Night on 84 street

A weekend of rest---"enforced" rest--recovering from the chemo infusion on Thursday. Not much done except reading---but very interesting reading---but more of that later. Finally had to get out at night. Could not stay in. Visited the "game" coffee shop on 84 street directly west of Amsterdam. Probably the only place in the neighborhood where one can sit and read and not have to drink alcohol. Somewhat welcoming, though they got my order wrong. Continued reading Henry VI part II, a fascinating mess of different styles--I can't believe that only one person  was the author---one amazing scene in which a landowner kills Jack Cade, a commoner who had tried to gather an army of citizens and seize the  thrown. Lots to think about---does the scene forshadw MacBeth? 

Finally left--decided not to return to my apartment via Amsterdam, with its multiple bars-restaurants but opted for the much more quieter Broadway. First, however the trip from the coffee shop to the Broadway corner--dark and not much attended---and then the memory---that in the early sixties, the street was considered the most dangerous one in the city. And now--a west side nightmare turned into a much tamer block. But as I walked in the dark, I could almost experience  the "horror" of the past---sixty years of vision--the story of a street. I felt like I was reaching into the void. But of course, that is what one carries with one as one ages---the memory---the story of the past. Every walk down the west side streets, or the east side, or Park Slope, is like a movie--sixty or so years of change---my generation trying to find itself-- the :cooness" of not having a lot of money--and still living comfortably. The street was quiet-dark---did I think I was walking into a nightmare. 

Broadway from 84th South to the apartment. Quiet, a few restaurants opened---a few couples sitting in the outdoors outside one of the candy shops. A strange contrast to Amsterdam--on the trip to the coffee shop  I spent much time dodging people--weaing in and out.

So there we go. Had to publish this--give voice to the "nightmare voyage", Tomorrow a full day of work---and possibly laundry.

On the "upper west"

 Had a chance to wander around the Central Park West and Columbus Avenue corridor this afternoon and early evening. First,  went to Plaza Cinema--the"invented" movie house that is actually in a Church. Yet they program  some interesting movies--today I saw "Sorry, Baby" a well thought out and sensitive movie by Eva Victor--about a young woman recovering from a rape by her graduate school professor. The theater is mostly attended by the elderly of the upper west---they seem to flock there. But the real highlight of the afternoon was roaming around the area---walking east on 68 street from Columbus to Central Park West, and then west on 67street from CPW to the movie theater which is almost at Columbus.Memories---stories from the last sixty years---the area now seems full of wealth, but what was it like in the late sixties when I first moved to the upper west side. Brownstones that could be drug dens. Other brownstones with three separate rooms on a floor and one bathroom shared by each of the rooms. I knew several people who lived that way; if you were young--in your twenties or early thirties and were not sure where you were going, it was normal. Now, they are simply "stately" brownstones.  Both 68 and 67 street contain many large houses that must have been pre war--especially on 67 street, I had never known that they were there---who lived there in the sixties? Must have been a middle class, professional population. The side streets, as I have just mentioned, could be dangerous. Yet these are beautifully designed apartment house---of course, now they are all probably coops. Oh, and yes, the many welfare hotels that stood off the avenues--a very different world,  yet one could travel on it, as I did in the mid and late sixties without any real fear. But the energy was more "rough hewn"---one had to be careful. And a  huge gulf still existed between the upper west side, and the upper east, across the park. Any one looking for stability or whose goal was to :move up" in the world, would not be caught on the upper west side--the change, as I saw it, came in the late seventies, but that is another story.

After the movie, went for some pizza ---did not like the nearest one on 68th off Columbus---a little grimy---so I wandered north on Columbus to 74th street. Amazed at what I saw---restuarant after restaurant lining  Columbus. and a few on the side streets as well. How many? Could easily be close to twenty---all about the same prices---I would think 40 or 50 dollars per person is the norm--and, most of them pretty filled up. This is what the neighborhood has become--many young couples walking the streets---some smiled at me---a nice energy--I really wanted to be part of it---enjoy it. But my financial fortunes would not allow me to enter any of those places---and since the pandemic I am not sure how comfortable I would feel in them. Things are so different now--pre pandemic there were bartenders who knew and liked me---who would let me "hang" even if I did not order much--lots of good conversation and a feeling of welcome---but I don't have that now. Bar prices are much higher---the medication that I take for my on going illness  prevents me from ordering a beer---and those more friendly places in Brooklyn are much harder for me to get to now, as my stamina levels are very different. . And I have not found any place in the immediate neighborhood that I can consider a hangout. So I remain, "separate".

