RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,302
(patron saint of nothing, pt. FOUR)
Whenever people ask where I'm
from - in these parts - I always
avoid saying 'Jersey' or New Jersey,
or whatever. It's so ridiculous, and
it carries in these parts an odd stigma.
Not that it really matters, because
down at bottom it's very surprising
how many others around here have
originations in New Jersey. BUT, the
habits and ideas that go with the
local newcomers with those yellow
license plates is somehow seen as
negative and destructive to local
values. Everyplace would soon be
turned into Paramus or Parsippany,
if you listen to what people say.
There's a weekender gent a ways
up the paved road from me who
hails from Secaucus (I never really
knew anyone who hailed from
there before), and he spends, yes,
an inordinate amount of weekend
time, it seems, suburbanizing his
roadside home. Starts with mowing,
ends with gnomes.
-
So, anyway, I usually avoid saying
Jersey - for one thing, I have been
elsewhere, and can claim antecedents.
New York City, (God no, don't mention
that). Elmira, etc. My greatest claim to
a self-identification, and what I usually
just end up saying (because it's true)
is that 'we used to live straight out,
west, Route 6, another hundred miles -
Troy, Columbia Crossroads, Towanda,
Burlington, Big Pond.' Any of those
names suffice, even to say Athens or
Sayre. The usual response is, 'oh, out
there. That's real farm country isn't
it.' It's kind of true, and the local
abandonment and raggedy-ness of
places here isn't so prevalent there.
I like to go into my spiel about how,
to a working farmer, the land is his
factory; it must be kept productive,
sprayed and seasoned, not ignored.
Which makes the difference between
here and there. Who wants to live
in a factory? Most of the places
here are smaller-scale farms and,
if not that, are let to go derelict,
more than not, if not occupied. It
all makes a difference, or one that
I can see anyway. I like it right here.
-
What I'm leading to is that, yes, the
guy asked me where I was from. I
said 'I grew up in various parts of
New Jersey, as a kid, but that's about
it.' Just as it made no difference to
the dogs, it made none to him either.
So, I asked. He kind of hummed a
second, and said: 'I came here in
1978, straight outta' the Bronx.
In fact, I had attended the Bronx
High School of Science. We used
to call it Science High back in
those days. Not that it did me
much good here, but it had screwed
up my mind pretty much, and the
part of me that noticed that no longer
wanted to be so straight and/or
corralled into that sort of scientific
thinking - I was less about rationality
and logic and more about the wider
speculations about things and matter.
There just came a time I wanted
done with all that, so I came out
these parts, actually first was Port
Jervis, and then later Monticello.
Teaching. Then, after I got some
money, I found Pennsylvania to
be even freer and looser, up in
these parts - no regulations and
officials bothering about everything.
I bought this chunk of land and just
refurbished - slowly I might add -
the shack that was on it. Did my
own wiring and hookups; water,
septic, all that. It took time to get
it all straightened and secure, and
by then it was the mid-1980's and I
just saw that I was done with most
everything. Money ran down again.
I started teaching over at Honesdale,
carpentry and woodworking stuff. Not
in school; carpentry-apprentice and
union-instructional programs. It
wasn't so bad and it paid the bills.
I lived frugally, always have; never
took in too much stuff here, most
things I found I didn't need anyway.'
He went on, but it all made sense.
I didn't much care anyhow; it was
never the point of this trip to act as
interviewer for a rugged pioneer.
What was surprising was to be able,
of a sudden, to be face to face with
the non-hillbilly, properly-speaking
version of the same guy I'd met
earlier. It was a surprise. I have a
female friend here (wife of an old
friend) who says she 'never' goes
down these parts because 'hillbillies'
are always trying to run or off the
road or speed by her or otherwise
annoy her. I never much saw what
she meant but, by this presentation,
I could see a qualitative difference.
-
So I guess there never was a wife
nor any kids involved in this guy's
life - though I didn't ask. He
seemed swarmed and getting on
well with his dogs, and I got to
be unsure if he ever did actually
sell any of them. He didn't seem
like he'd want to part with a one.
I think they were his complete
life and shadow companions, poor
guy. I could understand someone
with a situation like that, but still
it seemed maybe a harsh and lonely
world to live in.
-
I didn't want to just turn away
from the guy, and I also wondered
what his techno-level was there,
in that house. I didn't see any
work-stations or computer berths,
no laptops, no TV. I wasn't sure
what level of service even reached
down into that area, but he had
made mention of how it had slowly
changed, with new arrivals and one
at a time homes being built through
the preceding decades. I figured
maybe he could live without that
stuff but I didn't think newer folks
would, especially those rascally
high-school kids he'd made his
mention off. It was all a bit odd,
and maybe a bit off. Guns, beer,
knives, and not too much else. I
wondered where he slept, and
how. I wondered if he had a
central living-room kind of spot.
I wondered about his garbage
disposals and the normal and
everyday runnings of his life. If
he ever saw even the mailman.
Funny thoughts, yes. And, of
course, those neighbors - what
did they make of him; did they
know he saw a lot of things
better left unspoken?
-
On the table near where we were
sitting, there were a few books,
but the spines were opposite my
view, except for one. It was a
Norman Mailer book on the
Gary Gilmore execution, way
back from whenever that was.
I'd never seen anyone else with
an interest in Gilmore, nor that
whole subject, Mailer included.
The funny thing was that, back in
that day, when I was working and
living in Elmira, the entire Gary
Gilmore adventure was of great
interest to me, as was the later
movie made from it, as was the
eventual publication of Norman
Mailer's book. Hell, watching
that movie I got to see Rosanna
Arquette's bared breasts, and
not just a glimpse either! Worth
that price of admission, I figured.
-
He pointed to the pile. 'You like
books? You read a lot?' he asked.
I said yes, but told him that my
reading interests were pretty much
limited to serious fictions and a
lot of non-fictional sorts of things.
'Intellectual bias,' as I phrased it.
He laughed, and said, 'Don't be so
sure; you never do know what's
going to pique one's interest.' I
couldn't believe he said 'pique.'
No one ever used that word anymore,
and very seldom, if it was used, was
it used correctly or pronounced right.
I always just avoided the word and
never liked it much. Plus, it seemed
so sudden and out of character for him.
I wasn't sure what he meant; but then
the crazy sonofabitch says he's going
to read me something - something
that was always impressive to him,
reading as it was from a dead-man's
quote (Gilmore, in the Norman
Mailer book). I was shocked, and
amazed, and just had to think, as he
was reading it, and after, what in the
heck he thought he was doing, and
what in WORLD he expected from
me after something like that. Really,
I just wanted to crawl away: "When a
girl decided to let you fuck her she'd
always put on this act like she was
being taken advantage of and 9 times
out of 10 the girl would say 'Well,
will you still respect me?' Some
goof-ball shit like that. Well the cat
was always so hot and ready to go
by then that he was ready to promise
anything, even respect. That always
seemed so silly, but that was the way
the game was played. I had a chick
ask me that once, a real pretty little
blond girl, everybody was really hot
for her ass and I had her alone one
night in her house. We were both
about 15 and necking pretty heavy
both getting worked up and I was
in and I knew it and then she came
up with that cornball line: 'Gary, if
I let you will you still respect me?'
Well, I blew it, I started laughing
and I told her, 'Respect you? For
what? I just want to fuck and so do
you, what the fuck am I supposed
to respect you for? You just won a
first place trophy in the Indianapolis
500 or something?' Well, like I said,
I blew that one." [The Executioner's
Song, 1980, p. 140. (I checked later)].
-
Well, that had to be about it for me.
I surely wanted out of there, as it hit
me the sort of isolation that produces
someone like this, who was about to
want to befriend me for life. No thanks.
It soon became clear how voyeuristic
his attention to all that earlier detail
about the teen kids and the housewife
and all that had been. No wonder he
noticed, and noted, every little detail;
and I was glad he hadn't gone any
deeper into sharing such details with
me. The guy was a corker, about to
explode, and I wondered immediately
of what the dangers may have been
to any of those neighbors and kids
around there. I wondered if they knew
of these odd proclivities and switched
personalities. Hillbilly indeed! This
fellow was a switch, just waiting to
be flipped!
-
It was surely time to extricate myself. I
just had to figure the right way to do it.
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