Sunday, February 26, 2012

“JUDGING OTHERS DEFINES WHO YOU ARE”

There are people that I know
Who play their roles in time,
They seek your pity and respect
But cheat themselves: sublime.

Their narcissism reigns complete
Yet they cower from the truth,
Leaving a wretched taste in mind
Their ugliness at heart the fruit.

They play the victim like a fool
Dancing to false tunes, they sing,
Making silly statements that
Oh deliver me from what they bring!

Monday, February 20, 2012

THE WIDOW CONSTANCE

The only thing to travel faster than stomach virus through a small town is a rumor. It seems that the folks of Travers Falls certainly could tie-up all the loose ends of a story, whether they knew the ending or not. It would make a man freeze in his tracks to do anything publicly.

You take old Mr. Morrow at the train depot for instance. Married over 30 years, nothing much to look at, three boys in their teens, had the man hung for adultery, before there was even a trial! The whole story concocted by a bunch of old biddies who sat and gossiped, turns out the woman who Mr. Murrow was cheating with was his sister from Clair County!

Then there was the time schoolboy Lenny Lukas was accused of some ill-gotten gains, stole a 56’ Buick, brand new so they said! Turns out Lenny’s uncle kicked the bucket and left him a ton of money being Uncle George had no wife or children of his own.

Then there was the widow Constance, and there’s a story for you.

Some people swear it’s not true, while others to their dying day swear it’s so. I know it to be true because I was there. Now the widow was a fine looking woman, a fine looking woman indeed. Slim with golden brown hair, and a waist that was the envy of all the ladies of Hudson County in and around Travers Falls. Skin like alabaster, lips red as a cherry, and teeth so white people would stare into her mouth long after she closed it. By golly, every poke in town and then some looked for the opportunity to look into her big brown eyes and say “morning Miss Constance” or “good evening Miss Constance” or “Fine weather we’re having Miss Constance.” But none of the buggers were brave enough to ask her out for a social. Naw, they were just too afraid she’d turn them down, and it would serve them right!

The so called ladies of Travers Falls often speculated about widow Constance, how she became a widow so young and all that. Why they could talk for hours just speculating on how it all came about. Gather two or three of them together and you could rewrite the theory every time. Of course no one ever asked the widow how it all came about, it being just impolite and all, besides it wouldn’t be as good as the speculation.

The widow came to Travers Falls back in early winter of ’54 I believe, took a job at the local department store in the ladies dresses and what not department, 5 days a week she showed up, rain or shine. People complained she took a lot of time, some say too much time with the men customers looking for a something for their sweethearts or wives. Once they say she even tried on a dress or two for a male customer!

One day this smooth talking fellow from the big city showed up, claimed he was a big time lawyer and wanted to buy something nice for his mamma, and could the widow help him? Well one thing led to another, and rumor had it that she was with child, his child! Soon that city slicker is gone quicker than the hound on the scent, and stories got around some. Seems Doc Samuels wasn’t no talker, never said nothing about his patients, but that wife of his, now she had a sharp tongue, and got it to wag enough to have people stop speculating and start believing things. Well how do you do, the young lady is gone! Just clears out one day, no forwarding address, no phone number, no nothing! Why even I had some wonders myself about her. Of course in those days she wasn’t known as the widow Constance, but Miss Constance like I said before.

Anyway, some time went by, I think it was the summer of ’55, when who do I see walking about the streets of Travers Falls but the young lady! All dressed in black she was, I swear as sure as I can tell you this story: it was her! Now I know there’s no use of speculating and what have you, but that black dress had me thinking; was Ms. Constance a widow now? Did she go off and marry the fellow she been cahooting with, did he DIE!?

Well she wore the black dress long enough for others to speculate just like I did, and before you knew it; she was being called Widow Constance. Of course there was no real proof she was a widow. It seemed that when she walked the street, it was still: “Morning Ms. Constance” and “Good evening Ms. Constance!” by the so-called gentlemen of Travers Falls, but no “Widow Constance”.

