Back in the 70s I hung out with almost everyone. fools, whores, dealers, politicians, intellectuals, nuns, et al. Most of them now are retired as am I, but the other day I read about Nicky Barnes in the Herald Tribune.

Blast from the past.

I never met the Harlem gangster, but I had a connection through a crooked cop, Bobby, who had busted Mr. Untouchable back in the 70s. Big star bobby, until he was thrown off the force for shooting a family in a Harlem apt. Said it was the wrong address. Other people suggested it was an execution. For years he was an enforcer for precincts interested in getting paid. He came to our club on

West 25th Street. The International.

“Where’s the owner?” Bobby had rattlesnake eyes.

I was standing with Benji the bouncer from the Palladium. He was 300 pounds and carried a 9mm. We opened the ropes. We knew who Bobby was and pointed to Arthur. We weren’t getting busted up for a yid. Bobby goes over and slaps Arthur, saying, “One K a week.”

Years later I was in the Milk Bar – Beverly Hills and Bobby walks up to the door. I was standing with Bernard and said, “Don’t let this motherfucker in.”

Bobby pleaded with Bernard to see me and finally I went outside and he said, “Listen no one knows about that me here. Don’t tell ’em. I’ll consider it a solid.”

I let him in and he acted like a gentleman.

Everyone changes.

Even Hitler.

But what’s weird is that the Jim Croce song BIG BAD LEROY BROWN was about Nicky Barnes and I always sued to say that song was the national Anthem of Zimbabwe.

Guess I was wrong.

Sorry, Nicky.

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