RUDIMENTS, pt. 1,379
(Princeton/Labyrinth, pt. ONE)
Between worlds there are spaces, and
some of those spaces go deeper than
others. The space between Clark NJ
and Princeton University [with Princeton
Boro itself], was immense, inter-stellar
and as dense and deep as can be made.
In the same way that the burden of Death
is on the living, not the dead, so too the
expectations versus realities of Princeton
and Clark faced each other off like night
and day.
-
I remember, living in Metuchen, when the
jerky townsfolk there, some Committee
For Downtown Improvement or somesuch,
under dumbo-Mayor Ed O'Brien, I think it
was, or maybe the next guy, Mayor Valhalla,
went to Princeton, as a group, to see and/study
the better ways for mimicking and making a
prime downtown. As if monkey-see/monkey-
do was the way to go. In this case, more like
monkey-doo. Metuchen was trying to be a
sort of dreamy half-way spot, between Clark
and Princeton, quality-wise. The fact that
no one knew what they were doing and it
was all a feint, didn't even matter. Metuchen
ended up captive to developers anyway and
now more resembles a Morristown on Valium
then anything else - falsely proud of itself,
all overdone and stupidly costly, crowded
and crammed. I don't think, either, that the
dullards in Metuchen ever realized that
they did not have a 300-year old University
in their town to bolster and undergird by
endowment, many of the attractions and
much of the ambience they foolishly
thought they could transfer. 'Stupid is
as stupid does.' Someone said that.
-
Anyhow. as I said, I gave notice and
skipped out on Clark B&N. I imagine
it was the normal two weeks notice,
but I can't recall. Nor can I recall any
reaction, except perhaps their sigh of
relieve that I was leaving voluntarily
and with no trail of death and mayhem
behind me. It was cursory enough, and
it was final. Hasta la vista, baby!
-
I'll slowly, and unerringly now, traipse
as best I can into the territory of my
new job at Princeton. The University
Bookstore; by any other name, Labyrinth.
The university had always had a bookstore
- in another building and in another area,
off Nassau Street, and back-ended to
campus. I had been there a hundred times,
and liked it. It was smaller, yes, and sold
other University junk too, and food. Heavy
in Math, Philosophy, and Sciences, the
books were not as ample nor diverse, but
it also was not geared so much to the
idea of a walk-in bookstore either. The
feeling inside it was different from that
of Labyrinth, as well. 1950's, and more, the
sort of old University bookstore, by degrees,
that you could yet imagine a 20-year old
Bill Bradley walking into for a candy bar
with his New York Times. Well, maybe.
When finally completed (it had NOT
been constructed yet when I was hired),
Labyrinth Books held no such imaginings.
The best thing, I thought, about the old
University bookstore, was their Philosophy
section - which held a lot of Wittgenstein
within it. My first Wittgenstein exposure.
-
No one had told me this when I was being
interviewed, and I only learned of it after
being hired - they kindly asked and it was
sort of expected of me - that I commute
80 miles in each direction, daily, to a place
called Millwood, NY, where the 'warehouse'
was for a place called Great Jones books,
which was the 'parent' company, by some
lateral degrees, of Labyrinth Books, soon
to be, of Princeton, NJ. Great Jones Books,
in like manner did the same things for Yale
University, and at Columbia University too,
where it ran, also, under the name of Labyrinth.
They also, warehousing books, did a catalogue
mail-order book business of discounted and
remaindered books. Like Daedalus Books,
from which I'd purchased catalogue books
for years. More later, on that. Walking blindy,
and a bit stupified, I felt beholden to say
OK, and went along with the entire scheme,
figuring, well, if my car blew up I'd just
replace it with a Rolls. [Ha?]. The reason
for this 'commute' was because, at 122
Nassau Street, the NEW store was still
being constructed - at the site of the old
Woolworths, and another old book store
called Micawber Books, which was closed
up and absorbed into the new spaces. It was
to be Labyrinth, and the University Clothing
Shop, side by side.
