The Troubadour of Forest Hills

 

In 1991 Paul Simon decided to give a free concert in Central Park as a follow up to the Central Park concert that he had performed with Art Garfunkel in 1981. I was elated, having enjoyed the previous show immensely. The show would be in the Sheep Meadow, a beautiful picturesque, pastoral scene – or at least as close as it was possible to get to one in the heart of New York City.

 

There is something great about anything for free. The experience is often equal to one that is paid for dearly and sometimes is quite superior to its costly rival. Dinner at The Rainbow Room for instance, did not hold a candle to the fare at my favorite local eatery. I can remember clipping the Dairylea coupons from finished milk cartons and saving them up to send away for free Met’s Tickets to Shea Stadium! I drank milk until it was dripping out of my ears! The thrill of the expected arrival of my self inscribed pre-paid postage envelope was almost too much excitement to bear! Arriving at Shea Stadium and being ushered up, up and away to the rarefied air at the tippy, tippy top of the stadium, just below the flood lights, with an amazing view of Long Island Sound and an overview of N.Y.C. was

thrilling! The curvature of the earth was almost visible at these lofty heights and the ear drum shattering, crushing sounds of the jets screeching overhead and barely missing the stadium thrilled a young boy as we peeked in the windows of the planes where the airline passengers sat, their faces clearly visible from our seats as the enormous black rubber wheels distended from the belly of the aircraft to touch down shortly at La Guardia Airport. As dusk came, N.Y.C. put on its dazzling display, lighting up like a Christmas tree for as far as the eye could see.The smell of popcorn and hot dogs wafted up to our realm of lofty height  where vendors did not bother to climb, cognizant of the probability of empty pockets for such delicacies. A free Cone at Carvel on your birthday was always a wonderful delight, the melting creaminess attempting to escape its fate, rolling  hurriedly down the sides of the creamy precipice , thwarted in its attempted escape and consumed by a greedy tongue.

 

Finally, August 15^th 1991 came, the day of the concert. It was a beautiful summer’s day and a perfect complement to Mr. Simon’s Born at the Right Time Tour. The band was comprised of top notch studio and touring musicians. It was easy to tell the two groups apart since the studio musicians rarely saw sunlight, looking pale and white in the middle of the summer like vampires crawling out of their crypt to perform, while their touring compatriots were tanned and robust from the sun. Additionally, the amazing Brazilian percussion band OLODUM were on hand and opened the show with Paul Simon to thunderous applause!

 

The show went off without a hitch, and in all combinations of musicians, it was a complete success. Mr. Simon was generous with his stage time and all the musicians were given a chance to show off their talents while he introduced them to the crowd individually. There were no reported incidents of violence as Mr. Simon tended to draw a mellow crowd. The show broke up around 10:30 pm and the audience quietly and quickly filtered out of the park.

 

After a brisk walk I arrived at my newly purchased car at Lex and 70^th street noticing that one of the windows was down about an inch and the car was unlocked. It was an old Pontiac that I had purchased the day before.  I immediately went to the glove compartment to find my paperwork. It was all there, which came as a relief. The floor of the car however was completely littered with papers and checking underneath the seats I realized that all the debris from underneath them had been pulled out. I was planning to clean the car the next day and this was a nice surprise as it would be much easier to do so now. Apparently, my uninvited cleaning crew we’re looking for money or something of value under the seats. I got into the driver’s seat and turned the car over, to find that everything was working properly. If I had known that my helpful industrious friends were coming, I would have left them a tip for their trouble neatly folded in an envelope in a much more accessible location. This was my Felix culpa experience.

 

Thanks for the idea, Marsha!

 

Jim

Nov 2021

Conversation with the Devil

 

There was a lull that morning as the early morning crowd of manual laborers had just left my diner, and the office workers had not begun to trickle in yet. It was a warm summer morning and a steaming inferno in the kitchen, perspiration rolled down my face and the smell of French Fry oil hung in my nostrils. My waitress Betty was running late again and I had haphazardly pivoted back and forth between the roles of cook and waiter, sliding across the old worn out asbestos tiles, when it suddenly became very quiet outside and a sporty car pulled into the lot. An unusually dressed man walked in trailing a strange cloudy mist behind him.

He was dapper in unusual garb, tall and slim in his chartreuse European cut suit and similarly colored suede shoes, with a thin clean shaved face except for a pencil thin mustache and a narrow pointed goatee. His black hair was slicked back under his red Fedora that was slightly cocked over his left eye. He appeared to be about forty years old, but I sensed that this was somehow an illusion. His slick fire engine red Ferrari sat steaming and gleaming in the parking lot

“What can I get you sir?” I inquired.

“Coffee please,” was his response.

“Sir I haven’t seen you around here before if you don’t mind me asking, are you from the area? “ I said, pouring him a cup of coffee 

“I’m from Hell, just over the River Styx, “ was his response, a slight grimace passing across his face as he watched for my response. 

“Oh well then would you like some Deviled eggs and ham?” I quipped. “Or perhaps a nice piece of Devil’s Food Cake?”          

“Are you mocking me friend?” said the visitor. 

“Not at all sir, but you must admit that you have an unusual sense of humor, friend? What do you really want here?” I asked. 

