Summing Up and Forging On

I went to the theater to see Lawrence of Arabia. I watched until the scene at the beginning when the man rides up to him on a camel. I thought of how beautifully the scene was filmed. Without notice, before the scene had ended, I fell asleep and didn't awaken until it was over. Did the same thing with Dr Zhivago, Apocalypse Now, and The Shining. It wasn't from boredom. My mind works furiously all day long. Sitting still, surrendering my mind to a film, relaxes me so that I'm quickly out. But if I get hooked on the film early on I watch it to the end. I recall walking in to see Titanic knowing how long it is. I should get a first rate snooze this evening, I thought. But I was alert through it all. I liked the way they portrayed the ship.

I arrived in Greenwich Village and waited about two weeks before my brother came to New York to join me. It was 1967, the year I turned twenty-five. Out of the Navy for less than three years. Walking McDougal Street, wondering how people I read about found each other. Knowing I didn't fit in if I knew. My hotel was a tall one, with no elevator. It was a long trip, and I soon planned my activities to avoid going in or out unnecessarily. When my brother came to town, his first act was to go deeper into Manhattan and rent us a better home. I never saw him wrinkle his nose at a place like that, before or since.

One morning, I had gone to the Manpower center, but the man behind the desk chewed me out when I approached to converse about possible work. "All these people are in front of you. Fill out the form and take a seat out there. If we need somebody when your turn comes, I will call you."

I was miffed. As I sat on the bench, facing the rear of the room, someone leaned in front of me.

"Are you interested in a job?"

Turns out, the man was intrigued, because I was sitting in opposition to the flow of Manpower's whole operation.

He was, he told me, Vince- -his last name eludes me, after over four decades- -and he owned a panel truck. A re-purposed mail truck. Advertising in the Village Voice to rent one truck and driver, for $50 hr. He needed someone to assist with labor, in the event customers were willing to shell out an additional $4 hr. And, it happened that virtually all of them were averse to doing their own work.

We drove the streets of Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. He kept telling me he thought I reminded him of George Gobel. "I'm not like that guy," I said. "People are always ascribing bogus traits to me, based on what subjective fantasy they are engaging. I've been accused of being like James Mason, and before that, Frankie Avalon. Women are always telling me I am just like their boyfriends. None of it's true."

Doubtful at first, Vince became a believer, later that same day. The customer, a woman near my age, told us I was identical to her boyfriend. Every word I spoke elicited the response, "Stop, you're blowing my mind."

One customer, of seventy years or so, told me he was Lee Van Cleef's first acting teacher.

This job was wonderful, in the beginning. Vince; solicitous, generous. When my brother arrived, he invited us over for a steak dinner. That man fed us meat the size of a platter. We staggered off to our beds that night, with guts straining and miserable.

He was, I learned, harshly judgmental of others, and he relied on his knowledge of Astrology to form these conclusions. He smiled at the customers, asked their birth sign, then whispered in my ear the entirety of the job, "That one's no good." He filled in all their bad traits, based on the fact of their birth.

Once, he took me with him to visit with his mother, in the Bronx. On the drive over, he filled me in on his family history. "My parents are Jamaicans," he said. "Black people there are as prejudiced as white people are over here. Parents expect their children to marry light-skinned people, the lighter the better. My mother is very light. She ran away to New York to marry a man with black skin."

She was really light. Her flesh had an almost alabaster hue. Compared with her, I was the dark one. Vince had a milk chocolaty color.

He told me on the drive back that he had attended a nearly all white college, where he was popular. The white kids always complimented him and assured him he could go far. Eventually, he turned against his background and ended owning the truck business.

On one occasion I went along when he visited a lady friend. He suggested I might try to be the lady's daughter's boyfriend. I didn't get the daughter's name. But it stuck on me like ugly on a rhino that it seemed to physically hurt her that a white guy like me was in her presence. She did her best to be nice to Vince while ignoring me. She, unfortunately, thought that he was Charles and I was Vince. Awkwardness.

Vince's closest friend was some sort of a priest. One hell of an example of a priest. Once, after a night spent partying, this priest recalled he had to be at a church affair. A wreck, of hangover and fatigue, he showed up, only to be told the event was canceled. He conversed with church members a while and came back to where Vince and I waited, in his Mercedes. "Those bastards," he said. "I thought they would never leave."

My brother's business in New York was with the art industry. He applied for jobs involving his skill but kept getting rejected. One night we went to a performance by The Fugs. During the singing of Kill For Peace, Tuli Kupferburg held a doll with a torched rubber face. He bayoneted the doll, and, at the end of the piece, jammed a chocolate bar into its blackened caved-in face. Brother said Tuli seemed to be looking directly into his eyes the whole time.

