Chapter 3 – My Family’s Theater of Death
Madonna chased us down the street. She was catching up and screaming,”Lenny, if you don’t stop running, I’m gonna hit you again.”
My Cousin Hal asked, “Who is that girl? She has been chasing us for two blocks. We were running and clinking from all the old bottles we were schlepping around.
We stopped and I braced for her to punch me.
She punched, ”What is the matter with you Lenny? I thought we were friends.”
We all held our sides, hunched over and gasping for breath. I heard some 19th century bottles clank to the ground. Hal just dropped them.
“You keep hassling me about the electronics that was stolen from your apartment.”
“Lenny, it wasn’t just electronics, it was my musical equipment. You know I’m going into the recording studio. I need my keyboards.”
“They’ll have keyboards for you in the studio… Look, I just sell at the Flea Market. I don’t buy stolen stuff.”
“How do you know you don’t buy stolen stuff?”
“I only buy from legitimate dead people.”
That made Madonna and my Cousin stop in their tracks.
My Cousin asked, “How do you know you are buying from legitimate dead people?”
Madonna pointed to my Cousin, “I like this guy. Answer the question Lenny.”
Madonna was such a pain in the ass. In fact, so many people I knew and met in the East Village were driving me crazy. Most people were self absorbed with whatever they were doing, and because I was able to buy and sell cool stuff cheap, many people were harassing me because they had very little money. Most people were just surviving and getting by, but they wanted better things in their life.
I moved out of my parents home in Brooklyn, so that I could meet lots of characters, and make music, only to find that these East Village characters were bugging me and that I was running away from them and that I couldn’t get away from them fast enough. I guess there was a part of me that liked it when cute girls chased me down, even if it was just to buy a cheap used couch.
Madonna seemed to like Hal’s lopsided head. We both told her his story. She banged on his head to hear if she could find the metal plates in his head.
“Do you have flashbacks?” she asked.
“Yes,” Hal said.
Madonna stroked his head as if he were a puppy.
It was a blustery day as we made our way inside Tompkins Square Park. A whirlwind of dust and garbage made circles in front of us. The park was filled with the usual drug dealers and homeless characters. There were no children in the playground. There never was. I wondered where the kids played.
We all started walking again.
I said,” Madonna, I’m gonna take you to a source that might know something about your electronics. But first you have to carry these bottles to your apartment and I have to meet some fellas with Hal. We’ll catch up to you later.”
“You promise?”
“I promise. I can’t get you mixed up with these guys, and I promise to take you to someone who might know where your shit is.”
“You promise?” She hit me in the shoulder. I actually felt it.
Hal and I watched Madonna carry my two bags of old bottles out of the park.
“Nice girl. Does she have any talent?”
“She’s loaded with talent, just not our speed.”
“Remember those tough old cookies we used to watch play in the Bronx?,”
“Those old Jew basketball guys my Dad used to take us to watch in the sixties?”
“Your memory is coming back,” I said. “Now their sons are old men playing right here in the park!”
After my parents split up, and after years of living with my Grandparents on my Grandparents Bungalow Colony upstate, my mother moved me to the Bronx.
New York is made up of enclaves. Every area has its own identity; its own ideology, its own language, its own personality. In The Bronx that I grew up in, Jewish men played basketball. There was this group of Outside shooters dedicated to practicing and perfecting their outside shot. They would even put up smaller diameter rims for the hoops, so their shot had to be perfect. Then when it was game time, they put up the actual size rim and all their shots would swoosh through the basket. And of course their defense was intense. Us Jews are notorious for Defense; whether it is Jewish Defense League, Defensive Chess playing, or just being plain old neurotically defensive about someone accusing us about some aspect of our personality.
Hal looked at Madonna’s overcoat,”Are you wearing my Grandfather’s overcoat?”
“Yeah, I mean I don’t know who owned it, but I bought it from Lenny. I love this coat. I only wear old man’s clothes, “Madonna said, spinning around and modeling it.
“To bad I can’t introduce you to Irv and Hersh, and Benny and Sol. They all have old overcoats.”
“That’s alright Lenny… Just tell me the truth. What do you know about my keyboards?”
“I don’t buy from the street. I only buy from the families of dead people. I make sure there are no shenanigans. I also have a lot of street credibility here in this puddle we call The East Village. I can’t tell you who took it. But I can tell you how to figure it out yourself.”
“How?”
“You hang out on the stoop all the time with all those kids. Anyone missing? Anyone you haven’t seen, since your break-in.”
Madonna drifted off, as Hal and I kept walking.
“Johnny! I haven’t seen Johnny! Thanks Lenny.” Madonna went running off, rolling up my Grandfather’s overcoat sleeves.
“I didn’t say it was Johnny,” I yelled. “You figured it out yourself. I’ll take you to a place where maybe you can recover your equipment. I didn’t say I know who stole it. I just might know who has it.”
“Is Madonna her real name?”
“She says it is,” I said. “But who names their kid Madonna. I ain’t gonna fight that woman. She’s very strong willed.
We walked in to the playground just as Benny and Sol beat a couple of disappointed Latino kids at a game of 21.
Benny, Sol, Hersh and Irv were all in their early sixties. They were happiest on the Basketball Court playing and winning an old style of basketball. They were like a Gang beating up kids defensively. They came one day a week to kick some ass and then go for a Schvitz at the Turkish Bath house on 10th street.
We played ball, and they liked the way my Cousin and I played. I wanted to learn how to play ball like them. They took me in as their son. Sometimes, they’d invite me in to the baths with them and they would sweat, tell stories about great street basketball players and drink Vodka.
“This is my Cousin Hal. He just came from Israel.”
No real reaction to my introducing my Cousin, ”He’s American. He was born here and served in the Israeli Army.”
They all walked over to Hal and said nice things and shook his hand. What a change from when they thought he was just an Israeli.
The next thing we knew, we were all naked with towels around our waist in the Turkish bathhouse. We sweated, and then some guy was whacking us with what looked like a large broom. Then we were thrown into an ice pool. I was surprised how people weren’t getting heart attacks more often in this place
“Good times, good times.” I said to my Cousin.
He gave me his Cheshire cat smile. That shit eating grin of his went from ear to lopsided ear
“Look, it’s not like a real Turkish bath, but I don’t feel like schlepping all the way to Brighton Beach. This is good enough. We’ll go visit your Dad some other time,” Benny said.
“They know your Dad?,” Hal asked.
“Everybody knows my Dad,” I said.
“How are the girls treating you Lenny?” Hersh asked.
“I broke up with my girlfriend.”
“I thought you broke up with your girlfriend a year ago?”
“Yes, but we were in a Real Estate battle. Neither one of us wanted to leave the rent stabilized apartment. So, we both stayed in that hole, hoping the other one would find some pot of gold and go away. One time Amy came home with a guy to sleep with in the hope that I would get mad and leave the apartment for good. I rolled over and introduced myself to the guy, who didn’t notice me in the bed till then. The guy totally freaked out and ran out of that apartment like he just saw a ghost. Amy and I both stood there laughing at the poor guy trying to put on his clothes and get the fuck out of our madness.
The old Jewish guys couldn’t be happier with my story. They were rolling around so much, their towels fell off and I could see their balls and dicks jumping up and down. We were all relaxed and happy in my misery. I was happy with my life in the puddle.
“And what’s the situation now?”
“Well, she found her pot of Gold. He actually sells marihuana, so it is Acapulco pot of gold… and she seems happy. Except she’ll call me and ask me, ”Are you sad?” And when I say, ’Yes, I’m sad, she says, ’I’m sad, you’re sad. Don’t be sad.” And then I say, ’You are making me mad, that you’re bothering me about being sad. When I said I was sad, it wasn’t my whole life that was sad. I’ll have a moment in a day that I feel sad, and I let myself be. It passes.
The guys still naked stood up and applauded me.
I stood up and held up my drink,”Hey, I stand behind my bullshit.”