“I am looking for recruits for my army. You are not realizing your full potential, your aggressiveness and sharp tongue come from me. Your barbarism in the war was my gift to you!” said Lucifer.

“Well thanks but I would have been better off without it,”  I reminisced.

“You would have been dead without it Cook!” said the unholy one.

“I offer you the gift of freedom from responsibility, to be able to follow your desires and wants without the curse of conscience biting at your heels! You can walk away from all this, throwing away goodness and selflessness!” Beelzebub coaxed; the words seductively secreted from his slithering tongue. 

I turned my back on him now and proceeded to cut him a piece of cake.

“Have a nice piece of Angel Food Cake, its Heavenly, and prepared with all that is good and pure,” I said, placing the offering before him. 

He recoiled from the cake as if it were poison, backing out the door and jumping into the red Ferrari then disappearing in a cloud of smoke to go tempt another soul elsewhere. 

Happy Halloween!

 

Jim 10/21

HECATE

 

I am not even sure when it first started, my belief in imaginary friends. Maybe I was about 10 when I knew for sure my friend was real.  
My imaginary friend told me my uncle would die shortly and my cousin would have a baby in 6 months. These events happened as foretold.  
At 10 years old I couldn’t make sense of it until it dawned on me that my friend was none other than the Goddess Hecate. 
My babysitter would read to me from a book with no title and no covers. I was sworn to secrecy about hearing stories of this great goddess. Hecate is the goddess of crossroads and witchcraft, protector of the family, magic, transformation, death, the Moon. She can move between humans and spirits. Dawn and dusk are her favorite time.  
There were stories of Hecate preforming miracles and rescue and strength and wonder. She would rescue babies from burning jaws of dragons and be a true Queen of Swords wielding truth against lies. Her green eyes glowing seeing what was wrongfully hidden and revealing its poison. She is dark haired and beautiful and quite eerie befitting a goddess. She wears a black cape with a red velvet dress, green shoes and carries a flaming skull on a staff. The skull lights her way in the night.  
Hecate was the guide into Hades for Demeter when Hades kidnapped her daughter Persephone.  
Hecate is always accompanied by her sacred animals a black female dog and polecat.  
After a while I would ask her questions, from a child’s perspective. Like “Will I pass my math test?” Hecate responded “You must study.” Hecate is a good mother; she gave good advice.  
Now that I am much older, I ask Hecate for protection for my kids and myself from envy, jealousy, evil eye and any other invisible threat. I even go so far as to ask her to provide me with a parking spot in front of my home.  
I can feel her presence and often meditate on her powers. She is still a good mother to me especially since I don’t have a mother. She has become my own very special lifelong guide and friend.  
If you can quiet your mind and look toward the Moon at dusk or dawn you can see her, dark haired and beautiful and eerie, befitting a goddess, holding a flaming skull on a staff, her billowing black cape, green glowing eyes, red velvet dress and green shoes accompanied by two black she dogs and a furry polecat smiling at you.  
Hail to the Goddess Hecate.  

Georgia

Celebrating Halloween

 

My pre-teenage years were spent in Middle Village, Queens, New York. That occurred in the1930s, the period of the infamous depression. Halloween only involved boys no older that 12 years. The term Trick or Treat would be a misnomer as far we were concerned. Since it was a serious depression,  there was no hand out of goodies by our small stores. In fact other than the boys of whom I was one, no one was involved in Halloween. Our involvement was as follows:

No damage or marking up anybody’s property. We never asked anybody for a treat, let alone

threatened a trick. But, we did have a good time. We would receive from our mothers a worn out heavy thick cotton stocking. We all had in our cellars, coal burning furnaces that required daily removal of ashes. A portion near the bottom of the stocking was filled with these ashes and the rest of the stocking tied into a knot. We would meet in the street after dinner and at first we would throw the stocking as high up as we could and watch as it come down onto the surface of the gutter,  causing a large amount of ash smoke on the gutter surface. The trick was to attempt to be the one who threw the stocking up to the highest height and end with the largest result on the gutter surface.  At some point the boys would then use the stockings to hit each other with with it. It smeared our clothing but no one ever got hurt. Rain ultimately washed the streets clean and the laundry washed our clothing.

      The current Halloween celebration that involves dozens if children going from store to store  with bags filled with goodies and houses surrounded with skeletons  and all sorts of other trimmings, I think goes too far and I suspect my friends and I had more enjoyment with our street fun.

     I must admit, my two small children did go from house to house on Halloween with the words Trick or Treat, but it was not  for candies. They  each had a small coin box with a note seeking a contribution to UNICEF. If I  had to decide which of the celebrations, the street stocking celebration, the trick or treat current celebration or that of my children seeking a contribution to UNICEF, I’d definitely  pick the  UNICEF collection.

Ben Haber

Trick or Treat

 

Hey, you three hoodies.

you’re too old for this trick or treat stuff!

Doesn’t anyone feed you?

You are all so skeletal.

With your ashen complexion.

You chose the right house

So ring the bell or knock on the door.

There’s comfort food in this house.

No tricks please, just treats.

Come warm yourself inside.

Come warm your insides

Join our family

For our family special

A big bowl of chicken soup with matzo balls.

We offer this treat.

So no tricks please.

Ethyl Haber