NEW YORK, NEW YORK - It’s fun to immerse yourself in pop culture classics like
Hunter S Thompson, William Burroughs and Bukowski and then somehow con yourself
that you have lived their lives. It’s another thing to go way off the map and
change your immediate surrounds with unfamiliar faces, places and danger. In my
earlier days I seemed to thrive on that and in 1988 that meant New York City.
Today the Big Apple is somewhat cleaned up and Disneyfied but back in the late
80’s things weren’t so smooth and if you weren’t careful you could end up dead
or close to it.
The summer of 1988 started out hot. How could it not be? The
whole city of NYC was made out of concrete and the cement had a way of trapping
that heat and then slowly throughout the night letting it ease back up into the
atmosphere. Somewhere between 4 AM and 6
AM one would swear that it was almost peaceful. There was a stillness in the
air and it was actually quiet near Central Park aside from the lone junkie or
crazy people screaming out into the darkness. Sometimes you would hear the
scratching paw prints of live rats running down the gutter searching for
garbage to eat.
Another thing about New York back then was that everything
smelled like urine. Even in the winter time only then it wasn’t quite as
noticeable. That was because bums and street people would piss in the doorways
making the everyday life experience unbearable. But what other city could
possibly surpass New York? It was the mecca of art, culture and rock music.
That was what drew me there. Before the age of the web you couldn’t just push a
button and expose yourself to new music and environments. You had to go on a
whim, collect information out of magazines and free periodicals and go with
your gut. In the age of SOHO and the
eccentric art capital I had to also go with my gut.
Every night wasn’t quite so quiet. Sometimes you needed to
shake things up and fill it up with some noise. My pals and I were pretty good
at doing that. We decided to head out to CBGB’s and go listen to some music.
There wasn’t much of a plan and we really didn’t know how we were going to go
down there. We were poor college students at the time and my buddy Joel had a
thing about drugs. He loved them and wouldn’t leave the apartment without
getting high. My other pal Tim was already getting into some vodka. Already the
night was feeling dangerous.
Our apartment, or at least the one we were staying in, was
in the upper 80’s near Central Park. It was a small studio place and the piano
took up most of the space. The deal was we could all stay there for free pretty
much and just pay for our meals. I never thought about cooking in that place because
it was always hot up there and we didn’t use the AC because Joel didn’t want to
rack up some huge bill for his dad. See, that was the thing, the apartment belonged to his sister and the old man
paid all the bills. His sister was off in Europe on some music tour. She was a
student at Julliard. That meant that while she was gone this place was our HQ
and our flop house until she returned.
I slugged down some beer and a few swigs of vodka which was
starting to kick in. I had a light buzzing sound in my ears while we walked
down Broadway at night. I could see the metal grate light up below my feet
while the subway trains raced below my feet. I could smell the warm disgusting
air that had a mixed aroma of sweat, depression and sadness. Maybe it was the
American working spirit or maybe I was starting to get too reflective and
wasted. We ducked into a video arcade on Broadway right past the old Ed
Sullivan Theater. There were no doors to get in and I thought the place looked
very familiar. I looked up and saw the six framed pictures of celebrities. They
had autographed their own portraits and I knew immediately who they were. These
pictures were the original cast members of Saturday Night Live. I could see
Gilda Radner, John Belushi and Garrett Morris. This was very surreal and the
sound of the pinball machines and mechanical score counters were getting to be
loud. This only made my heart race and heightened my anxiety. On top of that
the fluorescent lighting was starting to get to me and I wanted to get out in
the dark street and get moving.
I opted to leave and
my two friends reluctantly agreed. Joel said we could hop on the subway and
that it would put us closer to where the legendary music club was. All I knew
was that CBGB’s was somewhere near the Bowery. But I had no idea at the time
how to get down there for myself.
When I climbed out of the Subway tunnel we were on some dark
street I didn’t recognize. We weren’t even at a well light cross street. My
inner gut told me to turn around and when I did I saw this hunched over street
person running up the road towards me. It was like out of a movie his arms hung
below his knees and he was clipping along at a pretty rapid pace. He ran
towards me like a wounded animal. He looked like he was half man and half
beast. I wanted to run but he was almost at our feet when I held up my hand to
signal for him to stop. As he got closer and out of the shadows I could see he
had big open sores all over his face, arms, and hands which were reaching out
towards me. He started talking and he wanted some change. Money. Anything.
I freaking panicked and reached into my jeans and grabbed
whatever change I could find. I didn’t have a lot but I remember I had some
quarters, dimes and nickels. I didn’t even count it. I just reached in and
pulled it out and he stretched out his hands and then I could see he had sores
all over his mouth and his hair was really ratty. He got more horrifying as he
came under the street light and instead of handing the money over to him I sort
of tossed it at him in the air. He caught some of it but most of the change
landed on the street. “Here, just take all of it… I gotta go… bye !!”. And with
that me and my pals hoofed it out of there as fast as we could. We ran to the
end of the block where there was more signs of life like cabs, people, and neon
signs. When I turned back and looked over my shoulder the odd individual had
disappeared back into the darkness and there was no sign of him anywhere.
