Yesterday, I saw a calendar and remembered it was my half birthday, that reminded me of Uncle Norman.
Mom had this thing with shoe stores. She always complained her feet hurt. We’d go in and out of Yorkville’s many shoe stores looking for the perfect comfortable shoe that she never found. Rory and I played on the store’s big ladder on wheels flying it back and forth across the floor with one of us hanging off with one arm free in front of the customers. This usually stopped when the clerk or Mom threw something at us. Then we’d pick up the foot measuring device. It was all metal and looked like it held some secret code with its side measuring knobs. It must have been expensive because the clerk went bananas when we threw it. Rory tried on spiked heels he grabbed from the store’s front window display. He’d wobble up and down the carpet smiling from side to side. I studied him with one hand to my chin and my elbow to my leg. Involuntarily, my head swayed with him as he traveled back and forth, back and forth.
Rory and I liked two shoe stores best. One was “Salamander Shoes” on
Mom delivered her look. First of all, I never cared whether I had any shoes much less new ones. I only cared about new sneakers. The only thing that triggered me getting a new pair of shoes was a good rainstorm after a hole in my shoe’s sole developed. Either, I’d get home from school and Mom would notice my socks were wet, or I’d take off my blue socks and Mom would notice my feet were blue from the sock’s dye. Only then, Mom said, “Tomorrow we go for new shoes.”
The other store’s gimmick was a beauty. Salamander was the high-end shoe store in the neighborhood. If you had orthopedic needs, this was the place. I tested the laws of gravity by dropping my body from rarefied heights. My feet took most of the damage and had orthopedic needs. Here’s the gimmick. Salamander gave you a balloon with every pair of new shoes. What the cheapskates failed to give you was helium. The balloon was nice but filled with mere air; to hold it aloft Salamander’s management decided to put it on a straightened out metal shirt hanger. You left the store flying your balloon majestically above the stick of metal. Most kids never made it a full block before the metal punctured the balloon. This left an extremely disappointed kid carrying a straightened out hanger with a shred of rubber dangling from its tip. Most times, the kid took his frustration out on another kid.
If you were lucky, you might witness two kids leaving the store with their balloons at the same time. Walking in the same direction, smiles on their faces, arms outstretched, hoisting their balloons toward the clouds, screaming without sound, “Hey look at me!” “No, look at me!”
Suddenly one of the balloons burst. With no pause, the victim turned toward the still breathing balloon delivering a deathblow. The two aggrieved parties ~ a midget reenactment of the Hamilton-Burr incident, with hangers replacing traditional pistols, dueling to the death or stopping when a parent carefully intervened.
Pictured above n/e corner of 83rd Street & First Avenue ~ Sept 2010
Tonight on Yorkville radio, my special guest is Robin Hirsch, co-founder of the Cornelia Street Cafe in 1977. Robin is the Minister of Culture, Wine Czar, and Dean of Faculty. With the magnificent aid of Angelo Verga and other superb curators, Robin produces 700 cultural events a year; and finds time to perform and write (Last Dance at the Hotel Kempinski, MOSAIC: Fragments of a Jewish Life, FEG: Stupid Poems for Intelligent Children).
This week "Yorkville: Stoops to Nuts" radio celebrates: The History of the Cornelia Street Cafe ~ A West Village neighborhood institution for 33 years. Listen live to the show @ 9pm @ Tuesday, or anytime on the Centanni archive: