I The Vampyres Of New York
A Novel
By
R. E. Prindle
Clip I
The years
add up. It was when my total was
approaching eighty that I took stock of my life. All the things I had put off to some distant
future now loomed important as I now realized I was in the only future I had
left. The future was limited. Any day now in all probability.
I had been dissatisfied
with my appearance for some time. Time
had passed and I hadn’t kept up with it.
I was dressing as I had thirty or forty years ago. It was time to invent a new persona, get a
new haircut, buy some new clothes. As
improbable as it may seem I fixed on the persona of Cary Grant as he appeared
in the old fifties movie To Catch A Thief.
Of course my looks were nowhere near Cary Grant’s at that time still I
was slender and not totally homely, besides clothes make the man and you can
buy clothes. I offed to LA in pursuit of
the perfect garb.
While I
found the perfect outfit, plaid jacket, a couple pair of pants and a cravat I
did take what would turn out to be a short sighted view. I should have selected a wardrobe rather than
an outfit. Nevertheless as I returned
home I thought I was passable. It would
take a while to get comfortable in the new persona but I thought the cat was in
the bag and the bag was in the river. I
was passable for the old hometown but I had my sights set on New York City.
I had always
wanted to spend a year in NYC and environs to enjoy all the cultural
attractions. The Sixties in which period
I had devised the desire no longer represented The Big Bagel as some people now
call it. Then in that impoverished city
you could rent a loft of 3000 square feet for fifty dollars a month not only in
a deserted building but a whole dilapidated neighborhood. Today in the same areas condominiums are
going for tens even hundreds of millions of dollars. Whole neighborhoods have been razed to build
enormous buildings. There was that
expense I now had to consider. An
apartment in a building I considered suitable might go for anything from
fifteen to twenty-five thousand dollars a month. While I was not exactly down to my uppers I
quailed to think of spending possibly three hundred thousand dollars for a
year’s worth of shelter. Call me a
piker.
I’d rather
abandon that particular item on my bucket list but then I remembered that some
people needed house sitters while they were off perhaps on an extended tour of
the world. I didn’t think there was much
of a chance but I contacted an online agency, filled out the forms and much to
my surprise was advised of a situation a month later. Six weeks after that I was on a flight to The
Big Apple, as some other people express it.
Imagine fortune smiling on me like that.
And believe
me fortune was smiling. I had previously
emailed a photo of me dressed for the occasion and had received a photo of the
guy who would meet me at the airport. A
wise precaution as it turned out.
Leaving the plane the driver and I quickly spotted each other but also
waiting to greet me was a guy holding a sign that said Partly Wright. I don’t know he was but I’ll explain later. Unless I forget.
My driver
was a big fellow who looked like he might have had past. He took my carry on which was all I had; at
that moment I realized how ill prepared I was for a year’s stay. What was I thinking? I wasn’t thinking anything, I had
subconscious motives as it turned out.
The driver, Ragnar, led me out to one of those white stretch limousines
about thirty feet long. I was the sole
occupant in this huge room complete with bar and TV both ofwhich I ignored.
Arriving in
the Tribeca neighborhood the limo stopped in front of a forty story condominium
building. I knew from the pictures I’d
received that the apartment was luxurious but the reality of the building was
daunting, massive, all marble. Ragnar
passed me by the doorman and the elevator carried me to the gold painted door
on the thirty-first floor. Long grocery
haul I thought.
Squaring
myself away as we said in the Navy I pressed the button.
In the old
days there would have been a peephole but now three separate cameras scanned
the hallway to ensure the way was clear.
Need I say the photos did not do justice to the apartment? This was splendor. Obviously done by an interior decorator. The ensemble was spectacular, a large entry
and living room in quiet warm earth tones, splendid artworks, abstracts,
decorated the walls. Lining the long wall
was a magnificent library, floor to ceiling shelves with a little rolling
ladder. No kidding. Windows looked out over the bay to the East
and the views of the Hudson and the wastes of New Jersey to the South were
spectacular.
Dazzled
beyond comprehension I was only vaguely aware of answering the usual questions
about the flight while as it was now six-thirty in the evening I was politely
shown to a bedroom to clean up and relax a bit as dinner was to be served at
seven-thirty. This respite was much
needed as I was somewhat dazed by my marvelous even unbelievable
situation. Freshened and somewhat less
dazed I took my assigned seat at table.
The condo
itself must have cost the Carmichael’s tens millions of dollars. That I was going to live there a year for
free flabbergasted me. The table at
which we were sitting was an absolute work of art such as would have satisfied
royal tastes throughout the ages. The
graceful chairs were a delight to sit in.