We were in the Bowery now. This was the famous home of the
drunks, broken hearted and broken spirited people of the 1940’s. I think the
history even goes back before then. I knew about the stories of flop houses but
I had just witnessed something darker. We made another beer run, this time 40
ouncers, and proceeded to find safety behind a gated brownstone stoop. I felt
safer here and this way I could see anyone come at us from the left, the right
and straight ahead up the street. Nothing seemed out of order and the cops didn’t
even notice us. They were busy driving through the street looking at other
drivers. I almost began to feel comfortable. We got malt liquor and this stuff
was going to work on my nerves fast. After the first two bottles I couldn’t
even feel my feet and was getting pretty zoned out. We shared a bunch of laughs
and were eager to get into CBGB’s but showtime was still a ways off yet.
That’s when it happened. This milk truck riddled with bullet
holes proceeded to drive up near our stoop and it was punctured from top to
bottom. It was like a whole machine gun was used on the entire side of it and
it was mesmerizing. The driver leaned out the window and started barking at us.
“Hey you guys! Are any of you interested
in buying this fucking milk truck?”
What did he say? Buy a milk truck? With bullet holes sprayed all over it? The
thought never occurred to me to own such a vehicle. And for all I knew the milk
man could have been tied up by his hands and feet and gagged. Maybe he was
tossed in the back praying for his life. The guy talking to us was sweaty and I
could see that from where I was sitting. He had big eyes like Don Knotts and
was wearing a hat. Good lord. Was he wearing the milk mans hat? What the hell
was he doing driving a stolen milk truck sprayed with bullet holes all over it?
I spoke up because my friends were too tongue tied, “No that’s okay… I wouldn’t
know what to do with it” I answered. “ Aw come on!” the driver said, “I can let
you have this thing really cheap, I can let you have it for a song.” And he
just sort of sat there and looked over at me. There was tension there and he
wasn’t going to leave then he cleared his throat and began to speak, “Well, if
you know anyone who wants this thing tell him I am in the neighborhood and I
need to get rid of it. I’m selling this thing really cheap.” So I took my time
answering and taking in all of the weirdness of the moment, “No problem” I said
and with that the driver carefully glanced over his shoulder and turned on his
left blinker and slowly moved out back onto the road.
Down the street a
prostitute was yelling her head off at some kids. They were grabbing her dress
and making fun of her in front of a party store. She couldn’t fight all of them at once and
there were at least five of them. I didn’t
think anything was going to happen with that situation. I could also hear
someone blasting Guns N Roses, “Welcome to the Jungle” out of their car half a
block away. Some other guy was selling pot across the street. The cops of
course just kept driving by all of this madness so we figured it was business
as usual. After about a half hour I began to forget what just happened. It
was like a bad dream and we went back to
drinking again and carrying on like a bunch of hooligans – which we were.
From this position I could see, “The Bunker” and that is 222
Bowery, the one time home of William Burroughs, (one of the original Beat poets
who wrote Naked Lunch). He was a well known heroin addict and madman. Now we
were rubbing elbows with the kinds of pop culture idols that most people only
read about. The madness that they delved in was all around us. We were waist
deep in it. What the hell were we doing
here anyways? I mean, on one hand it was cool but on the other hand we could
get fucking killed… people do you know. It doesn’t take much when you’re
careless. I was just glad I had two friends around me that sort of knew what
they were doing. I had no idea how we were going to get home and the night was
turning out to last forever. We were living in a circus and for all I know we
could have been the main stars of it. Or were we the audience?
I heard, “Rock and Roll Never Forgets” – oh man, was that
Bob Seger? I should know this shit because I am from Michigan, not that I pay
attention to the previous generation’s music that much, but this lacked punk
spirit. I could hear this music coming out of a parked car half a block away. I think I was starting to get a buzz kill. My
mind is getting foggy and I am in a dream. Man, I am in a dream right? All of a
sudden I feel like this is the 1970’s again. And it is but we are in the wrong
genre of music. This is most definitely a buzzkill. I want to yell at the guy
up the road to turn this crap off but I what if he flips out and pulls out a
gun. I got adrenaline running through my body and mind and am capable of just
about anything. But I don’t want to get killed. This malt liquor is making my
mind race and I am in New York so my spirits are high… and I am high too and
then…. Son of a bitch, is that the same
guy coming back around the corner?
Time slowed down and I made eye contact with the crazy
psychopath in the bullet ridden milk truck. I swear this can’t be happening but
yet it is. It was like time went into slow motion and it was a bad dream and yes,
once again, this bullet ridden milk truck pulls up alongside the curb again.
This time he got out of his driver’s seat and walked around near the front hood
of the truck. He was really nervous this time and seemed to be more panicked
than ever and said, “Between the three of ya how much fucking money do you guys
got? I’ll take whatever you have in your pockets”. My buddy Joel was the more
sensible out of our group and held up both hands over his head, “No no no, we
don’t want it. No thank you. Just go….” And the guy stood there, “I’m not
fucking around you guys. You want this truck you can have it. I need to get rid
of this thing right now so I can get the hell out of here.” That’s when I
noticed he had like a buck knife sticking out of his belt loop. I could see the
handle of it and then I also noticed the wild stare in his eyes. This guy was
cranked up on something. He was high as a kite.
Joel stood his ground and the crazy milkman driver guy got
back into his truck and this time he spun his wheels like he was pissed. We
watched him reach the street light and then he gunned it around the corner. And
I said, “Okay, let’s get the fuck out of here before he comes back again….”
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