-
Millwood was intriquing; a sort of 'halfly'
still rural, perhaps, small and scratchy New
York town - not really out in the rural wilds
as I'd been used to, but more in a halfway
to nowhere, break-even point of small shops
and roadway eateries, tire shops, warehouses,
and strip malls. Getting there, however, was
often brutal - GW Bridge traffic, sometimes
seeming stalled for hours (I'd leave at 5am
to get there for 8:30. The bridge traffic had
nothing to do with the destination, but had
to be traversed to get to the weird highways
and expressways needed to get to Millwood.
Palisades Interstate Parkway, Taconic State
Parkway, Saw Mill River Parkway, etc., etc.
A real drag. We'd leave for home at 3pm.
There was a group of 3 or 4 other people
as well, who would leave from some
mall in Bridgewater, NJ for the same
purpose. I rode with them once or
twice, illicitly leaving my car in the
mall parking lot - to be inevitably
scolded and threatened with a ticket
next time, for doing so. But the little
car they drove in was maddeningly
cramped, and they drove so blisteringly
swiftly, that there were only those two
times anyway. The other thing that bugged
me was that they got gas-money for their
trip. I got nothing, doing my solo-Lindbergh
thing day after day. It's always been that way
for me, the Sucker-Of-the-Year, wherever I go.
The Great Jones Books warehouse shared a
long, low building with a tire warehouse. It
kind of real-world cool anyway - truck and
car tires, all piled up outside; deliveries in
and out, all day. It was down in a hollow
behind three or four regular, neatly-kept, rural
homes. Down the street a little were some
eateries and take-out places, for lunch, etc.,
and a few gas stations too. Lest I misconstrue,
I should point out that this was money-land.
Just a few miles away, probably a stone's
thrown, was Chappaqua, NY.
-
Chappaqua had a storied history. Besides
being the new home of the Clintons, it was
wealth personified. They (the Clintons)
bought a place on Old House Lane, and
the Govt. had erected a Secret Service
guardhouse, and a Security gate. It
seemed like a nice place. I'd occasionally
drive by it to see if I could get a rise of
out the Security detail. Also nearby was
the large building home to The Reader's
Digest. Laughter Is the Best medicine?
Remember that.
-
I never much liked that warehouse part
of the job; beside the travel, the work
itself was mule-like and tediously boring.
I didn't know the people I was working
with, and they all seemed a bit pretentious.
Our job was endless data-entry, entering all
the titles and authors, subject matter and
placement, of the books to be placed into
the new store when completed. Basically we
were inventorying and setting up, remotely,
a store that didn't yet exist. It was a huge
undertaking - seemingly zillions of books,
blaringly detailed points of info, etc. The
conversation in the area we worked was
equally bleak - small debates over where
a book should be entered into inventory,
what category. For instance, Social Science
or Psychology? You could argue all day,
and the Library catalogues did have it
all figured out for you, if you looked it
up; but for these folks it was more a weird
game of skill and knowledge. I enjoyed
none of it. There were two, quite likeable,
whiz-kid guys who had been hired over
from Micawber Books, the place that
later closed and was space-absorbed
into Labyrinth, and a girl from Brazil,
whose husband was attending Princeton,
and another nice girl from Ringoes or
somewhere nearby, with whom I became
friendly enough too. They all got stuffed
into, as I said, this little Japanese car, a
'compact' and were driven at maddening
speeds along all these crazy roads. It had
a bit of a concentration camp feel, to me -
enforced lunches at an outside picnic table,
clock-watching all the time; detailed lunches.
The two guys ended up, eventually quitting
after a while in the new store, because of
issues of Insurance coverages for their
families, not just for them. There was
none, unless they paid. So they left.
-
At soul, I'm an easy guy, but I have my
ways. It's tough being me? That's true.
But someone's got to do it. I guess that
someone is me. It was an easy selection.
I'd rather sit the day out, reading, writing,
thinking, drawing or painting, or at the
piano in doses, and most others never
understand that stuff, and call it idling
instead. Most other ordinary people do
things for money - the idea of lucre
as motivation is widespread and
well-accepted. It never works for
me. Lucre and its pursuit is a big,
wasted blow-job of an effort. All
motivations always seem to end up
confined to gaining a beach house, a
nice car, some other dipshit possession
no one needs, and /or false prestige.
Once you're dead, it's all gone, like a
book, when you finally slap shut the
back cover.
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