Contrasting those were a plain white setting made in China that appeared
to come from Restoration Hardware or Williams-Sonoma; in fact I know they did
because I had an identical set at home.
Rather strange I thought.
As I sat
staring at the original of Columbus Discovering America I knew I was in the
home of intellectual wild men. Perhaps
my eyes were open too wide because the mistress of the table, perhaps some
reincarnation of the goddess Diana the Huntress in the disguise in which she
entombed the father of us all, Merlin, asked:
Is something wrong Mr. Wright?
‘Oh, no, no,
‘Mrs. Carmichael, I replied quickly, just
a little giddy from the long flight. You
know how they pack us in these days. If
you like you can call me Perry which is what I’m known by instead of Partly or
Mr. Wright. Mother had a sense of humor
that used to entertain us all.’
‘I know all
about that, Perry. My given name is
Lady, which I do go by, Lady Margaret Carmichael in full that leads to some
amusing situations, and this is my husband Miles. This gentleman here is our friend Lessing
Farquhar. We hope you’ll both be
friends.’
‘Oh, I’m
sure…’
‘You must be
wondering why we chose you to housesit during our absence?’
‘Well, Lady,
I was born in the bottom of a wishing well; I just figured my wish was
granted. Sometimes the gods do favor us
as I’m sure you know. But apart from
that what were your and Miles reasons?’
Farquhar let
out a little smarting laugh, ‘Perhaps you thought you’d died and entered
Valhalla?’
‘Something
like that. Was it my charming picture?’
‘That
too. But the three of us are historians
or amateurs at least. Would it surprise
you to know we’ve read your writings on your blog?’
‘Not surprise,
but shock. I do have a couple million
reads so somebody must have keyed in but one never knows who. It is only occasionally someone lets drop a
hint that they may have; very seldom does anyone own up to it.’
‘You have a
couple million reads?’ Farquhar asked
surprised.
‘Yes, and
what is gratifying is that my audience is thoroughly educated as T.E. Wogglebug
characterized himself. A metric company,
Quantcast, that keeps track of these things places my post-grad readership at
between 160-220 percent of normal while grads are about 120-150 of normal. I was somewhat astonished at that. So while shocked or perhaps amazed that you
have read something not really surprised.
Gratified however.’
‘Judging
from your writings you are certainly well read. May I ask what sort of education you have?’
‘Oh
sure. I interpret education in the
broadest sense. As to formal education,
High School in ’56, college at California State College, Hayward- now
California State University East Bay- some graduate work at UC Berkeley and the
University of Oregon but no advanced degrees.
I found college useless although I did learn what I was supposed to do,
that is, the method. I know how to progress
around the bases.
But my real
education, baseball cards, stamp collecting, comic books, sci-fi and all that,
took place outside bricks and mortar school.
Probably the most influential source was that of comic books although I
am unable to say what it is I learned.
Some I can, but mostly not. My
comic book education took place from after WWII to just after 1950 when I was
force weaned.
If you know
anything about comics you know William C. Gaines EC comics. Originally EC stood for Educational Comics
but after Gaines introduced the horrid Tales From The Crypt genre he changed the
initials to mean equally preposterously, Entertaining Comics. They were horrid. They blasted my brain. I could hear and feel the crunch. Those comics were evil. While reading one I said to myself: They shouldn’t let us little kids read this
stuff. But I stood in line for the next
month’s issue down at the magazine store.
I didn’t realize it then but the store was a venue for what passed as
pornography at the time. Do gooders were
there to tell us we shouldn’t read comics.
We knew it but we didn’t care.
Educational
bits and pieces. The comics were almost
wholly a Jewish operation. Gaines
himself was Jewish although he has an Anglo name. All his artists, writers and inkers and
whatever were Jewish too although most assumed Anglo names. Not being aware from seven to eleven when I
read this stuff I had no idea of how Jewish comics were. I recently reviewed an issue of my favorite,
Plastic Man, on the internet and was astonished to see that he was a thoroughly
Jewish hero. I had no idea. Still it was somewhat disguised, nowadays, in
the new comics like the X-Men the heros flaunt their Jewishness. Superman in retrospect was also very Jewish.
But as I say
the horror comics, Tales From The Crypt, Weird Tales and that ilk transfigured
my brain. It was only two years ago that
I realized the negative influence of Gaines and his filth. I still don’t understand how I reacted.’
Farquhar
interjected: ‘That’s interesting. Problems?
What sort of problems were you having?’