Already nine o clock---should get back to my reading---tomorrow seeing McCraney's play, The Brother Size, at the Shed in Hudson Yards. My first visit there---will go early and try to get a sense of the place--will report soon.

Unstructured afternoon...

 got a bang in the head at a bank I was withdrawing money from. Still hurts a bit, but mind as sharp as ever. Any residuals---hope not. 

At the Lincoln Center library, spent much of the time reading Schickel's biography of Kazan. Would have preferred Kazan's autobiography but it was not there. Focused on the three plays that I saw in the late fifities that he directed: Inge's The Dark at the Top of the Stairs; MacLeish's JB, and Willians' Sweet Bird of Youth. A very important and defining time for me as a teen-age theater goer---finally got a chance to see "adult"plays, by playwrights whom, when I was younger, I could hear about from my parents, but not see. I remember the excitement I felt when I was planning my trip to see the Inge play. Almost like losing my virginity--a true"event"---I would be totally different when I left the theater. Similarly, Sweet Bird was my first Williams---again, could not, in a way, even believe that I would be let in the theater. I remember these experiences so well--- but what amazes me now is how much detail I remember---as if I could throw myself back into my teen age years---coincidentally the three years I spent at Bronx Science. Ah, more memories

Timmy Everett playing the Jewish cadet in Dark at the Top of the Stairs---Newman, amazing at that matinee of Sweet Bird, and of course, Christopher Plummer's incredibly masculine and crystallized Nickels in JB. Was able to see JB twice---the first time it went somewhat by me---but the second time--late August of 59---a matinee---the show running towards its end--was able to get a cut rate ticket in the second row orchestra side. Wow! The excitement I felt being so close! My senior year at Science about to begin---looking ahead to seeing J again--I had thoght about her all summer---would something really happen between us. She lived on the upper west side---I in the Bronx--that alone was enough to make her desirable. My memory---time has stopped. So many details. 

But what does it all mean now? It is almost upsetting---how full the memory is. 

Write some more---expand---not sure--will have to wait and see.

Searching for "Gramma"!

 First of all, readers, whoever you are, I want you to know that my weekend "funk" is over---I think a lot had to do with the overwhelming torpor the medication that I get every three weeks caused. And on Monday I had three tutoring sessions---the give and take with the students was very lively---created an almost "jaunty" feeling for me. But who is "Gramma"?

Just read an article in The City about the other side of Mamdami's rent freeze proposal--a fair statement that revealed that many landlords in the city who own rest stabilized apartments, really need some sort of rent increase to keep their buildings going. I understand that--it is an interesting dilemma for the new administration---athough housing advocates feel the rent freeze is justified. Somehow I feel that there is enough of an analytical vision in (hopefully) the Mamdani administration to create a solution that helps both sides. But the building that the article mentioned as an example of an aparatment building that might go under if a rent freeze takes place was on Creston Avenue in the Bronx--a few steps from where, when I was a child, I would visit my grandmother (my father's mother0 and where I felt very safe. My father was the youngest of a large Jewish family that had emigrated from Poland around 1920, when he was 12. A few times a year, the whole family would visit there--I remember an incredible variety of aunts, uncles and their cousins---all with different economic visions of life which, I, around 7 or 8 would try to absorb. But what I also remember vividly was the "safety' that the neighborhood around the building seemed to offer. Placid, relaxed---and all white---overwhelmingly Jewish. Looking back on that time----in my head a kind of "paradise on earth'. I understand that the neighborhood has "changed" that its inhabitants are mostly black and Hispanic working class citizens of the city---that they are entitled to good services, and that they probably are "good people".---yet I felt so safe there as a child--but of course it had to change--the destiny of my generation was to "move forward"---super achieve. 

Creston Avneue---two stories---two different kinds of people--when I take the 4 train to Bronx Science for the few alumni events during the year, I stand by the door windows---looking out---imagining the world that "was'.  Trying hard to connect the images in my mind of the two worlds.

Difficult day....

 yesterday, two days after infusion. Did not eat much. Slept a lot. Awoke this morning with more energy---body  should be warming up today---I think it would be a good idea to move around. But where?  Cannot make plans,---simply follow the messages my body gives me as the day progresses. Have to remember that the first weekend after the infusccuion has always been somewhat difficult ---but not this difficult. 

