I Met him in Lower East Manhattan at a Grassroot Tavern
This blog is to be about culture around town, but here and there I make an exception and shout to the world some personal stories without which my life would not be as funky and lovely.
So today is about this unassuming guy who knows more than one can understand: How every machine works, how historical events went, how cars and ships and planes came about, what politicians said when and why, how to stand on skis or a windsurf, how to build a house or a tree house, how to plumb, how to wire, how to tile, how to build a table, an armoire, a chest of drawers, how to repair a hair dryer or a car, how to make a perfect vanilla croissant, and such.
He also plays guitar and I love to sing along. He loves to dance and I join in often. He loves to travel and I am always in his crew. (Or is he in mine?) He loves to sail and with trepidation I board with him.
And there is so much more to say, like how one day when he was twenty three he decided after a careful deliberation to flee his country for freedom, and he climbed over the Julian Alps crossing a border from Yugoslavia to Italy. After the one day trip negotiating the mountains and avoiding the guards, with fifty dollars to his name, one backpack and Exacta, a reputable camera, he appeared by a small road. He was waiting if a car would ever appear and it did. He hoisted his thumb rather sheepishly and the white Citroën stopped and this rather shy unassuming guy asked: Italia? Am I in Italia? The young driver breaks into a wide smile and say "Certo che sei in italia!!", and reaches to open the passenger doors for this unlikely hitch hiker and takes him right to Roma....and what follows is a chapter of the next 16 months spent in "campo profughi" in Latina, a town below Rome, but that is for a different post.
What is left for this post is this poem I wrote. I am not a poet in any means, just sometimes I feel like pretending I am one. The following story describes “in veritas” how I met this guy who became my companion for life that amazes me daily. It is today, many years ago, when our story started:
Manhattan Dance
I met him at Lower East Manhattan
on a sweltering hot summer day
I was a lonely traveler then
Witnessing and living all of the sensations
of this happy new world:
Just like my first day
the beauty of endless choice of bagels
and fruit parfaits
in Queens’ Deli on Astoria Ave
or
the sweet smell of something
they called Kentucky Fried Chicken
or
the daily rides in the stuffy hot subway
where I am
one of them
one of the world
freely going from place A to place B
already
accepted by Ellis Island clerks as much as I was concerned
And before I know it
I am swaying in his arms
dancing to juke box
in St. Mark’s Place in the Grassroot bar
to Eric Clapton’s story
about wonderful tonight
And I notice right there
what a noble person my partner is
even though
I know next to nothing about him-
His calloused hands
His careful choice of words
His patriotism – the latter and the acquired
His concerns
And right then I am swept over the ocean
back to my old country
only to come back
six months later on
the Fourth of July
And here at JF Kennedy is my partner
the one from my first Manhattan dance
shy, fidgeting with his keys in his hand
smiling
in Canadian shirt, blue soccer shorts
and white Italian tennis shoes
that carried him from the familiar there to the unknown here
And before I know it
I sit next to him
In his white Ford 150
Listening to his soft voice
sharing his fortunes and misfortunes
his yesterday’s and tomorrow’s
And again
I know right here
That this kind young man who was willing to dance with me
My first Manhattan dance
is endlessly good
And something changes the way
I look at him
I start assessing all of his moves and words and looks
checking whether I agree with it:
I start judging as if he were on
Behavior observation
A test
That he better passes
Because
I am happily losing my head
For this soft-spoken easy-going guy
And yes
He passes and surpasses all of my secret tests
I devise day and night
Just to be sure
That it might be true after all
That there are such men:
believing in hard work
going around life without ever cheating anyone
and possessing the right amount of modesty
I am charmed by humble hard-working men
as this one
With his wealth of stories about this old good world
And wealth of wisdom about every day traps
Most of all though
This gentle young man
With wild long hair
Abounds with wonderful sense
Of the ancient companionship
With all of the iron rules
That are not to be broken
Not to mention
That he plays guitar
And it is something
I like to pretend
That I require of “my ”men
without exceptions
Life can get difficult
And a song scares the ugliness away
And I need one more voice
To scream over it
to win
And yes
he got somewhere in universe
the courage
for decision that
I may
just like that
fit his vision
of his woman
And he quickly shared it with me
in his beautiful discreet way
To my surprise
And everlasting happiness
So
Ever since
that man with hazelnut eyes
Has been the one
knowing every secret I have
And yes
Here we are today
On a sunny Sunday
Days and weeks and years later
And yet again I wonder
About the lucky star
Shining brightly
Above old good Chicago
Where I almost lost all of my wits
By realizing
That I became the chosen one
for my first Manhattan dance partner
Such a luck
deserves
to be celebrated every day
And so we do
By sharing and living
Our well kept secret
Mainly by dancing
With a smile and vigor
On sandy beaches
forest paths or hot city sidewalks
I see it
as quite a dance