It's Only Me- Chapter 26- Victory at Last

If peace was what I had hoped to find after my Mom’s passing I was mistaken. It would be almost another 2 years before I was able to resolve the problem of Sue’s fiancée. At one point I actually found her engagement ring, which she never wore around me, and hocked it. I used the money to take her out for dinner.

In September of 1984 I resigned my position with Military Sealift Command. I still remember the wording of my letter;

“In order to pursue a more meaningful lifestyle I hereby resign my position with Military Sealift Command. I do so without coercion and of my own volition.”

I bought a used Ford Pinto for $500 and headed to Baltimore where Sue had already rented me an apartment. With 2 small boys she did not want me moving in right away.The apartment was around the corner from Ben’s place and I spent a good bit of time driving by to see if she was over there.

By November I had enough and so I headed to New York. This was two fold- I would get away from the situation in Baltimore and fulfill the promise to my Mom that I would work for my Dad after she passed. Big mistake!

I took an apartment on the 5th floor of 1310 Avenue R where I had grown up. My Dad still lived on the 2nd floor in our old apartment. Each morning I would go down to his place and we would drive into Manhattan together.

My Dad’s business was Pollution Controls for incinerators. Back then all of the thousands of apartment buildings in New York City had incinerators in order to burn the trash. The resultant smoke was becoming unbearable. We would modify these incinerators by installing smoke “scrubbers” and a by-pass tunnel that would allow the trash to be burned by a gas fired burner. The smoke would then be channeled through the by-pass where a series of shower heads would dampen the smoke causing all the pollutants to fall down into an ash pan. The rest of the smoke, now clear, would go through the by-pass and up the chimney.

Most of our customers were the buildings along 5th Avenue along Central Park. We also had all of the buildings on the West side of the park, including the Dakota. The thing was arranged so that we did about $3,000 worth of work in 2 days to alter the system. We billed $20-30,000 per building. In order to get the contracts we had to go through the Super and the Co-op Boards.

These Supers were unlike the ones in Brooklyn who fixed things and kept the building in good repair. These guys were elected by the Co-op boards and together handed out the contracts for any work needed. Our system was to bribe the Board and the Supers. I was really taken aback by all of this- particularly as my dad was paying me lousy wages compared to what I had been earning aboard ship.

Whenever there was a mechanical failure the local Inspector would issue a summons and I would go to the EPA Court located across from the World Trade Center. At these hearings I would listen to the judge read the Violation and I would then hand him an envelope. Case dismissed.

Meantime I was still managing to see Sue about 3 or 4 times a week in Baltimore. I would go from work to my apartment, shower and change clothes and then make the 4 hour drive from Brooklyn to Sue’s place. I would often arrive at about 9 or 10 at night, stay until 2 and then head back home, arriving at about 6 AM. During this time I amassed a pile of speeding tickets that if placed end to end would stretch from Brooklyn to Sue’s house. I still have them all.

The only way I got through this without a License Suspension was by having 2 licenses. I had one in Virginia and another in Maryland. The whole trick to this was not to get a License in your home state- in my case New York. When I applied for a license I would check “No Previous Driving License.” At 30 years old this was hard to believe so they would send away to New York and ask for my record. It always came back as “No Previous Driving License.”

The only time I really had a problem was when I didn’t pay a ticket in let’s say Delaware and then get stopped again in that state. At times like these I would be made to follow the Trooper or Sheriff to the station where I would have to pay both the old fine and new one in cash before I was released. A few times I was caught with some pot but the officers only made me dump it out and rub it into the ground with my foot. For that I am still grateful.

By September of 1985 I had enough of both my Dad and the incessant driving back and forth to Baltimore. There was also a slight “sea change” in Baltimore and Sue was beginning to come around to the notion that I was not going away. So I packed up again and moved back to Baltimore- taking a furnished basement about 8 streets away from Sue’s. I used it 3 nights in as many months- but it made Sue feel better knowing that if things went bad between us I had a place to go. I just felt it was wasted money.

She was still working at Social Security in the same division as Ben. This was the last hurdle to overcome if we were to make it as a couple. By October I was living at Sue’s almost full time- I even had drawer space in the dresser! The kids couldn’t believe it! Not even Ben had been granted that privilege! So I was making progress.

