I've been trying to remember the sequence of events of that Thanksgiving weekend of 1977. I knew we started off in Philly. Every year he went up for the Army-Navy game, which I'd always found odd because he was definitely not into spectator sports. And I knew that, before the game, we went up to NYC so that he could get me intoxicated, since I couldn't pass for old enough to drink in PA. But I couldn't remember with certainty which day we drove from Philly to NY. I was pretty sure it must have been Friday; there wouldn't have been any point in just going up for one night, even for what he had in mind.
I remember seeing Queen at The Spectrum that weekend. I think I remember taking the subway there, and walking back, being nervous both ways because of my unfamiliarity with the city. I can't remember if the station was just too crowded, or (as I think I recall) that the route didn't run that late at night. If it was impaired he was after, he didn't have to take me to New York. I was pretty stoned at the concert, as someone next to me had passed me one of those special cigarettes of which I used to partake back then. (There's something else I don't miss!) This concert was an added second night; their first concert had sold out so quickly they added a second, which didn't sell out at all, and I was able to get a fairly good seat. So through the twin wonders of the Web and Google, I've just confirmed that this was indeed a Thanksgiving night concert - no wonder it didn't sell out! (and so the reason I nervously walked to the hotel after the concert was that the route wasn't running that late on Thanksgiving. Bingo!) Therefore it was at breakfast on Friday morning that he broached the idea of going north, which seemed agreeable to me at the time.
Among the things I've never forgotten about that weekend was seeing a guy get assaulted in New York. There was a bar where I was waiting with the truck across the street - near the water? - for him to get back from some errand. Was he scoring some of that illegal substance of which I was fond, to finish the lowering of my resistance, or perhaps quickly getting his itch scratched? I don't remember why he'd left me there. But I saw a man walking very quickly downhill down a side street, which ended at a T at the street from which I was sitting across, where the entrance to the bar was on the corner. The bar door opened, and another guy comes stumbling down the steps, bumping rather forcefully into the guy walking down the street. The man who'd been walking along pulled out what looked like a pipe wrapped in light blue plastic and beat the inebriated interloper over the head a few times, then turned right and proceeded on his way to wherever he was going. I remember being shocked by the absurd brutality of the incident. First, what kind of place was this, that a person couldn't make allowances for someone who accidentally bumped them and, more significantly, where someone would routinely carry such a weapon around with them and use it so casually and callously?
(Later thought)
In retrospect, I suppose it was the sort of city to which a man with illicit plans would take a boy to consummate the 18-plus months of grooming he'd carried out so carefully.
No comments:
Post a Comment