts and hideaways hold them.
There was a time when, from
72nd street right up to 124th, there
were networks of tunnels and
walkways that were perfect for
hiding out and through the 80's 
homeless had taken up residence
in them in an almost quaint form
of village living : Rooms, couples,
small housekeeping, areas claimed
and separated. People lived, in all
weathers, under there, in strange
corridors and walkways. And died
too. In addition, of course, there
was always a need for help as babies
were born and oldsters died, whether
from exposure or violence, hunger 
or neglect. The entire thing was
Victorian in its way. The few times
I got there, always feeling as if my
own life was at any moment in 
danger, I realized the ease of
organization by which even the
most dire situations arise  -  if only
people allowed it to occur. It was
a natural-selection of hands-off
living. One section held the angry
blacks, another the whimpering
and vulnerable older ladies and
men, always seeking the protection
of one another. Criminals and people
simply waster, done-in, and forlorn,
beaten to a pulp by situations and
endings (of their own). It was all
a hospital-ward-by-selection sort
of set-up. But it functioned. It was
sad, and police said it was violent 
as well. The 79th Street Boat Basin
was nearby, as a sort of safety valve
able to keep the pressured fumes 
from exploding. Nothing like the 
open water to cleanse the air, in 
its way. People lived there, on their
houseboats  -  perhaps 30 boats of
varied forms and sizes. Gated, and
with services. Water anyway;
chemical tanks for toilets (I think).
Malcolm Forbes often had his yacht
tied up there. I forget the name of it
now, but it was large and white. He
was always fond of naming things
'Capitalist Tool' so maybe that was
it. Or Fool. I always liked the area
around the boat basin -  there were
large stone arches and steps, open
pavilions and seating, even a place
for 'refreshments' and bathrooms.
That was all a plus as much as a
minus, but it allowed some respite
for the homeless. It went on this way
for years, certainly through the 1970's
and '80's. At some point through the
1990's efforts began at cleaning it
all up, in the newly-scrubbed way of
NYC's present state. Disneyfied play.
Apparent luxury amidst the dregs
of death and defiance.
-
All very confusing, and occasionally
some horrid rendition of a crime, 
drug death, or murder, would be
luridly reported through the media  -
a new 'crackdown' would ensue.
Cops all of a sudden waking up to
a problem, and then a week or two 
later all was forgotten again. The
major difference, for destitute people,
is the time of year. One must always
be mindful of that. Winter-deaths were
horrible; the frozen never sagged,
just stiffened and died. In the fair
weather and the Summertime, on the
other, dishevelment and a near-nudity
took over in the sometimes sweltering
heat. Pants and shirts became gross
and disgusting with piss stains and
worse, turning to near sweat and
grease along and clinging to sick
bodies. Cavernous odors and reeking
smells matched, on a one-for-one
basis, the pathetic halls and false
corridors these people walked. The
deeper and more dense one walked
into the shadows, the worse it got.
And that was only there  -  in Midtown
and the more busy places of rail yards,
abandoned sidings and the hundreds
of abandoned sheds, huts, and alleys
of the piers-areas and beneath the
elevated roadsides both east and
west, the same sort of anarchic-order
set in. Marching corps of the homeless
lived by their wits. Remnants of food
and food-containers, dumpster-finds,
old chairs, wooden boxes, closets of
found clothing and shoes and other
objects. Shopping carts, of course,
and the piled heaps of collected cans
and bottles, everywhere, awaiting
'Redemption.' 
-
What a funny word I always thought
that was too  -  for bottles and cans 
anyway. Entire cycles of war, crusade,
and death and slaughter, have been
waged over promulgating the concepts
of things like Salvation and Redemption;
yet here again it was, being used by
bums and homeless to gather cans and
bottles for their nickels a piece, or
whatever it was then. Amazing stuff.
I'd remember my Mother, redeeming
her Plaid Stamps and Green Stamps,
and wonder if she too had considered
what I considered. 


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