Earlier on one of the web sites about the city, I read of a murder at a bodega in East New York. Went to google maps to check it out. Saw many buildings that reminded me of the neighborhood that I was raised in in the Bronx. As I was growing up, this was mostly a Jewish neighborhood---now of course, mostly black and hispanic. Does it make sense? As a teen-ager, I could have been set up on a blind date with some young woman from East New York---that is all I can come up with. But where are we now?  I know no people from my generation who want to talk about their childhood---and when they do---when I meet then---the memories are basically superficial--an outline of the past but not a look into it. What does it mean to be raised in a certain way---or in a "crimeless" neighborhood? I want more depth!  The protection and security that I felt as a child has brought me to this place now. A through line. So  now I wait....I am alone. On my last trip to Bronx Science for their reunion, instead of going right to the nearest subway, I took a bus that goes west---felt very moved by what I saw. More visits...? Possibly.

Looking forward to the next weekend---should be much stronger--hopefully some longer trips. Today, if I want to see a movie--have almost two many choices. Still must dialogue with my body to get through it to figure out thow far it will travel. That is all for now.

two days....

Friday: rest until around 4. then off to Brooklyn. Stops at Center for Fiction and Arts Library, across the  mstreet. No Brooklyn library card...a blessing or a curse---but can't take anything out. Then off to really what I came to Brookyn for---to participate in the "action" outside 130 Greene Street protesting a brutal and ugly deed theft. 

First image: walking east on Greene to the house---a warm feeling---the streets from Greene's beginning to around Waverly avenue have become a "never-never" land--safe, beautiful Brownstones---mostly white people who seemed affluent, walking the streets. Many mothers with children. Was this neighborhood ever different...I asked myself. Yet when speaking to the woman whose building was taken from her by fraud, she explained that when she bought the building in 1997, most houses on the block were boarded up. Hard to believe---try to imagine a "different" much more "rougher" Clinton Hill. Difficult. I remained at the action for about an hour---joined by mostly black protesters decrying the possibility of more deed thefts like this one, and claiming that there was no real assistance from elected officials. Some interesting conversations with the activists---however, directly east on the corner of Waverly and Greene, was an upscale restaurant--some outdoor diners right next to the protesters--no reaction from them. It occurred to me that after participating in the protest---shouting "what do we want..? Justice"; "When do we want it? Now", I could easily walk into the restaurant and have a nice meal---joining the "members of the community"---mostly white, I am afraid, and forget where I had just been. I did not think that most of the protesters who were black, would feel comfortable in that restaurant, or even consider going there.  It is this juxtaposition that I see often when I visit neighborhoods that have been gentrified in the last twenty years (has it been that long...? Yes)  So where am I in this?

Did not make the choice to eat next door--instead took the Gates Avenue bus about 10 blocks and ate at Fulton Bar, a friendly bar-restauarant n ear BAM. Had a nice Caesar Salad--very friendly bartender and watched the beginning of the Yankee-Brave game. Then it was time to return home to Manhattan.

Yesterday---the residue of energy from Friday caught up with me---so I had what I would call a "passive" day--stayed mostly around the apartment. Free movie at a Church about 10 blocks down---"The Way We Were"---decided to see it. Nice choice---not very crowded---big screen--movie was interesting---I had seen it on TV about 45 years ago---but seemed to go one forever---from episode to episode. Walked home from the Church--about 10 blocks--no stamina issue---bought my food and returned home.

today---would like to return to Brooklyn--maybe catch a "real" movie--we will see.

follow up...

did not see Familiar Touch yesterday. Not enough energy after my visit to Drama Bookstore. Spent about 2 hours there--first reading much of Grover Dale's autobiography and then---after a bout of restlessness, looking closely at The Merchant of Venice. Are the two related...? I doubt it. Dale is one of the last surviving members of the original cast of WSS---the Merchant...? Well, I am fascinated by its structure. Three stories, interwoven. Shylock destroyed---and then forgotten. 

The infusion and its fourth day effect tired me---so I returned to the apartment after the Drama Book Store visit.  Intermitten naps for the rest of the day---strange when your body tells you what it wants you to do, rather then your telling "it". Finished the free weekend of baseball on the web---sort of had enough of it---and continued to read my English history book. 

Today a possible tutoring session--also, planning to pick up my Ostomy supplies from the drug store I go to in Harlem. Interesting trip---the store is on 122nd and 3rd Avenue--I usually take the crosstown bus to 79th and Madison---then wait for the bus that goes north on Madison, all the way to 122 street. Amazing contrast of course, in the two worlds that it covers, but more and more, north of 96, there are signs of gentrification. New library on 125th east of 3rd---might want to check it out. Always feel a sense of "triumph" after I receive the supplies, and embark on my return to my "safe" apartment on the upper west side. 

the rest of the day---the sure---early now--lots of time to get through before my journey east,