I think these guys would have kissed me if we weren’t all naked. Then old man Sol came over and kissed me on the cheek. I think our dicks touched for a moment and because of the heat, stuck together for five seconds.
“Son, you’re pretty savvy for twenty-one.”
“Twenty-three,” I corrected him.
“When you get to be my age of sixty-two, there is no difference between twenty-one and twenty-three.”
“Is there a difference between sixty, sixty-two and sixty-four?”
” I see your point,” Sol said. They all nodded.
We left the Long shot players drinking Vodka and munching on Caviar at the Turkish bathhouse and headed towards Café Orlin
Our stop at Café Orlin was just to get the word out about this guy Gingy. Café Orlin was a Israeli hangout.
I was really excited about taking Hal to Avenue D afterwards. I wanted Hal to meet my mentor for my Flea Market business. I wanted to bring him to Manny who had a Junkshop down there. Manny was a true New York character. He started business as a kid working for Jewish Rag men in the Lower East Side on a horse and buggy. He was an Italian kid who spoke Yiddish. He spoke it, he didn’t just know a few words.
Manny even knew my Dad growing up and I just wanted Hal to hear Manny tell one of his wondrous stories. I went to Manny’s everyday in order to pick up fresh merchandise for my Flea Market and to hear Manny tell a story. And if Manny wasn’t telling a story, one of the many other characters was either telling a story or was in the middle of a story. Many times itt was better than a Kojak episode episode.
For example, Manny’s place was surrounded by men who buy stolen goods. Manny didn’t buy stolen items himself but Long Island John or Cadillac Jim or a number of other Fences were always willing to buy something “Hot” for a cheap price and flip it elsewhere. By elsewhere, I mean the Diamond district for example.
Klaus Nomi passed us by looking sad and grey. I wanted to say,”Hi,” but let it go.
“How you feeling Hal?”
He put his arm around my neck,”You live a pretty crazy life down here huh?
Hal and I were starting to connect again as buddies and as men who grew up in the madness of our homes. We knew each other, even if it had been five years since we last saw each other. Did it matter that Hal went through Hell? Yes, but I felt that we could pick up our friendship despite the pain and suffering he had been through.
“I like my life, I enjoy my work, and my band. I’m gonna enjoy it while the City is still the City.”
“What do you mean?”
“City is constantly changing. This is a special place right now, but people are also starting to die from Aids. It’s freaky. I deal with people who are dying because nobody knows why and because they are Gay, they are ignored by most people, and by most people, I mean our Government.”
Hal looked around at all the buildings in rubble,”Damn, this really is like Beirut. What happened down here?”
“The City is falling apart. Artists are still coming in and fixing it up, and of course, when the Artists come in, the Real Estate people follow. The City is so complicated. On one hand this part of town is falling apart, but being fixed up by the Artists. While, in the West Village, the wealthy Gay Community is dying and they want to sell their stuff for money because they can’t work and their families won’t help them. Sometimes, I’m the only guy who is dealing with these suffering men. No one else is talking to them. They feel shame about themselves and stay isolated. How can their families turn their back on their own children? These poor suffering men, I’m mostly dealing with men… and so then all this stuff that I am buying from those wealthier men in the West Village I am transporting across town to the East Village where I am selling it to a poorer Art community. It is weird and strange.”
{We walked in silence. I looked at my Cousin and started to feel nostalgic for our past. I started to think about our roots and how we were kids of Holocaust Survivors. I guess the men dying in the West Village and being ignored by their Government pushed some button in me and reminded me of the kind of world we lived in.}
I have been my Cousin’s bloodhound before. I have been his Watson to his superior genius. He has always been the smart one and I have always been the smart-ass one. We both have a ton of common sense. Common sense survival skills were drilled into us by our Grandfather.
Hal and I were not raised to be normal kids with toys and lollipops. Our Grandfather would take us into the woods every day, and taught us how to trap little animals, and then kill them and eat them. Whatever we caught we had to eat. He’d make us climb into tall trees and then when we were scary high up he’d yell to us,”Go higher! The Nazi’s won’t see you.”
“Hal, do you remember what we did when we were nine years old?”
