This evening I arrived at Hurrah and my friends and fiends from the security staff greeted me back to work; Anthony, the junkie, Grant Stitt, Jim Fouratt, Ideles and a score of acquaintances. Everyone was in the holiday mood. Less so me. Alice was still in West Virginia.
Not everyone was my friend and an attractive brunette in a tight dress grabbed my hand and said, “You know one day you’ll be walking in the east Village and a gang will beat the shit out of you.”
I took any threat seriously, because no one wins all their fights, except for Rocky Maricano adn I said with gratitude, “Thanks for the heads up.”
The brunette was in her early twenties and I couldn’t think of what I might have done to earn her wrathful prediction, then I realized she was Donna Destri, a Blondie groupie and I had fought that band at Irving Plaza during the New Wave Vaudeville Show. Her brother was in that band and I hadn’t won the fight.
As doorman I was topped many people’s list for revenge and I explained my position about that fight, but she didn’t believe my side of the story.
“I’m sorry if I offended you. Can I offer you a drink.”
She accepted my apology and I was glad that she had. Donna was friends with everyone on the scene and I tended to be a little too violent for most everyone. Alice was scared of me.
At the end of the night I took a taxi to my apartment on East 10th Street. The rooms were as empty as the fridge. Alice wasn’t coming back from Skiing at Snowshoe until Sunday and she had been ignoring me for weeks, still thinking she was too fat to make love. I could have gone home with someone. The girls at Hurrah were easy. Hell, I was easy, but I remained true to Alice, who failed to understand that I loved her.
While in Boston I had told my mother, “If I had the money, I’d propose to Alice.”
“She is a smart girl and you need to be with someone smart to make your body and soul happy.”
It was late, but I tried to call Snowshoe. I let the phone ring four times. The operator for the resort was off-duty. I don’t have a camera and don’t have any photos of Alice. Al I have is my memory.
Disco is king and queen of the music scene. No punk gets played on the radio other than Blondie. People of the night loved disco. I loved it too. It was great to dance to at Studio 54, Cisco Disco, or parties and I really loved my hometown girl, Donna Summers.
Punk was never going to break big-time. The record companies promoted Led Zeppelin, old Beatles tunes, and any group with a lot of hair. Disco and MOR rock. Where did soul go? Drugs had burned out the inner cities and disco was easy to control for the Big Labels.
Tomorrow I’m off and will head down the CBGBs to meet with Guadalcanal to see Johnny Thunders, a rare appearances for the ex-member of the New York Dolls, since they were under contract to Max’s. Guadalcanal says he had peyote. I haven’t tripped in ages.
LATER
ROCK AND ROLL DECAY
The mellow muzak of the Rolling Stones.
The Beatles forgotten
The stars of the 1960s flickered out of the scene
Dead, drugged,or drunk
Useless, boring or wastedSelling out to the corporations.
LATER
Almost dawn I went outside to the corner bodega to get beer to quench my thirst. I also picked up the New York Times and sat on my stoep.
The Shah of Iran will probably be deposed in the comiing months. Taiwan is angered at the USA for signing a treaty with Mainland China. All across the USA murders make the headlines. I hear gunfire from the corner every week. The drug war of the CIA has devastated the Lower East Side and every inner city black neighborhood. Hakkim and George round the corner. They are both high on smack. George punches his friend and they cross the street to avoid me, although Hakkim glares my way and says, “One day white boy we are going to get you. And that ain’t no lie. And that hillbilly girlfriend of yours.”
Hearing his threat I stood up to chase them, but they were gone like the wind, which was cold this morning. Only eight more hours to the night. I cracked open a beer and put away the newspaper. If I was lucky, I might get some sleep. it was long overdue.
ENTRY – 1/28/2022 – BROOKLYN
My friend Dave Henderson was heading to Maine for the holiday with his wife Kate. They could drop me at Old Orchard Beach from where I would catch the Amtrak train to Boston’s North Station. My sister-in-law Kathy, informed me that she was having ten guests to their Cambridge house. I backed off the trip worried about possibility of catching Covid, however the idea of spending a night on Old Orchard Beach was a throwback to my childhood Only one problem. All the motels cost $139, even in the dead of winter, so I opted for going to dine with the Nepolas on Staten Island, where I had a great time.
I didn’t drink anything, but gorged myself on cake and sweets.
Dr. Nepola and I go back to my first year of University.
1970.
Not a single fight, even though I abandoned him in Berkeley for a ride with Marilyn and her daughter in an overpacked Pinto. The wife of a Cockette, a transvestite dance group popular in San Francisco. We made love on the Bonneville Salt Flats. After leaving me in Cheyenne, she said she’d come back stay with me in Big Village. She showed up with her daughter and my next-door neighbor, Ande, knew her and I was cock-blocked by his girlfriend, Ann-Marie, who was good friends with Marilyn it was small world after all.
FOOT NOTES
Hurrah was a punk-rock nightclub on West 62nd Street. I worked there until getting caught for selling tickets over and over again on SRO evenings, thanks to being ratted out by Karl, a sneaky queen.
Stoep is old Dutch for stoop.