One afternoon in October I was getting out of my brand new Nissan when Ben sprang out from behind the bushes! Using the heel of his hand he made an attempt to push my nose back into my skull. This would have been a death blow had I not been trained in the Navy to do this exact same thing. Seeing it coming I was able to pull back enough to minimize the blow.

Scooting across the front seat and out the passenger side I was able to put myself in a better position. Ben was 6 foot 2 and weighed at least 30 pounds more than I did. He also had about 2 inches more in reach. But I was not in the mood to “handicap” the odds of this thing that had been brewing for so long. I just got in there swinging, mostly at his head and face. He was tiring quickly but would not go down or even just away! He wanted me to hurt him so badly that he could run to Sue and say what a crazed and violent person I was.

When it became apparent that this stupid bastard wanted me to hurt him real badly I went to the other side of the car and got back in. This infuriated him and he went back to his car and got a tire iron to smash my windows. Again I was out of the car in a flash. Disarming him was easy but now we were back to me beating him about the head and face. Everytime I would stop he would charge! Finally I got back in the car and turned on the radio pretending to ignore him. He got in his car and rammed me! Then he sped away.

I made two calls- one to the Police, giving his name and address etc and one to Sue. The police took my report and then drove to his place where they issued him some citations. My attempt to file charges was unsuccessful due to the fact that only my hands were cut and bleeding while his face was a mess, making me the aggressor. I am not sure he had this in mind when he staged the initial assault, but that is the way it would’ve played out in court.

I remember thinking that we were finally done with him. But bad pennies keep turning up and he made one more attempt to screw things up for us. He called Sue and asked her to meet him for lunch to say “goodbye.” She went. I found out and was furious! It was now time for her to quit her job at Social Security or I was leaving. The situation had now grown so intense that it was likely someone (Ben) was going to get really hurt. Also, it was likely that someone (me) was going to end up in jail.

So in December of 1985 Sue quit her job and went to work for one of the private insurance companies as an Underwriter. It had taken 2 years and 3 months for this drama to play out and I was tired. I was also very happy.

I have often thought back to those days and wondered why I hung in there. I can only surmise that after being rejected by my parents for smoking pot, and later being rejected by Leslie for I don’t know what, I was not going to be rejected again. I knew that Sue was in love with me- but this guy was using her status as a single mom as a weapon against her- exploiting any insecurities that she might have had at the time.

So I had won, and it would take many years to overcome the humiliation of having to compete for Sue’s love. But it was worth it.

Reading a Book and Doing the Math

I don’t post regular reviews anymore; I’m taking the time to really enjoy what I’m reading. But that takes a little extra time for me. For instance, I am reading a book which says that 600 acres are equal to One square mile. I am always curious as to the veracity of any numbers thrown at me, and almost always check them out- longhand.

In spite of failing mathematics throughout my school years I have spent my entire life working at jobs which all dealt with numbers. From navigating a ship by star to estimating earthwork (try it sometime by emptying a pot of dirt and then seeing if you can get it all back in; or digging a hole and then throwing the dirt back in without having some left over) I have in love with the little digits and their perfection. They simply do not lie. Statistics do; but not mathematics. So, you see I just had to check the figure out and determine for myself how many acres are in a square mile.

To begin with I know that a mile is 5,280 LF long so you multiply that by itself and come to the sum of 27,878,400 square feet to a square mile.

   

Now we need to take the acreage. There are 43,560 sq ft in an acre. The assertion is that there are 600 of these acres in a square mile. So you multiply the 600 acres by the 43,560 square feet per acre and come to 26,136,000 square feet in 600 acres. We have a problem. The acrerage stated in the book is short.

Taking 43, 560 square feet and multiplying it by x for the unknown acreage and making it equal to the square footage we know to be a square mile (27,878,400 square feet) you get 43,560x = 27,878,400, as in square feet. Then you isolate the x.

The equation looks like this; (cross multiplication)

43,560X = 27,878,400 sq ft  = 640

43,560         43,560

And the proof is self-evident. You simply multiply 640 acres by 43,560 square feet to each one and come up with the same number of square feet then divide that back by 43,560 square feet for a total of 640 acres; 40 acres more than stated in the book. It's no big deal; just something I do. 

As usual with any post dealing with mathematics I dedicate this to my father, William Llewellyn Williams, who was so good at numbers that he couldn’t teach me to count;, believing that his failure was my shortcoming. 

Old Slides #2 - Learning How to Fly (1957)

Most photos have a “back story” to them; where and when the photo was taken being the least important of the details. What happened just before the shutter clicked can be very revealing in some cases. And that’s what makes the photograph above, which is one of a series taken on Veteran’s day 1957, so unusual. There is none.

As I sift through the old family photos I can find very few where there is not something else that has just occurred which mars the memory a bit. Behind most of the smiling faces there was either a very recent scolding, argument or some other stupid and unnecessary problem. No one is really to blame for that; it’s just the dynamics of an ordinary family living and growing; together or apart.

But, let’s get back to this photograph which was taken over 57 years ago. This one is of me and my Dad. I’m the little guy holding the string. He’s the big guy showing me how to fly the kite. It was one of those big paper kites; bright red and with a tail made of rags. We were at Riis Park; for some reason we were always at Riis Park; winter or summer. I’m not complaining; I loved the place!

Riis Park was named after Jacob Riis, the famous campaigner for decent housing and social reform. His photographs of the Lower East Side at the turn of the 20^th Century are iconic. He championed airways in the tenements and windows in every room. It was only fitting that a bright, sunny, public beach be named for him.

Once again; back to this photograph. In the years after this was taken; remember I said that every picture has a “back story”? Well, this one really has more of a “front story”, as it was taken less than 2 years before my mother began a long illness, which permeated my entire childhood. I didn't really mind, I just always hoped that she would get better; but she never did.

So, this photo is one of the rare ones in which my Dad is smiling and really means it. Life was good. He had just been through the only job “layoff” he would ever know, and also had pneumonia, one of the only times I had ever seen him ill. The other time was when he gave up smoking in 1962 or ’63 after the Surgeon General’s first warning about cigarettes causing cancer. He didn't even wait until the warning was on the pack. He just stopped. And was very ill; throwing up and bedridden for several days. It was cold turkey, just like heroin withdrawal. He may have lapsed once or twice in the first few years after, but never went back to smoking full time again. Instead he discovered M&M’s.

We would go grocery shopping on Thursday nights when my mother wasn't in the hospital; and my Dad would buy a box of Peanut Chews, or a 1 pound bag of M&M's, which we would eat before getting home.When my Mom was in the hospital, either my brother or I would pick up what was necessary ourselves. We used a pull along type folding “shopping cart” to wheel the groceries home. My brother was not fond of this chore; I think he found it embarrassing for some reason; so I was usually the one “bringing home the bacon.”

So, this is a picture of my father before all the bad times began. It’s also part of a set of 14 photographs taken that day. My Dad’s teaching me how to fly a kite, a skill which I have passed on to my daughter and 2 of my granddaughters. And whenever I look at this photo I remember what it was like to have my parents and my brother, before all the bad times began.

A Palm Sunday Memory - 1959

This is one of my favorite pictures of Jesus, riding into Jerusalem on what became known as "Palm Sunday", which happens to be today for the world's Christians, who number in the billions. Although I am a Jew by birth, my father was a practicing Catholic until I was about 6, attending Church each Sunday morning. And, occassionally, I used to go with him.

I especially looked forward to Palm Sunday, for several reasons. The first was purely mercenary, it was one week until Easter, and the candy which the Easter Bunny would bring. The second, and more immediate delight was in the long palm fronds which were handed out to the congregants, in order that they symbolically welcome back their Saviour. These Palm fronds, to me, represented not only Jerusalem, the Crusades, Kings and Gods; these Palm fronds were no mere leaves! Rather they were the embodiment of the whole world, and what lay beyond the borders of my little life beyond Kings Highway and Bedford Avenue.

The last time I went to church with my Dad on Palm Sunday was in 1959. I still remember coming home from church with him, and the long palm fronds, teasing my brother with them. The fronds seemed so much longer to me then. The ones I see now a days can hardly compare to the expectations of that six year old boy I used to be. But just the memory of them awes me.