4 memories

People I know. Known some for a long time, others for not so long a time. Four people from my past died last year. Hadn’t seen them or spoken to them in ages but still hearing of their passing was a bit of a shock.

The one that I first knew in the 1970’s was William Vignola. His father and my father were World War 2 veterans and members of the same VFW in Saddle Brook NJ. William’s mother and my mother usually accompanied their husbands to the watering hole of Post 3484. New Year’s Eve was a big event at the VFW (and elsewhere I reckon).

William was too young to be left alone and so was my brother Brian and me so someone had the bright idea to have William, Brian, and myself all together at the Vignola house for the night. Plenty of soda and snacks and we were able to stay up to midnight unsupervised.

William was a year or two younger than me and I was five years younger than Brian. William had some of the coolest new toys and games too. Time went on and I saw less and less of William.

The last time I recall was at a barbecue at his parent’s house. William got involved with the music world and wound up being Tommy Lee from Motley Crue’s assistant. He was even on Tommy Lee’s TV show but I never got around to seeing “Vig” on it since I didn’t have cable. And let’s face it, I could care less for Tommy Lee or Motley Crue.

Then there was Pattie Kleinke. I used to see her at Maxwell’s at various shows. She was a big REM fan and even published a fanzine on them. One night while leaving Maxwell’s I saw her outside waiting for a cab. I was headed back to Lodi and offered her a ride.

She lived in Weehawken and it wasn’t too far out of my way. Up the hill to Weehawken and I dropped her off on Jane Street early one morning. Later, in 1991 I heard from my dear friend Charlie that an apartment in Pattie’s house was available. Charlie saw it and found it to be too much of a fixer-upper. He suggested I look at it since living in Lodi with my father for a few months, I was in a desperate spot.

Charlie suggested that his brother William and I move in since it was large enough so one night we looked at it and decided right then and there that we would move in. I’d say maybe 90% of the time it was a really good situation.

William and I would bump heads every now and then and not speak with each other for a few days. It was a large enough apartment so avoiding each other could be accomplished mostly. The rent was incredibly cheap too.

In 2000 I met Bill and he started coming over and spending the night. One night we were watching Saturday Night Live and Bill was laughing so hard he fell off the couch. He does that a lot, it’s adorable. Pattie and her brother Fred who lived underneath us didn’t find it adorable and issued an ultimatum, in writing.

Due to it being unfair to them and not to mention my long-suffering roommate, William, Bill was only allowed over one or two nights a week. The writing was on the stationery as well as the wall and I felt it was time to move on after 11 years.

Pattie and Fred watched me move out and were greatly upset that I didn’t knock on their door to say thank you and goodbye. Loquacious Fred stated I was lucky the door didn’t hit me on the ass when I was leaving. It was probably the first and only time he got to say something as butch as that and I thought it hilarious. Probably said it while he was in the bathtub. TWKWK.

Then there was Kevin Craughn. The first time I met Kevin was at a party that two friends were having. More of a hang-out than a party though. A mutual friend was there in the midst of a nervous breakdown but nobody knew that then and thought they were having a bad acid experience.

Kevin was the brother of friends of ours and he lived with them a few doors down from Maxwell’s. He also started working at Maxwell’s where he was a beloved character to some and quite a character to others. We fought and argued a few times, he pissed me off quite a bit.

I moved in with him in what can now be described as a hovel across the street from my first apartment a few years before. We lived together for maybe a year before we were forced out. Time moved on, I stopped hanging out at Maxwell’s and saw less of Kevin.

I did see him at a birthday party for yet another mutual friend and was stunned to see that Kevin had put on quite a few pounds, so much so that I called him the Kingpin from the comic books and he didn’t like that.

We would talk on the phone every now and then, and at first it was funny. He was a terrible gossip and soon I found things that I mentioned to him coming back to me from someone else. It didn’t end well and we did not speak again.

Finally, there was Doreen Galante. She was from Staten Island and quite a looker with an amazing head of hair and a beautiful face and smile. A nice person at an awful job that I had for a few years. She always said she was on my side and anything I said to her would be in confidence though she was good friends with the office manager who I would complain about.

Whether or not she maintained that confidence I don’t know. She hated that idiot president too, so we were 2 blue specks in what was more than likely an angel dustbowl of red. But my memories of Doreen are generally kind.

They all died last year, 2023.

On the phone again

It’s later than usual. And the desire…the need…the urge to write is persistent. I just had a nice phone call with my dear friend Billie, from Washington DC. We’ve known each other for about 40 years now and a few phone calls do the trick of reconnecting. Lots of laughs.

I sent a video of Malcolm McLaren’s Madame Butterfly via texting and was going to text him a bit about the song. I realized that he had the phone in his hand and I should call him instead of texting. Old school Alexander Graham Bell style.

He had long dreadlocks for about 30 years and in the past April, decided it was time for a change. Chopped off the dreads and shaved his head. Quite a change but he felt it was necessary. And also being the age he is, just a couple more than me means you really don’t care what other people think.

I told Billie about two friends of Bill and me who did mushrooms at the beach one night a while ago. One of them was feeling some intensity which led the other more experienced tripper to alleviate the situation and did his best imitation of the B-52’s Fred Schnieder singing Junebug from the Cosmic Thing LP.

It seemed to work so he then sang bits of Malcolm McLaren’s Madame Butterfly. From what I was told things chilled out considerably.

I also brought up a story from my past, from when I was hanging out with Guyanese Rastas in the nineties. I decided to try and grow my own dreadlocks and for a few days, twisted my straight blondish hair with beeswax. I thought I looked cool but really? No one told me otherwise.

I also developed a rash all over my body. One day I was in midtown Manhattan during the summer. It was feeling like 100 degrees. The beeswax in my hair was melting. I had enough and went to a Korean barber that I went to every now and then.

It was a front for a massage parlor or what is called today, sex trafficking. When you walk through the door, if you make a right, you’re in the barbershop. If you go left, you see women in bikinis on a couch. I of course went to the barbershop. The barber did not know much English so I pointed to a photo on the mirror and said ‘This please’.

I felt better. The rash went away within 24 hours. It led me to believe that I was more than likely allergic to beeswax. But then again what do I know, besides cutting off the hair with beeswax and the rash going away?

It is a nice summer night tonight. A documentary on John Lennon and Yoko Ono is being DVR’d on PBS. Of course, it’s during the pledge drive, so it’s a money beg. If I had the dough I would but all things considered, I really shouldn’t. You should though. Be my guest.