‘Mostly
pressures in the head. Not headaches,
from which I have never suffered, but pressures; an awareness of the perimeter
of my brain, knots and twists in my brain.
For a longtime a big knot over my ear, right side of my brain. Then later it crossed over to the active or
left side. I had serious electrical
discharges.’
‘And you
believe this came from EC Comics?’
‘I don’t
believe it, I know it.’
‘Well,
Lessing is it?, after a few decades these issues came to a head, after an
attack two years ago I unraveled the mystery in a dream so that the cause
having been recognized the symptoms disappeared. I am now free of EC, or think I am. I don’t know that I can ever get it out of
mind.’
‘That’s
rather extraordinary isn’t it?’
‘Not
really. Basic Freudian psycho-analysis
runs through the version of self- analysis of the much despised Emile
Coue. Coue was the ‘I’m getting better
every day in every way.’ guy. Much
misunderstood. It was just really
buried, not so much a fixation as a state of mind. When my brain crunched, which is what I suppose
the knots symbolized it just took decades of probing to get at them.’
‘It’s
amazing you could do that.’
‘Maybe. But a few decades ago I read The Divine
Pymander of Hermes an ancient self help book in which the demon Poimander
approaches the scholar just as he is about to enter the dream state. Poimander introduces himself to the near
sleeping scholarly inquirer to advise him that he is there to help. He will show the scholar what he wants to
know. All the scholar has to do is keep
in mind what he wants to know and Poimander will guide him to it.
This is
essentially Coue’s process. Access the
subconscious so that it is working in the direction you want it to. The power of positive thinking of, I believe,
Bishop Sheen in the fifties. For
instance I wanted to remember a girl’s name from high school and it was
completely blocked. I could look at her
picture in the high school year book and not recognize her. Then one morning coming out of the last sleep
or dozing, a little bar like from a slot machine dropped in front of eyes with
the name Donna Meininger in black and white.
Doesn’t always work quickly but it works.’
‘Freud was a
very clever man but I still find psycho-analysis distasteful. Freud should never have invented it.’
‘Actually
Freud didn’t invent it, he collated it from numerous sources while giving it
his peculiar cast. He systematized long
known ideas. He was extremely well read
in is chosen field. He was of the German
culture so he had access to all the Romantic writers in the German
language. The Germans were miles ahead
of anyone else except for possibly the French.
A universal prejudice against the Germans prevents the translation of
much of German literature.
But who I
consider one of the greatest writers, E.T.A. Hoffmann was a very astute
psychologist from whom Freud appropriated wholesale.’
At this
point I saw Farquhar’s ears perk up.
‘Freud
himself read Hoffmann as he refers to him and I’m sure he read a great deal of
his work giving him much food for thought.
The West, and here by West I mean the US, France and England, doesn’t
appreciate Hoffmann the way it should as we have only translations of a few of
his more bizarre tales. A couple things
have appeared or have been reprinted recently such as The Devil’s Elixers and
the Serapion Brethren that are truly breathtaking, especially The Serapion
Brethren. Astonishing grasp of
psychology.’
Farquhar: ‘You’re a great admirer of Hoffmann then?’
‘Oh yes, but
to continue. Freud was central to
understanding the fifties and beyond but the fifties especially. I was not fully aware of that at the time
being too young and dumb but since.
After comic books as an educational influence came the influence of
movies, records and finally TV. The
movies of the fifties were obsessed with the hysterical fear of alien attacks
from outer space. This was obviously
influenced by the nuclear race. All
sorts of monsters freed from the Freudian Id arose to confront us. We all knew and loved The Creature From The
Black Lagoon, also the giant carrot that came from outer space.
The basic
pornography of the comic books, and they were nearly pure porn, became invasive
and more influential. Every week was a
new challenge. As I had been immersed in
comic books I became immersed in science fiction, both movies and print. And sci-fi was great stuff. Bradbury and Heinlein were my big stars in
books although I read so much stuff I couldn’t tell you who the authors
were. In movies Richard Matheson’s The
Incredible Shrinking Man was really astonishing, life changing. I gave up on sci-fi after reading Williams
Tenn’s amazing stories. At that point I
decided sci-fi was just a waste of time.
Nevertheless
the earlier influence of comics was immeasurably strengthened. This whole comics, sci-fi was shatteringly
presented and encapsulated by a real lie ‘sci-fi- event in late 1958 that
really cracked my brain while causing deep resentment against a society that
would do such a thing.
