RUDIMENTS 605.

RUDIMENTS, pt. 605

(never, ever got airborne)

Well, summation time seems

immanent but I'm not paying

it any mind at all. The thing is,

I never thought I'd see 70; it

still astounds me. And all of

this now is my way of a sort

of recollecting what's transpired

in the lunar (or was it solar?)

haze of what went by me. I

mostly can still remember

teething and what that was

like - then losing those teeth

and getting new ones again.

The second time mostly one

at a time. Even back then I

marked that as one of life's

odd sequencings, and marked

it accordingly as needing more

study. I remember, out by

Columbia Crossroads, some

amazing trailer guy there,

named Claude. No teeth had

he, and a large family, and a

wife. In a run down trailer a

ways out in the woods. No one

approached him much, ever

- bad name, bad reputation,

just somehow a bad taste in

everyone's mouth about him.

I never did find out what he

did to get to that point, but it

was before my time and I start

everyone out the same. At zero,

and work it up from there. So,

I had no knowledge of Claude,

about 12 years older than me,

who he was, nor what was behind

it all. He was nice to me, I was

nice back. Anyway, it was them

who sent him to me. The Bd. of

'Education' or the Welfare people,

as they combined forces; they

gave this guy the pittance of a

job - looking like it anyway -

for his 60 bucks a week to feed

his family and heat his trailer.

(I know his last name and I was

able to find him online - living

just a few miles from where he

did then. Seems is wife has passed

on, and the kids, apparently, have

filtered out. He's entered his 80's,

which I never thought he'd see -

but I'm not using his last name).

Working with me? I hardly had

enough for myself, plus I had

two after high-school kids each

day for sweeping and clean up.

I gave old Claude a broom, and

said 'stand by, keep after things.'

I stayed busy, in the cold, tending

the coal furnaces (two) for the

school's heat, etc. Plus I was

into a deep-read of both 'Future

Shock,' by Alvin Toffler, and

'The Greening of America,' by

Charles Reich.

-

Claude got there most every day;

it was maybe three or four miles

for him. His old car, quite literally,

sat on its chassis sort of sideways,

like something was really off kilter,

and when he drove down the road

the car, I swear, was not facing

straight forward. It was 'going'

forward, yes, but was twisted or

something in a manner that made

it closer to looking as if it was

going sideways. Claude's big

dream, which he told me one time

when he found out I was from

Jersey, was to someday make it

to 'the Jersey Shore,' so he could

see the girls there in their 'kibinis.'

Yes, that's what he said. I realized

immediately he definitely must

have meant 'bikinis,' so I just

smiled softly and let it be. Funny

ways with language up there.

Another time the school district

sent me an older guy as a welfare

helper too - lasted only a little -

and he was from Conshohocken,

PA, where he'd once had a family

and kids and all. But he insisted

always on pronouncing it, in all

truthfulness now, and just as he 

spoke it, as 'Connieshohawkin.'

That was a weird one to me. All he

most ever did, and frankly I never

much cared, was sit around after

he was done cleaning up the lunch

room, and watch Beverly Hillbillies

daytime re-runs on some school TV

set he'd dragged out of a closet and 

set up at the back of the stage. They 

played maybe two or three of them,

in a row, each afternoon, and then 

they went to, I don't know, Munsters 

or Adams Family or Bonanza re-runs.

All behind the curve stuff for sure; 

Claude ate it up some too.

-

I was sure mostly adrift in that place

and spent a lot of my time, truth be

told, in the main office room sitting

around with the teachers. At least

they had half-brains. At this time

there were a few interesting things

going on, stuff we could talk about.

The Pentagon Papers fiasco, the

MyLai Massacre and Lieutenant

Calley stuff, Nixon and re-election

and all that crime crap, Wallace

getting shot, Nixon taking the

dollar off the gold standard, the

end of Bretton Woods, etc. None

of those welfare chumps or the

after-school kids ever knew what

the Hell I was talking about. The

coolest thing was this Clifford

Irving guy, a writer, who was

caught out for writing a fake

autobiography of Howard Hughes.

That was a bid scandal too -

Hughes was a reclusive billionaire,

germaphobic, long fingernails

and hair, a real eccentric nut-case,

holed away in Las Vegas, seeing

no one and living off his billions.

He had, in the past, been a pioneer

aviator, built a plywood plane,

enormous, called The Spruce

Goose, but which never, ever,

got airborne, and he'd made

early Hollywood films, even

had groomed some big babe

as a famous movie starlet. She

later sold 48-hour bras. Jane

Russell, I think was her name.

-

None of that sounds like much now,

but back then it was all something

to do. Claude never got the half

of it right. Every time there was a

big snow or a real rough cold snap,

locals would get their snowmobiles

out (I never had one) and deliver

parcels of food to the really poor,

bad-off families out in the hills

and hollows, dirt-roads and trailers.

Otherwise, they'd die; snowed in

and freezing. It was some rough

stuff. Claude was one of them. I

visited there a few times, and I

drove his kids in the schoolbus

sometimes too. His daughter, the

nicest of the lot, was about 9 or

10 then, named April. She was

really sensitive and aware. I

always felt bad for her (and

unfortunately, in his family-kin

listings now, I do NOT anywhere

see anyone named April, so

who knows?)....One time I

went there (don't read this if it

will cause you grief; it's harsh,

and sad) I guess their trailer

plumbing was out or something,

and he'd cut a hole in the trailer

floor; which they used instead.

Everything was skirting the

horrendous, and it wasn't just

Claude. There were people living

in some real desperation out

there, or trying to. I never heard

of anyone dying or freezing to

death, nor any repercussions

from this sort of dire living,

but it may have happened. In

that time period, there was a

particular form of real poverty,

almost like Appalachia, that had

its tendons stretched out through

these parts. I remember being in

the Troy Bank once and the guy

telling someone near-over to me

how he was so sorry and these

were really tough times and all

but they simply could not extend 

any more money to him. It was all

so matter of fact, as if he just

figured to leave out, 'even if 

your kids are starving and there's

never any milk and your wife is 

sick and you yourself are without

any livelihood...'

-

It was all new and uncharted for

me too - whatever bravado I put

forth was half bluster. Some of

these people, the teachers for

example, many of their dreams

were of the nightmares I'd just

left : New York City, free and

bohemian ways, stylish digs, all

the streets of possibility and of

promise. I'd listen, throw in only

a few of my own observations

and points, but could never really

delve into what I'd been amidst.

And anyway, I wasn't one of them,

and it was their room, and I was

allotted the often-privilege of

being in there, even if I was but

the janitor-in-chief.