FRIENDS.George Snedeker

After graduating from high school, I attended a small liberal arts college for three semesters before becoming a college dropout. I enjoyed reading books and discussing ideas, but there was something depressing about college life; it felt too much like high school. I thought college would be a Platonic dialogue with sex, drugs and revolution. Instead of Socrates, I found the same kids there I knew in high school. They followed me to college with new names and new faces.

After dropping out of college, I worked in factories for the next few months. I got a job in the Levkowitz Leather Factory. I worked as a floor boy, carting the pieces of leather cut on the sixth floor down to the second floor, where they were made into camera cases.

One of the cutters asked me if I had graduated from high school.  When I told her I had, she laughed and said, “Then what are you doing here?” I was not sure what I was doing at the Levkowitz Leather Factory, so I told my supervisor I would be leaving at the end of the week. He tried to convince me to stay, but there was no way I would stay in a dead end job like this one. 

There were no good jobs in New Brunswick, so I moved to New York where I met Zackary Landau in the 23rd Street YMCA. Zackary had spent fifteen months in a mental hospital for trying to commit suicide by swallowing a bottle of Excedrin.

Zackary was a bit paranoid. He believed someone had stolen one of his Beatle’s albums. One day, while walking down the hall, he heard “Here Comes the Sun “as he passed by my room. He knocked on my door to see if I was the thief. I quickly pointed to my radio to prove my innocence.

We soon became friends and rented an apartment together on Bleecker Street. It was a fourth floor walk-up which went for $70 a month. Thank God for Rent Control.

Our toilet was out in the hall. It had a padlock on the door. You had to pull a chain to flush; our bath tub was in the kitchen. Someone had painted the words: “Beware of WOP” on one of the walls of the apartment. We soon found out the meaning of this message. Our slumlord tried to force us to pay an extra $20 a month.

We often went to the Eighth Street Book Store. Zackary would take a book off one of the shelves and began reading aloud. It did not matter what book or what page he read from. All of the store clerks gave us dirty looks.

We went to open poetry readings at St. John’s Church. Donald Lev was the MC. A guest poet would usually begin by reading for a half hour or so, then anyone could read some of their poems. Zackary and I each read three of our own poems.

Ree Dragonette was the guest poet. I can’t say why, but she began attacking Donald Lev for no apparent reason. Her daughter tried to calm her down by saying, “Mother stop!” Dragonette did calm down but not right away.

Zackary and I often hung out at the Wayward, a Christian storefront. We befriended Paranoid Dave there. I also met Ann Marie there.

The goal of the Wayward was to spread the word of Jesus to street people in the East Village. I don’t think many souls were saved. It was a place where people could hang out and talk about whatever was on their minds. No one was forced to pray or sing hymns that would have been a real turn off. It was a place to get out of the cold and have a free cup of coffee. 

When Ann Marie and I began living together, Zackary gave up the apartment on Bleecker Street; he also lost his Public Assistance. The last time I saw Zackary, he was a homeless man living in the Men’s Shelter on East 3^rd Street. One day he took off for California; I’ve never heard from him again.

Ann Marie and I lived in a studio apartment on East 6^th Street, right across the street from the WAYWORD. One night while trying to sleep, we kept hearing a rat gnawing under the floor. I banged my shoe several times, but it did no good.

I spent half a day installing a police lock on the apartment door. I had to drill a hole so the iron bar could be attached to the floor. I also hung a gate on the window by the fire escape so we would feel safe. These were dangerous times in the East Villege. Paranoid Dave was mugged on Avenue B. Some guy hit him over the head with a two by four.

The Paradox was a macrobiotic restaurant on East Seventh Street. Paranoid Dave went there to eat what other people left in their bowls. Dave began snorting Heroin every six months, then every three months, then once a month. Soon he was hooked. He started stealing books from Christian storefronts. How low can you go?

Dave got on welfare. They put him up in the 23^rd Street Hotel, where rats ran down the halls. The last time I saw Dave, he was on Methadone Maintenance. He came to visit Ann Marie and I, but all he wanted to do was eat chocolate cake and listen to Felonious Monk records. I tried putting on Jefferson Star Ship, but Dave would not hear of it!

Ann Marie and I volunteered in a storefront social agency called, The New Way Center, located at 21 2^nd Avenue, in a condemned building we rented from the City of NY for $1 a year. We offered psychological counseling, a free meal once a day, and we tried to help people find a place to crash for the night. 

