This is where it starts, or where it started. I am guessing 1982, my father took the family out to dinner in Hoboken. It was my first visit to the mile square city. I spent the afternoon buying clothes and records in the east village on St. Mark’s Place. Then I drove back to Lodi, changed my clothes and drove back to Hoboken. I didn’t really have much of an idea of where I should be going, but somehow I figured it out.

I’m not sure if it was called Sinatra Drive back then but as I made the turn around the bend, I was taken aback by the majesty of downtown Manhattan. The Twin Towers were impressive. I found a parking spot and soon joined my family for a nice Italian Dinner at Gerrinos at First and River Streets

My brother Frank had started going to Hoboken regularly, and it seemed this club called Maxwell’s was in the New York Times every week. The family dinner was on a Saturday, and the following Monday, at my job driving into Manhattan twice a day, I took a detour through Hoboken.

That Monday morning I was driving down Washington Street and at 7th and Washington by Village Market I saw this dandy in a mustard colored blazer. I knew he was gay, and flamboyant. And no one seemed interested in him, no one was denigrating him. He was a local peacock going about his business unharried.

I’m fairly certain that was a deciding factor in my moving to Hoboken. I had seen The Bongos live at the Meadowbrook in Cedar Grove and liked them very much. So much so I had blisters on my hands because I had been pounding the stage with my hands.

It turned out that The Bongos were a local band from Hoboken and played Maxwell’s frequently. Although The Bongos were my favorite, I do remember initially going to see The Individuals with Frank at Danceteria in Manhattan, just a block or two from where I am writing this. I liked the Individuals, but the Bongos had better songs.

I eventually made it to Maxwell’s on my own. I was intimidated by everything. I ordered a Coca-Cola from Martha, who was bartending, and I tried to be invisible. I don’t think I spoke to anyone, and I am not sure if I made it into the back room to see the band.

Obviously I kept going back. Living with my parents enabled me to have some cash and could afford Maxwell’s though I was drinking sodas and usually was not charged for them.

Sometime after that, I met Rand and Jose. They worked in the midtown Manhattan offices, where I made my twice daily trips. I noticed them from a distance and was alarmed by the fact they were behaving a lot like me. I found out they lived in Hoboken, and I asked if they went to Maxwell’s. They knew of Maxwell’s but found it too expensive, so they usually hung out at 923 Garden Street or 1105 Washington Street.

Jose lived at 202 Monroe Street, where Bill Wrice and I went to a party. Bill and I worked for the same book publisher that Rand and Jose worked at. I met Peter Missing at Jose’s party. Back then I thought it was a big deal, nowadays not so much.

I soon fell into this group of college graduates. I thought they were very intelligent and they did too. They also thought I was relatively smart as wee or so I would like to think. Many good times were had. Weed was smoked, films were made, powders ingested. I preferred the white pony whereas some enjoyed the white horse.

One time I introduced Jet Watley to these college graduates. Things were going well as far as I could tell, winding up at a bar on 7th Street in the East Village where one of the graduates, the “cook,” overdosed on the white horse and started turning blue. I didn’t see it myself, but Jet told me what he saw as this college graduate “cook” was carried out to the street where he recovered.

Jet was not impressed and might have been worried for my well-being after meeting the college graduate who turned blue from an overdose. He needn’t have worried since I was and still am against that particular substance.