Tag Archives: Hyman Gross

I Really Taught Me To Watusi

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Yes I did not post yesterday. It was a friggin’ holiday and I decided to not write, which in turn gave you all (both of you) the opportunity to not read. A ‘win win’ situation wouldn’t you say? I know I would. Yesterday was very much a mellow day, Bill was home the night before after driving to Massachusetts and back. Sleep came fairly easy, dreams somewhat disturbing. I was up earlier than expected thanks to some neighbors taking advantage of rebuilding after the storm to remodel their apartments without building permits and it sounded like a basketball game was in progress.

I’m sure there are a few people in town avoiding the building permit scene and doing whatever remodeling they could do. Some people are definitely in need of rebuilding but in my building a tenant is merely trying to make room for his wife moving back in. So being up early allowed me to go to the supermarket nearby to get a few things before the Thanksgiving last minute rush kicked in. I got a few things and then headed home where I had a nice breakfast. Bill was still asleep when I came back and of course I let him sleep.

He eventually got up and got himself together. The plan was the same as last year, dinner at Oscar’s Brasserie in the Waldorf Astoria. We started going there two years ago with Hyman Gross. He used to go with his lady friend and since she passed away we decided to treat Hyman. I was working then so it was doable. Then Hyman passed away and we went to honor Hyman. I don’t know if we’ll go again next year. We get dressed up to find no one else is dressed up. The food is great though.

After dinner a walk across town back to the bus terminal as we smoked our cigars. Someone blessed me with a few Cubans so it was especially enjoyable. Not too long of a wait for the bus and not too many people. A couple of hours after we left Hoboken for dinner, we were back in Hoboken, sated. Not much on the television so we watched a Harry Potter marathon which Bill seemed to enjoy. I of course told him to pay attention at certain points just so he would know who was who and what was what. It helped somewhat.

Soon it was bedtime for the Bonzos. Bill slumbered off first and I joined him shortly thereafter. This morning Bill was up first and out and about. I woke up to an empty apartment. I knew Bill was driving tonight and had no idea where he was. He soon came home, after spending some time talking with the neighbors. I showered and had some coffee that Bill made. He came home with more groceries and things he was going to need for the drive tonight. We spent some good time together before he headed out leaving me in solitude.

I unfortunately couldn’t help but feed the trolls. It seems a woman was photographed at Arlington Cemetery giving the finger to a sign that requested silence and respect. Yes, she flipped the bird to a sign. This of course cost her her job because she was disrespecting the dead, soldiers and veterans all at the same time by flipping off an inanimate sign. Oh she has stalkers after her, true ‘patriots’ screaming that she should go to Iran. You can just smell the tea and semen on their chins as they type.

And me being me, went to this woman’s defense. Yes it was a stupid joke, but ultimately it was harmless. ‘I have 37.5 relatives in national cemeteries and blah blah blah.’ Truly pathetic. I was slandered as well for pointing out the hypocrisy of terrible spellers. Pedro felt obliged to intervene and request that I stop feeding these trolls, and eventually I did.

I am quite glad there was no internet when I visited Ford’s Theater with my family in the 1960’s.

I also saw Shlomo at the smoke scene. He was hanging out with some guy named MJ. I just gave Shlomo a book that I’ve had for the past couple of years about cigars and tobacco, a handbook of sorts for tobacconists. I wasn’t using it as anything besides a doorstop and figured Shlomo would be better off with it than me. I think he figured I was angling for a free cigar but with the Cuban bounty that washed up on our doorstep, I could afford to walk off with a simple handshake. I don’t think Shlomo is used to someone like me, just being kind for no particular reason.





I’m The Urban Spaceman

I Can’t Wake Up

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Another day, another doofus again. I am the doofus, the day is the same yet somehow different. I am cigar shack bound, yesterday flew by- today not so much. Still somehow I did better than I expected sales wise. I was dragging ass, not through anything of my own doing, circumstances dictated how things went.

I had a customer and was walking into the humidor when it turned out to be an old customer of Calvin’s so that meant the customer went with him. I was fine with that, content to do half of what I did yesterday. But things being what they are, and leaving just Jerry Vale and myself in the shack, somehow I caught up on things. A flurry of customers helped as well as an out of state shipment.

Just had a nice chat with my favorite customer, (or one of them (sorry my friend my friend- you’re still top ranking) Jimmy Seltzer who said that I was a good writer which made me blush and flustered. Still a good thing to hear. As I was writing about my friend my friend, my friend came in, back from Southern California. Not a good trip, close relative passed away.

Good to see him, and though he and his close relative weren’t THAT close, I still offered my condolences. It can’t be easy even if there is distance between 2 people.

Now I am home again, Bill is at Le Poisson Rouge in Destinations tonight. That means he won’t be getting home until late, and then he has to wake up and go to work again. He’s done it before so we know it can be done, but sometimes he does it so often, perhaps too often that he has a physical breakdown and winds up crashing and having to spend a day or two in bed.

The other night as we were driving home, we drove past one of Hyman Gross’ haunts and I mentioned to Bill that I missed Hyman. Bill agreed and said he did too. Tonight as I waited at the gate at the bus terminal I found myself missing him. And now with Patrick Morrissey possibly dead as well, well I suppose that this is how the future will be.

Remember so & so? Well they’re dead. And wakes become social events. I wrote the other night how seeing a flamboyant bird like Patrick walking down Washington Street unmolested made me decide that Hoboken was the place for me.

About a year after that, I was a living on the floor above Patrick and his then boyfriend Alphonso Portillo. I had a car at the time and in early 1985 or 1986 I was driving home on a winter evening and slid on black ice through a stop, hitting a car driving up Adams Street. I hit my head, and my car conked out.

I restarted the car and a huge flame shot out from under the hood. I got out of the car and ran to the fire station a block away. It was all within sight of my apartment building, two blocks away. The firemen put out the fire and of course the police arrived on the scene.

My paper work was a mess. My license, my registration and my insurance had three different addresses on each one. The police officer started giving me a hard time until Patrick showed up. Patrick told the officer to knock it off, to leave me alone.

The cop turned and said, ‘He’s a friend of yours Patty?’ And Patrick said I was. The cop backed off and Patrick walked me home after my car (my last car) was towed away to the junk heap. Patrick invited me down for dinner, meat loaf with a cream cheese filling (the only time I ever had that) as well as possibly the first time I had white wine. It was certainly a bonding experience.

Patrick and I had further adventures and escapades which I will write about some other time. If the news is the worst about Patrick, I certainly hope he is at peace. If not, I hope to see him again. I figure if someone living in Peru can read about Hyman Gross on this here blog, then someone in this world might be reading about Patrick Morrissey.