One of our clients was called, Space Judy. When she had her period, Space Judy would run into the street howling at the moon. One day, we were having a group discussion. Judy looked straight into my eyes and said, “I know that you are R. D. Laing in disguise!” I was caught a little off guard but got my wits back in time to tell Judy I was not R. D. Laing. I knew, and Judy knew she was just pulling my leg! 

Another of our clients was Demos. Demos had a bad temper. It often got him into trouble. He and his girlfriend, Brenda, were married in the New Way Center. The wedding was intended to be a joyous occasion.

Somehow, things got out of control. A fight broke out! Someone accidentally punched Brenda. She was taken to Beth Israel Hospital. Demos told anyone who’d listen, he’d kill whoever it was who punched Brenda.

After two friends of ours were murdered on East 4^th Street, Ann Marie and I decided to move out of the East Village.

I gave an alcoholic named Bill my old winter coat. I only needed one coat and had two while Bill had none. Now that winter was coming on, I knew that Bill, who drank too much, would be cold. I heard that Bill had been stabbed to death in an apartment on East 4^th Street by some guy who thought he was Charles Manson. 

Joy wore a chain as a belt to hold up her dungarees and for protection. These were dangerous times in the East Village. She believed she had sex with the Devil. Some people said she was dreaming. Others said she was out of her mind.

One day, Joy was gone. She had been murdered by a guy she took in for the night. I doubt if this was her Devil. It could have been. I’ve got no idea who he was.

After Bill and Joy were murdered, Ann Marie and I moved uptown. We found a garden apartment on Broadway, near 204^th Street. Things went pretty well for a while.  Ann Marie and I continued to work at the New Way Center for a couple more years. I got myself together and returned to college.

Things did not go as well for Ann Marie. She began hanging out in bars. She tried going to college, but college proved to be too much for her. She passed some bad checks in local stores before leaving New York. I found out about this when store owners called asking me if I knew where she was living. I told them I did not know where she had moved to. Passing checks was one of Ann Marie’s bad habits. It often got her into trouble with the law. 

One day she knocked on the apartment door, but I did not let her in. I knew I could not help her and that she could no longer be trusted since she had cashed a check of mine, which she denied when I asked her about it. If Ann Marie had admitted cashing my check I would have forgiven her. Both Zackary and Ann Marie were out of my life for good. It was time for me to move on.

When I returned to college, I felt less alienated from the other students, and I met interesting people as I traveled back and forth to Hunter College. I noticed that there were more homeless people in New York now than there had been a few years ago when Zackary became homeless.  

Homeless people talked to me. They see me as being as bad off as they are. There used to be a guy who sat on a step on 32^nd Street. When I passed him he always said, “Hi, buddy. “ I returned his greeting and made my way to catch the uptown N or R train. One day he disappeared; I’ve never seen him again. Like Zackary, he was gone for ever. 

Jack has been living in the streets for five years. He begs every day to get money for a bite to eat. He has a crutch that he uses, just like in The Three Penny Opera, that he's never heard of. They didn't assign Brecht in Jack’s high school.

The other day on the N train, Jack was telling the story of his accident and how he just got out of the emergency room of Beth Israel Hospital, when a blind man offered to give Jack a dollar. He said, "No man, that's ok!" and quickly made his way out the door and back into the next subway car, as the train moved on.

Martha sat in her wheelchair on West 32^nd Street where she begged every day starting at about 4 p.m. “You know, SSI’s not enough!”

She could hear the blind man coming towards her: the tap, tap, tapping of his cane. She always said “hello!” to him just before he reached her chair, so he’d know to swerve around her and make his way across 7^th Avenue into Penn Station. They both knew that she was not really saying “hello.” It was her way of letting him know it was time to swerve a couple of steps to the left.

He stepped over the broken sidewalk, careful of potholes, as he made his way into Penn Station. The crowd was dense. All of a sudden people began to charge toward their trains. Suburban ramblers making a mad rush…

Larry claimed to be a Vietnam vet. He was raving. I thought that the cop who patrols this area of Penn Station would tell him he'd have to leave. I’ve seen him hanging out here before, talking loudly, but not out of control. 

He walked up to me and said, "How long have you had that beard? “I told him, “About forty years." He smiled and said, "It’s cool! I like it."