I moved to Hoboken in 1984. I had a group of friends in town and started spending more and more time at McSwells. Hoboken was on its way to recovery then, the white flight was over and artists and musicians started moving into town in the early 1980’s. The first time I had come to Hoboken was when my father had taken the family to dinner at Gerrino’s at First Street and Hudson Place. I remember driving along the river on Sinatra Drive and driving around the hill I saw downtown Manhattan in all it’s glory at night.
I was in awe. That’s when I first fell in love with the town. A few days later, while doing my job of driving to Manhattan from Saddle Brook NJ I drove through Hoboken. It was midday as I drove down Washington Street when I saw a person that was in Technicolor. He was obviously gay with an artistic bent and no one bothered him or looked at him twice.
That turned out to be Patrick Morrissey. I figured that if this town was ok by him, and vice versa, then it would be fine for me too.
I soon set about finding a place to live. Somehow I found a loft at First and Park Ave, shared with two other guys. I always wanted to live in a loft and here one was. I envisioned late night party freak outs, that sort of thing. What I got was a lot of mosquito bites.
My part of the loft was situated next to an elevator shaft. At the bottom of the shaft was stagnant water where mosquitoes bred 10 months out of the year. It was April or May and I saw after a few days of living there my skin was quite swollen from the bites.
My roommates recommended getting mosquito netting and have fans blowing a lot so they couldn’t land. I didn’t move to Hoboken to live in conditions like this. It wasn’t a legal living situation either. All in all it was a drag. I dreaded going up the two flights of stairs in this once industrial building with ramps and gated doors. There was also very little privacy inside the loft.
Forget about having anyone over for fun when there were 2 other people listening to every little thing. I think I had my brother and or, my sister over for a visit. I don’t think they enjoyed the Stations of the Cross wallpaper in the bathroom. Didn’t bother me much, being an agnostic then, but I knew there’d be no way I’d ever have my mother over for tea. Not that she drank tea.
At McSwells I was starting to become familiar to Steve and Mary Fallon. The Fallon family owned McSwells. Steve was friends with my brother Frank, who probably asked Steve to keep an eye out for me. Steve in turn told his sister Mary to do the same.
One night, both Steve and Mary, separately told me that my roommates were strange and I’d be better off not living there. I scratched my swollen face and listened, not really knowing what to do next.
I went back to the loft and thought about what Steve and Mary said, about how unhappy I was, how this is not what I wanted at all. I was commuting back and forth from Hoboken to Saddle Brook and my coworkers, and my mother all remarked how cut up my face looked from the mosquitoes.
I took it all in and decided. I went back to Hoboken after work and my roommates must’ve picked up on a vibe. They asked me if I was going to stay, and to not lead them along. Perhaps someone told them about Steve and Mary, or maybe they just had a feeling.
I sat at the table and told them I had no intention of going. I went to bed and thought about the long hot summer approaching and how diseases are carried by mosquitoes. The next morning I woke up got dressed and before I left for work, I wrote a note.
I will be moving out by the end of the month. I can’t take the mosquitoes, but I might have a replacement who can.
I started packing up for Lodi.