She moved into a one-room apartment above a dance hall, and became a hostess for the owner of the place. A fellow would enter alone, and she would escort him to a table, sit him down and order him a libation of sorts, and even light his cigarette! Not that I ever went there, but that was told to me by a reliable source. Then, when Jeremiah’s Elm Street band started to play, she’d be dancing the fellow ragged, slobbering all over the fool, a cigarette dangling from her mouth, the whole place wild with cavorting and what not. Why it was enough to make a man pause.

Then one night, when the music was going strong, and old Jeremiah was playing some of that Rock and Roll stuff they play on the radio and the TV now, I could never like it, the police came. Just marched right in, just like that. Stopped the dancing, the music, and the good times, like it never happened! This big old burley cop takes the widow Constance by the arm and leads her out of the place, her hands cuffed in front of her like she was some kind of murderer, an unlikely thing if ever I saw one!

Well the whole town of Travers Falls was abuzz the next morning. Suddenly, there were more experts in criminal behavior than the populations of Hudson and Clair Counties combined! Now mind you that’s a lot of people, yes it is. Then the newspapers came out and there it was in black and white, the whole truth.

Seems that the widow Constance really was a widow, but not exactly like we speculated. No sir, uh-uh. When I read what happened, I nearly fell off my chair in Don’s Barbershop across from the dancehall. Dan was snipping away, right behind me, reading along with me when I spotted this headline about this murder in the big city by some local lady from Travers that took place. Well who do you think the paper is calling a murder suspect but our Ms. Constance, the Widow Constance!

Seems that the widow got herself in a family way with the big shot city slicker alright: but she wanted him to marry her. Seems he would have nothing to do with that idea, especially since he had a wife already waiting for him in the big city. No, he said he would pay her ever month after she had the baby if she would leave him alone. Turns out she agrees, has the baby but the fellow disappears!

Well you know the old story about a woman scorned, and this was true to life.

She was not to be outsmarted the widow wasn’t. No, she decided to find the fellow once she put the baby up for adoption. She checked his place of employment and found the arrogant SOB sitting in his office in the big city. So what does she do? Why she goes out and buys herself a ladies pistol, that’s what. You know, those little light-weight guns that you can hide in ya woman’s purse that can be concealed easily.

She calls his office pretending to be a potential client and would he see her a.s.a.p.? Well the sucker agrees and when she is escorted into his office, he jumps out of his chair and heads to the door, where she nails him in his cheek. That is his left cheek, right next to his wallet, then once more for good measure, as he spun around, right between the eyes.

Since the trial was held in NYC, I never got to go, but I hear and read that she got 25 years to life for murder, and now waits on ladies only in the prison commissary.

Friday, February 17, 2012

HENRY

He would lean against the frame of the doorway leading to his apartment. His hands in his pockets, one foot crossed over the other, toe pointing down. It was how he spent his days. He was known as Henry, and more often by other names as well. He stood about 6 feet tall, in his mid-forties-stocky but with a child-like innocent face. His black hair was still all jet black, and no signs of age to betray how old he was.

No hope, no future, not even a dream, Henry was considered too backward to stay in a classroom with his peers as a child, and the fear of ridicule consumed his mother Lena. She took him out of the classroom at the age of 8, never again to sit with children who verbally abused her son.

Lena was a short squatty woman in her late 50’s who loved life, enjoyed good conversation and little children while taking custodial care of the three-floor walkup. She was often on call, and enlisted Henry to help her with the heavy lifting when it was needed. It was an old wooden apartment built before the World War I. An immigrant from Sicily, Lena had met her husband Enrico at a festival at the local church. Enrico work in construction, sometimes 12 to 14 hours a day, and many times on Saturdays. He had no time for Henry, his namesake, and it troubled Lena. Often they would fight because she spent so much time with Henry, an embarrassment to the old man.

In the winter months, Henry was kept busy by doing various chores for Lena, it didn’t matter that he did them poorly: it occupied his time thought his mother. But Enrico could not tolerate his “backward son”, comparing him to other sons that were spoken of on the job. Enrico worked along side many other veteran’s who had returned home from the front, some from Europe, some from the South Pacific, all working in construction as 1950’s Brooklyn grew into a new shape.