“We took the bus into the City by ourselves.Our Aunt Mina ran away, and we took a Short line bus from Monticello and we found her.”
I was still trying to gauge his memory, and I was glad that he had some memories of our childhood together.
“We took the Short line Bus and we found our way to the East Village. We were right here. We hid in a tree in Tompkins Square Park. We were nine years old and she was nineteen. There were no kids in the park let alone the whole area.. A hippie in passing told her about these two strange kids who were trying to kill a squirrel for lunch, and she knew it was us. She came and got us and brought us home.”
“Does it count that we found her? It sounds more like she found us.”
“It counts.”
We got to Cafe Orlin and sat down outside. It was around Five o’clock at night and The East Village was first starting to wake up. Vintage clothing and record stores were opening their doors for business. Dealers were selling their drugs out in the open. Another night of adventure was about to begin.
“Cafe Orlin is an Israeli hangout. If Gingy is here in the East Village, someone is going to know him.”
We ordered teas and when Lilli came back with them she said, ”When you and your friend are done, I’ll read your tea leaf fortune.”
Lilli was happy and bubbly. Dark hair with olive skin. She looked Middle Eastern with her very red lipstick and her shiny teeth. She wore a schemata on her head.
“Thank You Lilli. This is my Cousin Hal. He just got out of The Beirut Invasion. He was a Medic. He’s supposed to meet a friend in the East Village and hang out with him. His name is Gingy. Hal lost his address. You know any red headed Israeli’s that look like this?”
I showed her the photo of Gingy.
“Yeah, I have seen him… It’s a little weird that you have a photo of him.”
“It’s his Publicity Shot. He’s a Performance Artist.”
“Oh, that’s why he carries that box around with him.” Lilli put her arm on her side and then slapped her leg.
“Yeah, you ever hear him play it?” I asked
I noticed that Hal tensed up when I asked this question. What the hell is up with that instrument?”
“No, he holds onto it like it is really important. I figured him to be another shell shocked Israeli soldier going through stuff…” She looked over at Hal and said, ”I’m sorry, I know you just came from there, but you must know about all the craziness after you got out of Beirut.”
“I know guys who committed suicide… Gingy is an intense guy. If you could find out anything about him, without letting him know that I’m here. I want to surprise him. If you can follow him to his address, I could give you twenty bucks. Here’s the twenty now.
Lilli refused at first.
“If you don’t see him, that’s O.K. We’re going to be buying lots of Tea here.”
I thought Hal sounded kind of jerky.
Lilli took the twenty and acting the part of a Gypsy put the money down her shirt in her bra, “I’ll be right back to read your tea leaves.”
I got close to Hal,”Is Lilli in any trouble if she follows Gingy.”
Hal shook his head,”No!”
“Look, the story you told me is bullshit. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s not what you say he is. I think he is more of what he looks like.”
“And what’s that?”
“A Scientist.”
“He is a Scientist.”
“Yeah, and?”
Lilli came back to the table, “O.K. let me see your cups of leaves.”
She looked at mine first. She shook the leaves at the bottom of the cup and stared.
“Lilli what exactly are you looking at?” I asked.
“It’s like looking at the clouds and seeing what you see. I wait to see something in the leaves or in the whiteness of the negative… I see… I see in your cup a dog.”
“Oh great, I’m a dog.”
“A dog is not a bad thing. A dog is loyal to whoever owns him. You are a loyal friend.”
“Do loyal friends get laid?” I asked touching her hand.
“Every dog has his day, ”Lily said and squeezed my hand and made sure it returned to the table. She picked up Hal’s cup and shook it around.
“Hmm.” She looked concerned. “I see a dagger! Be careful. A dagger is a warning to be careful.”
“I am always careful,” Hal said.
“I’m the dog, so I’ll protect him.”
We both grew up feeling that we were protected from death. As kids we felt like we could walk through fire and survive. I was sure he felt that way having survived his head crushing experience. I mean, who survives their head getting crushed by a tank and doesn’t think they are being protected by some greater force?
End Of Chapter 3
