April 6, 2026. Been at my desk for 90 minutes, a slow chilly Monday morning. Yesterday it was damp and I did not leave the apartment until this morning. Nothing was going on anyhow.

Evelyn Lampkin’s name popped into my head. Evelyn was a cook at Automat Kitchen. A newly opened restaurant in the Newport Tower in Jersey City. Good food, good concept, unfortunately they opened during the pandemic and during normal times it is hard enough to open a successful restaurant, during a pandemic it is even harder.

I contacted Bob Baydale who was a good guy. At the time I was working at Trader Joe’s and had 2 strikes against me. Being the flighty beasts they were, I knew I had no chance of staying there much longer. One strike was warranted, the other strike was arbitrary. I applied for the position of restaurant manager at Automat Kitchen and it was a good position, a Monday through Friday job, 10 AM – 6PM.

But there was no foot traffic in a building that used to house 4000 workers and now had 300 workers passing by and they were bringing their lunches.

It was an interesting staff. Bob was forever saying ‘to make a long story short’ which invariably would be an even longer story to be heard. But Bob was a good guy and it was not a big deal.
Jose was one of the cooks and he had hired two Turkish brothers who were nice enough.

Bob also hired Evelyn Lampkin who was a talented cook but rubbed people the wrong way. Evelyn insisted that we all wear matching uniforms, in front of restaurant and kitchen staff. I was dressing nice enough and no one would see the kitchen staff so it seemed like a silly idea.

Evelyn was surprised by my resistance and was offering to reimburse me for whatever slacks and shirt I could get in the nearby mall. I mentioned that we should focus on other pressing matters than how we should all dress alike.

The Turkish brothers and Evelyn did not get along. They may have worked together before Automat Kitchen but things had changed. Things were so different that one weekend afternoon, the Turkish brothers walked off the job rather than work with Evelyn one more minute.

Evelyn was accused of being too bossy and not having any social skills to not ruffle feathers. The Turkish brothers might have had a problem working with a Black woman. It was a no win situation and Evelyn was shown the door.

Somehow I had the foresight to know that Automat Kitchen was not going to last much linger and I set about getting a better job. Barry McGarry had liked my resume and I was called in for a Saturday morning interview.

I met with Rafe Dais and it went well. In hindsight I went from the frying pan into a wok. Barry McGarry was good for the first year or so but after that it all went down the gluteous maximus like Lito Semana after a trip to the bookstore.

Kennedy Park. Marge Williams. Two out of three ain’t bad. 1977 release. I remember being at Kennedy Park with Marge Williams, our neighbor. We must have been there for some reason related to Scott. I was 15.

A few years earlier at Kennedy Park, I was beaten up by Brian Palladino who would eventually marry Barbara Williams, Marge’s daughter. I have no idea why Brian stood above me while I sat crying as he beat me. I probably said something snotty and snarky while being forced to participate in Lodi’s Summer Recreation program since I could not be left alone without setting the house on fire.

It was the cusp between Freshman and Sophomore years in high school. Marge Williams heard the lines ‘I want you, I need you but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you, so don’t be sad, ‘cause two out of three ain’t bad’ and wanted to know more about it. In hindsight and through gossip it may have been around this time that Marge Williams’ marriage was falling apart and that song struck a chord within.

I spent a lot of time at 7 Riverview Avenue. I knew that house inside and out. They seemed to have everything, and I thought they were a more modern family, perhaps a younger family than mine. Later on, I was to find out that was not the case.

Marge Williams wanted a fish pond, and her husband Edward L. set about creating one. It was a haphazard affair, and there were no fish to speak of. Scott Williams, David Plauchino, and I would generally play in the backyard and cool off in the fish pond with no fish.

One summer afternoon, the three of us were cooling off when Jimmy Williams, the oldest son, showed up. Marge was inside and yelling at Jimmy, accusing him of being high. Whether or not he was, I couldn’t say. Marge insisted that his eyes were red and glassy and the more Jimmy denied being high, the more it seemed that he was actually high.

It wasn’t a good look for either of them, and Scott, David, & myself did our best to ignore the yelling and screaming going on. Perhaps this was when I started to see the cracks in the not-so-perfect facade of 7 Riverview Avenue. Once high school kicked into gear, I started to fade away from hanging out with Scott.

He was 6 years younger than me, and I was having enough trouble staying alive, negotiating the corridors of Paramus Catholic, and a year after that, joining the workforce. When I joined the workforce, I wound up reconnecting with Barbara Williams, who worked for the same book company, albeit in a different department.

Barbara would give me a ride home when we finished working at the same time, listening to the 8-track of Steve Martin, A Wild and Crazy Guy, or Toto’s album featuring ‘’Hold the Line’. So long ago and yet it seems like yesterday. Songs I remember I reckon.