There Will Be Blood

Mr. Beller's Neighborhood published my bloody Yorkville story. Thank you, Mr. Beller's! 

At 16, my dream job was working behind the deli counter at Daitch Shopwell. As a stock boy this would be a coup. Watching Milton or Marty cut thin slices of rare roast beef and Jarlsberg Swiss, I cried with pain. Pain that some son of a bitch was going to eat that tasty mound of meat and cheese and it wouldn’t be me. One Saturday in 1970, Milton got sick and Marty asked if I wanted to help him out for the ladies afternoon cold cut rush?
“Huh?”

Did I want to see Emma Peel nude?
Did I want Ranger tickets on the glass?
Stupid questions, of course I wanted to be in the deli. And there I was, helping Marty make orders and sneaking bits of delicious cold cuts left and right into my mouth. I gained five pounds that day.

The following month, Milton was scheduled to be off for two Saturdays in a row, and Marty talked Harry Cohen, #16 store manager, into letting me cover. “Harry, you’ll save money using the kid!” Harry looked like Mr. Dithers from the Blondie comic strip. He pulled his starched collar, wiggled his neck with the huge hairy mole and said, “OK.”



I brought my LaSalle Academy schoolbag in. 

It was well used and had holes in its four corners from me throwing it around the subway platform while waiting for the #6 local at Bleecker Street. I needed the bag. I had no control this close to the goods. I talked Marty into letting me cover up the salads so he could leave early. This left me alone with the roast beef and Jarlsburg. I finely cut 3/4 of a pound each on the slicer, wrapped them like a spastic, and shoved the wax paper lumps into my bag. Making sure Pete the Assistant Manager saw how good a job I did cleaning the sawdust off the deli floor, I gathered my bag and said good night to all and went around the registers towards the exit. Two steps from the automatic door, I heard, “Pryor!” I turned towards the voice. The Assistant Manager was looking down. I followed his eyes and saw a long trail of blood leading from Pete’s feet to my LaSalle bag.

“Drip, drip, drip,”
I listened to the faint sound of my thieving deli days being cut off.

You Really Got Me, Emma Peel

OK, I loved Elizabeth Montgomery. I put up with many crappy Bewitched episodes to watch her cute face and occasionally peek at Mrs. Tate. I did like Barbara Feldon because she resembled a girl I had a crush on ~ and Agent 99 smiled at me through the screen, a lot more than the object of my affection did.

.

But in October 1965, all the other girls went out the window and there was only one, Emma Peel on The Avengers.

.

The New York Giants stunk in 1965, so all my attention that fall was available for this tall, lean, intelligent, sarcastic, athletic, gorgeous, articulate and funny goddess. Based on what I was being told in school and church, about things that sent you to hell, I'm surprised I wasn't picked up personally by the devil in a checker cab and escorted immediately to his hottest room.

.

My brain burned an image of Diana Rigg on it's main screen and stayed there all week until showtime on Friday night. Much to the chagrin of my mother, Dad used a power drill with a buff attachment to shine his dress shoes at the end of the week. If Emma was on TV, Dad would rest his chore and join me in adoration. I always slept well after The Avengers.

.

Ray Davies and the Kinks tells Emma Peel how he feels about her, click Kelly Garrett's video below:

.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ve9N9oaXU18&feature=related

Sway ~ Till the End of the Day

Like my fathers' mother, like my father, I love my stuff. I'm no Collyer brother, my place is neat, in it's own way. I still own my first two records, both by Dave Seville and the Chipmunks: "Witch Doctor," in 1958, and 1959, "Alvin's Harmonica." The football is from 1969 and the main reason it's still here: I religiously duct taped it like a car accident victim. When I had no duct tape I used electric tape, this pissed Dad off, since most wires in our apartment and my grandmother's apartment were frayed and Dad kept a roll in his pocket on the weekend.
.
After 40 years of flying over and bouncing along concrete and asphalt, my friend, "Herman," the football stands by my side.
.
I was talking with a friend about how much I love Ray Davies and the Kinks music. This reminded me of a frigid November Saturday afternoon in 1965 when I was eleven.
.
For some reason, I was staying over my Aunt Barbara's apartment in Elmhurst. I liked to wander around the neighborhood by myself, so I was window shopping along Roosevelt under the El and Jackson Avenue. I had a buck, which meant today I would buy one 45 single, and it better be a good one. When I was eleven, no decision carried as much weight and thought as buying a record. There was a small music store near the Jackson movie house. I tired out the clerk looking over the new releases and finally decided on "Till the End of the Day," by the Kinks, because I heard "Where Have All the Good Times Gone?" the flip side once and liked it fine. It was a unexpected gift buying a single when the B side was a good song too.
.
I ran a half mile to Barbara's apartment on Macnish Street, not breathing, said hi, and went straight to the Victrola. Saw something disturbing.
.
"Barbara, why is the record player unplugged?"
"It's broke.'
"Huh?"
OK now I was in hell. New music with no means of playing it. I dropped into a chair. Barbara saw the shape I was in and made a suggestion.
.
"Tommy, Joannie's not home, but why don't you go try Betty?"
.
Barbara, my Aunt Joan, and their friend Betty Mulhern, all lived in the building. Betty Mulhern was Emma Peel, Barbara Feldon and Serena, Samantha's evil cousin all rolled into one. If you didn't like brunettes, and saw Betty, you'd like brunettes. She danced every new dance, and her wild hair flew. She wore tight shorts on long legs, she wore clam diggers, she painted her pretty toes. Her eyes sparkled, her nose twitched. I couldn't make eye contact with her without my belly feeling funny.
.
I went down the hall and knocked on Betty's door. Music was playing.
.
"Hey Tommy, what's up?"
"Hmmm, I have a new record, Barbara's player is broken. Can I play it on yours?"
"Sure, come in."
I put it on. Betty was doing the dishes, and she started to sway her hips. All I could do was watch her move back and forth, back and forth.
.
I played both sides five times. Would have made it six, if Barbara didn't come in to retrieve me.