Later on, Vince treated me to Hugh Masekela and James brown concerts.

Vince wanted me to see how civil rights demonstrations were conducted, and he paid my way onto a bus with Jesse Jackson, for an adventure in D. C. When we arrived that morning, only six other persons, besides Jesse, showed up. One was Flo Kennedy, Civil Rights lawyer, and some were from a church I forgot the name of.

I sat in one seat alone, immersed in my thoughts when a voice spoke from the seat behind me.

"Why are you here?"

I saw Jesse looking me in the face, waiting for an answer. I marveled at how smooth and young he was, almost like a high school kid. I was not precocious in those days. In fact, was an introvert, who exhibited symptoms of autism.

"I wanted to see how these things work," I replied.

"You're going to see how they work, all right," he said, beaming.

He hesitated to see if I had more to say, but I had exhausted my store of talk with the one sentence. He moved away.

The object of the trip was multiple. First on the agenda, we went to the White House, bearing a tent. We placed it on the grass with the avowed intent to erect it and then paint it black. "The Black House." The police filled the area, outnumbering us by seven or eight, I would guess since memory fails here. The women passed out buttons proclaiming the cause. When they approached Vince, he backed away, suddenly frightened. I guess he expected the law to take us to jail if we went too far. His fear communicated itself to me, and I too backed away, feeling ashamed because I wouldn't wear a simple button.

Jesse announced that we had accomplished our goal after about fifteen minutes of negotiations with the police. We left and went to the Lincoln Memorial, where the 1967 Mothers March on Washington, protesting the Vietnam War, was about to get underway. We fell in behind the people. Senator Percy of Illinois, his secretary fell in beside me.

"I'm here, because my son is over there, and I want him safely home," she said.

She was very pleasant, and she kept trying to convince me I ought to apply at the Smithsonian to be a security guard.

At John Kennedy's grave, they made speeches, and then we marched back to the Memorial.
From there, we eight were taken to a prominent black church, I don't know where. The minister was named Floyd McKissick. We waited about a half hour in an outer hall. I don't know where Vince was. I stood on the floor alone, feeling vulnerable. I heard a woman's voice speaking.

"I would like to ask a question." I saw a beautiful young woman, with fire in her eyes. She waited until she had all our attention. She pointed at me. "What's he doing here?"

They all showed by their actions that they were also curious. I was morbidly shy in those times. Feeling as though I might sink into the floor, I forced myself to speak. Stammering, I told how I had come with Jesse and how I was opposed to the war. They mostly smiled with understanding, and the tension melted away.
We went in to listen to Floyd.

"Don't come to our neighborhoods to teach about civil rights," he said. I followed his gaze and saw a sprinkling of white liberals in the pews. "We know about civil rights. Stay in your own neighborhoods and teach. That's where they don't understand about civil rights."

One white man was outraged. "Where does that leave us, after all our years of hard work?"

"If you really are our friend, you will understand."

Jesse canceled the tour bus and bought train tickets for the journey home. As we boarded the coach, Ms. Kennedy handed us each a Sunday paper. Our White House adventure had gotten us a small square at the bottom on page one.

Back to the regular routine with Vince. Whenever he would see a successful, or just semi-successful, black person, he would remark, "Yes; but, what is he doing for his people?" Hearing a few of his tirades, my brother began calling him, behind his back, Daddy Warmonger.

Once, a white panhandler approached the truck and demanded money. Vince told him in no uncertain terms to beat it. The guy persisted and began grabbing at our cargo in the back of the truck. "And you people want peace," he sneered.

Vince clipped the panhandler's jaw, causing him to drop down hard on his rump. "Oh," he said, as he sank.

Discouraged, my brother returned to Kansas City. I stayed on, and Vince invited me to room at his place. I did so, thinking my job with Vince was secure. Gradually, though, I began to detect little criticisms, possibly based in Astrology, or maybe he thought of me more and more as a white establishment guy. Whatever, he went back to Manpower and picked a new helper. He rented a sleazy apartment for me for one month and abandoned me there. Compared to this one, the hotel in the Village was first class. The first evening, a girl down the hall knocked at my door and solicited me. Got up in the morning and went out in time to see a man shitting on the sidewalk. Oh yeah. I went out and found a job at Schrafts and later in the week moved to a clean apartment in Brooklyn, on 31st Street.

I went to see the movie Don't Look Back, about Bob Dylan. People in New York didn't know what to make of my ethnicity. As I was moving among the movie crowd I saw a young man look at me and say, "What's he doing in here?" Doing my job at Schrafts, a coworker kept trying to find out what kind of Hispanic I am. Walking the street, a man told his wife, "Make way for big Louigi." A black man thought I as a Jew would "have it all anyway," as he put it. Some Gypsy looking people asked me what I am. I enjoyed the confusion.

A few weeks later, I was in a formation with a group of anti-war demonstrators, in the middle of the street, when, who should approach, but Vince. When he caught my eye, he began walking my way. I did a deliberate back turn on him, however, and he vanished. Never saw him again.

I flirted with the idea of becoming a member of the Peace and Freedom Party, a fledgling party that withered almost immediately after inception. Also joined the SDS, but quickly became disillusioned and gave them back my membership card.

I made friends, of a sort, with some of the people around me, but was essentially alone. I walked the streets a lot, visited a museum in Manhattan a few times, but the overwhelming mass of humanity was beginning to wear away at my equilibrium. It made me unable to hold conversations, and I developed a phobia about being in public. I tried to hide in a coat when walking on the streets.

My new friends in Brooklyn were a childish, infighting bunch. I stayed around them until Martin Luther King was assassinated. One of the so-called friends jumped up with a grin. He kissed his hand, kissing the man off, then ran away to celebrate with his buddies. I began making plans to leave and did so a week or two after Robert Kennedy was shot dead.

Well that was pretty entertaining. In fact, since there'll be another bus comin' along shortly, I think I'll just sit and listen some, edgar Gump.

You didn't ask for my take on Forest Gump. Here it goes anyway.

Firstly, the storyline disrespects everything to the left of a Republican. Left leaners are starry eyed fools. Or are otherwise misrepresented. But my big objection is that this shitload of propaganda helped plant in the public mind the perception that the intellectually impaired can be effective public leaders, helping pave the way for such as Bush, Biden, and Trump to get elected.

The cat I've been feeding disappeared for a day and a half after spending a week on my porch and in the back yard. I hoped somebody had captured it and made it a part of the family. But it was here for dinner this evening and appears comfortably set for the night. I had some bits of chicken and a scrap of hamburger meat for it. For a time a big white cat was getting in the habit of watching for the food and taking it away. It and its twin haven't been around lately. I miss having a dog. I'm planning on looking for a lap dog soon.

https://www.nbcnews.com/science/rcna148213
Concerning sentience of other life forms - including insects. Something I touched on in my novelette called Quiet Beneath the Moon.

I don't know the cat's gender but today I named it Frank.

Last December my grandson noticed my DVD player. I told him it works, but I lost the remote and without the remote I can't get it to drop the Spanish subtitles that stay in play. He tried to find me a remote, but when he couldn't he sent me a whole new DVD player. I would never have ordered it because I would have thought it was junk. The player is barely big enough to put in a disc. But it plays beautifully. With it he included about a nine disc set of Star Wars. I've seen the first six before. Took my son to see the original first movie in a theater. I guess I will eventually watch the rest. I watched The African Queen yesterday.

I fully expect to complete this final short story for my book before week's end. I haven't made inquiries re a publisher as yet. I want to go the traditional route if possible. Should that fail I am prepared to self publish. What I am not prepared to do is spend a lot of money.

Looked out yesterday to see two horses trotting up the street, closely followed by a pickup and a donkey. I hope all made it home safely. A few years back a pig nuzzled up to the fence to greet Rocky. I don't know where they all live. I haven't seen anything looking like a farm in the neighborhood.

My book is ready to be queried, as soon as I finish formatting. It will be hard writing a synopsis for all four stories.

When I was very young I wanted to be an artist. I began a by mail art school. One of the first lessons was, "Draw a hand. It's okay to trace your own." So I traced mine and filled in the nails and other details. The instructor said that hands are not normally shaped like that. Excuse me.

My book has moved to the formatting stage. I thought the first three stories all were set, but accidentally placed story two spaced wrong. So I have to start pretty much from scratch. Haven't decided which publishers to approach.

How come percocets are not as much fun when they have been prescribed for you?

I have just the scantest knowledge of such things. All I have used in recent years is Aleve, mainly so that I sleep better.

It just a such strange dichotomy, that's all. I never have liked the stuff or related drugs.

I'm anti medical establishment. I avoid doctors and drugs at all costs.

I sometimes wish I was - I take a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Pretty sure one steps on the other and causes new problems.that wouldn't have existed before. Then again, my little.tour of Viet Nam created a lot of problems that require something or other and one of those over there!

I don't mean to preach. We all handle our situation on terms we choose or are given. I never saw action in the service so never had to deal with that.

Your not preaching; I couldn't agree with you more. Too many people on these threads can't allow discussions to exist and always just want to argue just to be arguing.

Yes, I just want to trade thoughts without fighting.