I think you
people may be old enough to remember if you haven’t blocked it out. It will come back to you if you did see
it. Israel had been established and the
’56 Israeli and Arab war had been fought and won by the Jews. Ever paranoid they undoubtedly feared an
adverse reaction or, as they put it, a rise in anti-Semitism. For some reason the Jews found their
casualties as the hands of both the Germans and Soviets unjust. Unable to resist the Soviets and under whose
control they were they concentrated on the German camps naming it a holocaust.
On a certain
Saturday night in November as I remember they commandeered all the TV networks
and independent stations countrywide so that no one could escape watching it
other than turning off their sets which solution I’m sure occurred to nobody. They then showed scenes from the camps that
I’ve never seen since. Totally emaciated
nude bodies were piled into a small mountain perhaps thirty feet high and maybe
a hundred feet long, I’m working from memory.
A Caterpillar was then fired up belching black smoke as the blade moved
into this huge pile. What the intent of
the driver was I don’t know as it didn’t seem possible the driver could move
such a huge mass while the bodies would have tumbled down on the driver’s
head. This was truly horrific, exceeding
Tales From The Crypt by a factor of at least ten and it made the same
impression on me as EC’s tales when I was eight and nine.
In some
strange way that viewing closed off my early education and I began the current
phase.
Perhaps the
generation to which I belonged that was raised on those vile comic books began
to come of age in the Sixties so that movies have come to more and more
resemble those comic books of William C. Gaines. I suppose in some weird ways those comics
were a major influence informing US history since. Unfortunately I haven’t determined the exact
effect they had on me since as I think the effects were deeply subliminal.
So, there
you have it the basis of my education, everything since is just accumulating
knowledge.
Farquhar: ‘My mother wouldn’t let me read comic books
so I have no ability to grasp their psychological effect.’
Miles: My mother also. As I remember parents were virtually united
in opposing them. I’m surprised your
mother let you read them.’
‘She didn’t
Miles. I was in the orphanage in my top
reading years and beyond her or anyone else’s control. Within very elastic limits I did what I
chose. As an orphan I rejected anyone’s
authority and that was almost complete.
I roamed and investigated. I was
completely independent; almost no supervision.
I would brook no interference and there was little compulsion although I
was feared and hated by the house mothers.
I was as free as I’ve ever been except for maybe now.
When my
mother remarried she threw away my two foot pile of comic books for which I
have never forgiven her.’
All three
people were staring at me for some reason.
Finally Lady spoke: ‘For all that
you don’t seem to show any ill effects.
You are certainly well mannered.’
I realized
then that I had probably said more than I need have since all I was asked
essentially was whether I had a college degree and from where. ‘No matter,’ I said, ‘Be that as it may. Between comics and Freudian psychology I’ve
been able to put things in order.
Poimander, so to speak, has shown me the way. I expect to enjoy New York immensely.’
It was now
fairly late and as I was running on West Coast time I was getting fairly tired
while it showed. I was shown to my room
and very gratefully dropped off to sleep immediately between very high quality
sheets. It was bliss.
-II-
Having now
climbed part way up the mountain I had set myself from youth at the age of
eighty I had reached a plateau. I
luxuriated myself in bed until after ten then got up and shaved and showered
feeling somewhat like a new man. This
year was going to be my year.
Emerging
from my room, itself decorated with beautiful pictures I emerged into the
glorious light flooded living room with its wonderful, actually, picture
gallery. I was luxuriating in this glow when Lady and Miles entered the room.
‘Good
morning Perry.’ They said in unison.
I felt so
good. I broke into a big smile quite
uncharacteristically and gave them as good as I got with a bright cheery hello
to both. I did feel good for perhaps
only the second time in my life and I’ve forgotten the first, all weights were
lifted from my shoulders.
Lady and
Miles explained that they too were fulfilling a lifelong dream of spending a
year in Europe pointing out the delights they expected to find. Shifting to me they pointed out many features
of New York that I might not have found myself but sad to say as my year was to
progress differently than I had planned I never visited any of them.
I gave some
indication of my intentions most of which I never fulfilled while reassuring
them that their apartment was in good hands.
I assured them I intended to have no visitors as I wanted as few as
possible to know where I lived so that they need have no fears.
After
viewing the great library with them both I was taken downstairs to be
introduced to Ottmar the doorman. Little
did he know that his life was about to enter a new phase. He looked fiercely protective of his domain
which pleased me greatly. Nothing like a
good bulldog to keep the strays away.
Surprisingly
they offered me the services of their chauffeur Ragnar and the accompanying
limousine as they wanted to keep him employed so as not to lose him to someone
else in their absence. I gratefully
accepted. Ragnar too was about to enter
the Twilight Zone. Free rent and
transportation, there was a lifelong dream realized, was more than could be
expected. And so the next morning my
benefactors, for what else could they be, left for the delights of Europe such
as they might be in this age of foreign invasion and I was left alone in my own
little paradise.