Lena wondered what would become of Henry once she passed on. Henry was the oldest of three children, a son named Armando, an engineering student at Manhattan College and the youngest child, a beautiful little eight-year old daughter named Maria. Henry loved Maria, was protective of her, yet it was Maria who watched over Henry for her mother, and with love for her brother, she was wise beyond her years.

In the warmer months Henry would spend his time observing the neighborhood, seeing the same people go off to work every morning, silently passing him. Often he wondered what their jobs were, where they went and how they got there. His mind was simple, a non-aggressive bulk of a man, one that commanded respect for his size, not his intellect, he was confused often.

He wished he could ride the ‘Train in the ground” by himself. Once when he was young, his Mother took him on a train, and the idea that such a large structure could move on the thin tracks intrigued him. He loved the freedom of going somewhere, anywhere where he could master the route and explore. Often he would watch the train on the El down the end of his street, as it snaked across the street under it. The clatter meant it was moving to go somewhere. He wondered if all the trains went to the same place, or if they went each somewhere different.

Today was a warm spring day, and the sun seemed to radiate with intensity and a merriment that celebrated the end of the winter snows. The children were out on the street, their play seemed so much more vigorous and carefree then Henry could recall. There seemed to be joy in their cadence as they jumped rope, and played with a rubber ball against the stoop. The counting seemed to help Henry know that their play was still going on, and when they stopped counting their turn was over. He wished they would ask him to jump. He could jump: he would be good at it! Their laughter and joy seemed to fill the air that day for Henry.

Henry decided he wanted to leave the safety of the doorway and walk down the street, to see what was there. His fear was he would not be able to get home again, and what if Mamma called him and he wasn’t there? She would be very angry, she would yell at him in Italian, just like Poppa.

Slowly Henry stepped away from the doorway and placed a foot on the descending step, almost as one might stick his naked foot into a hot steaming bath, testing the water. His mind flooded with fear as he realized he could be lost forever, never seeing Mamma again. But he looked once again down the street, this time looking the opposite way. There on the end of the road was a busy street; there were cars and buses that hurried along. Once more he had the urge to step down and begin to walk, and once again the fear of losing himself overcame him, as he dragged his foot back up to the stoop and retreated into the safety of his little world.

Henry heard the clatter of the train on the el, and decided to walk that way. As long as the street stayed on his eating hand side, he would be ok, so he thought. Slowly he nudged himself off the stoop each of the three steps measured, one at a time. Slowly he concentrated, placing his foot down, holding onto the side railing that led him down to the sidewalk. Soon he was on the sidewalk, where the children were playing and shouting to each other. One of the little girls shouted: “Here comers Henry!” in mock fear, laughing as they all scattered. Henry continued to walk past them like he was sure where he was going, not looking at them, staring ahead.
“Look! Stupid Henry is gonna get us, run!” The laughter followed and Henry ignored it, and continued like they weren’t there, hoping they wouldn’t talk to him.

Looking behind himself constantly, Henry checked that he could still see the fire hydrant that stood guard over the street in front of his house. It being there was reassuring to Henry, as he checked which side of the street met was on his eating hand.

Suddenly Henry came to a cross street, and slowly started to cross. Unheeding he stared straight ahead and slowly stepped deliberately one foot in front of the other when almost across-

“Hey! What the hell’s the matter with cha? Waddya stoopid? Can’t cha see numb skull?

Henry heard the screech of brakes and the blare of a horn, but stayed focus straight ahead, becoming un-nerved as he walked. As he reached the other side, he stopped and took a deep breath and looked back once again, the hydrant still in view.

The sun had risen over the train tracks that made up the el, and started to blind him somewhat. Frowning, he continued his trek, checking his hand to the road, and passed what seemed to be a giant whole in the building. Slowly walking by he looked in, noticing huge trucks, painted red with golden letters and numbers. He didn’t know how to read, but he could distinguish some of the numbers. Hanging on hooks were heavy coats and boots sat at the bottom of the rack of coats and what he guessed to be hats over the coats, Suddenly he realized he was looking at where the big fire trucks went when they passed him by on the stoop of his building.

Henry remembered he was away from home and wished he were safely back on his stoop. He could picture Mamma, and worried that he was taking too long and better hurry. There was a lady on a chair sitting in front of her building, another man leaning into his building entranceway that reminded Henry of himself. Each followed him with their heads as he slowly walked by, not saying anything, or even speaking.

Suddenly Henry heard a familiar sound, one he heard every day, the sound of a train crossing over the street, and looking up, he realized how large it was and how loud it sounded, sending a shiver through his body. Slowly it crossed over him, and set him to wonder once more, where it was going. Transfixed, he waited for the train to cross over before continuing under the el and crossing the street once again.

The morning air was warming up even more, and Henry was perspiring as beads of sweat were running down his forehead, racing one another and reaching his neck. Taking out a handkerchief, he slowly wiped his neck and replaced the hanky into his pocket.

Once more he dared to cross a street. This one a greater challenge than the last, with cars and buses and trucks and people all moving at once, and the clatter of the train, the train that were beginning to scare him into retreating back.

He froze at the corner where a line of people were waiting for something it seemed to him. Henry slowly raised his foot to step down into the street when he had this sudden sense of an onrushing object about to run into him, and as he put his foot down someone yelled: “Hey!” Looking up to his left, a bus swung into his path just as he quickly pulled back onto the sidewalk. The doors of the bus folded opened, revealing a driver who looked at him blankly as the people who were waiting on line clamored aboard, staring at him quizzically as they passed.

Henry stood frightened and confused, people were rushing by, he started once again, crossing the busy street, the horns blaring at him as he slowly and deliberately crossed, people were swearing at him and another overhead train was clattering loudly overhead. Henry stopped in the middle of the crossway, holding his ears wishing he was anywhere but where he was. Suddenly he wished he could see his Mamma’s face, yet heard his father cursing while sweat was once again pouring down his cheeks. He checked his eating hand, there was a building next to him, he was lost!

“Get the hell out of the way goddamit!” “Whatta ya crazy, get the hell out of da street ya moron!” The world was quickly crashing down on Henry, he had lost his way and he was frightened beyond his ability to act. Frozen in the middle of the thoroughfare covering his eyes, shaking uncontrollably.

As Henry stood amidst the loud cacophony of angry swearing and impatient horns, the overhead loud clattering of the passing train, a hand reached out and gently touched his arm. He knew that hand, and the feel was comforting to him. Suddenly he felt that he was almost in his entryway to his apartment, the safety of Mamma’s reassuring voice calling him, the sweet sound of a gentle voice.

“Henry, Mamma is waiting for us, hold my hand.” A gentle little voice reassured him, rescuing him from his hell.

Henry cradled the little hand of Maria as she led him back to where he belonged, and suddenly, the world stood quietly still! Henry was going home.

RISE UP OH GILDED PLACE


Behold your storied canyons
Your heartbeat so strong,
It energizes your minions and
Moves the world along.

You rise up like the majestic sun
Your golden rays shine down on all,
You are Gotham, City of life
The world heeds when you call.

There is no place quite like you
As you stand there so strong,
Your arts and your numbers grow
And build tomorrow along.

You speak so many languages
So many cultures thrive,
From foreign shores they come
And here they stay alive.

Oh hear the sounds of progress as
The people come and go, filling the
Mighty Gotham with its horns
On traffic blow.

Your mighty backs are strained
And their minds are filled with need,
Your ships your planes your trucks
Come and leave with equal speed.

When the world no longer copes
And the people quit the race,
You stand up alone Gotham
And rise up oh gilded place.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

MISSED SOUL

I hear the silence in my soul
It is deafening – calling me to hear.
A voice so loud is that shouts my name
And yet I know not fear.

It was silenced long ago yet like yesterday
I feel the pain in my heart: I go on living
To this day and wander as I live, alone
And saddened on my part.

If you see him someday tell him
That I cared, not knowing where to go
And not where to stay, looking always
To the other side someday when I know.