I spent the
rest of the day at home relaxing, ordering my mind and browsing the wonderful
library. As Lady, Miles and I were
roughly the same age I had most of the classics they did although their
editions were much finer than mine.
There was a nice selection of history and picture books, really nice art
stuff, so I just put my feet up and loafed and loafed. It really felt good. Lord, what a wonderful feeling. May you have such joy yourself.
On Saturday,
that is the next day, I called Ragnar to bring his limo around and had him drive
me up to the Met to view some more pictures and objets d’art.
Ragnar along
with Ottmar were both Germans which pleased me greatly. Ottmar was older and more regal but with a
very fine mind while Ragnar, somewhere, over thirty, was harder looking,
seeming to more on the qui vive, perhaps a little shady. We hadn’t much to say at the moment as I was
twenty-five feet away in the back and he was behind the wheel. I preferred it that way. It gave me time to think. We would become more familiar but enough for
now.
Ragnar
pulled up in front of the Met walking back to open the door for me. I could have popped out myself and preferred
to but I thought it best to give myself maximum gravitas and maintain
appearances. After all, this was New
York City. I can tell you I got great
respect emerging from a limo especially as I was dressed in my new persona of
grey slacks (when was the last time you heard pants referred to as slacks?)
green plaid jacket and princely cravat.
I smiled around benignly at the gapers and mounted the steps.
The museum
while not crowded was busy and I drifted from gallery to gallery in a sort of
fugue or dream state. I hadn’t become
blasé so soon. I had stopped without
thinking before a Claude landscape. My
gaze was directed at it but almost in a state of self-hypnosis as my mind was occupied
with other thoughts. I wasn’t really
seeing anything when a voice as though from a dense fog came to my left
ear: ‘Well, Partly Wright unless I’m
mistaken.’
Startled at
being recognized I turned to see Lessing Farquhar. I stammered, searching for his name as
Lessing popped into my mind. ‘Lessing,
hello, what a coincidence.’
‘Not really,
Perry, I saw Ragnar and the limo on the street.
He told me you were here. I’ve
been wanting to talk to you so I popped in.’
‘And you
found me. I presume you no longer work,
then?’
‘No, thank
the gods, no. I chucked that a few years
ago. I made enough, especially in my
thirties and forties and have had a couple nice inheritances since so I have no
need for a job and no regrets about it.
Lawyering wasn’t that much fun, anyway.
I take it you no longer have your shoulder to the wheel?’
‘Not
remuneratively and not that wheel but I do my best to help struggling humanity
along. Being above the fray gives you a
better perspective. I just study and
write; keep up the blog.’
‘Seeing the
shape the world is in it doesn’t seem you’re having much luck with your
endeavors.’
‘I haven’t
effected any major changes yet but I may have had some success moving things
forward, changing attitudes.’
‘A bold
claim. How’s that?’
‘Well,
Lessing, you know that a few years back, a decade or so. The savage Liberals
were raging unobstructed as very few seemed to realize the true situation what
with Ignatiev calling for the extermination of Whites without a dissenting
voice. I was if not the first, one of
the first, taking him seriously and sounding the alarm. Over the succeeding period I’ve been ahead of
the curve in exposing and denouncing the Liberal agenda. Today it seems that a new awareness,
consciousness, of what is being propagated has developed and that consciousness
seems to reflect the attitude I’ve been trying to foment so I think, I hope,
that my voice on the voter has not been without effect.’
‘Just you
and your computer, is that it? I’ve
found your site interesting myself. Do
you have many readers?’
‘I’ve got a
couple million reads over the decade I’ve been writing plus a lot of my stuff
gets republished on other sites so I have no idea of my true reads. Suffice it to say I seem to see ideas
reflected. If you’re a reader Lessing
I’d have to consider myself a success.’
‘Actually,
Perry, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. I was interested to learn that you’re an
E.T.A. Hoffman reader, especially The Serapion Brethren. I’ve been enchanted by the book myself, so
much so that I’ve been organizing a New Serapion Brethren. I have myself and two others. I thought you might be interested in joining
us. Instead of writing stories we’re
studying history and trying to trace the back stories, the things that get
overlooked behind the printed histories.
Do you think you might be interested?’
‘I’d be very
interested, Lessing, and flattered by the invitation. I’m in accord.
You know how I think as you’ve read my stuff so you know the byways I
search. No surprises? So, yes.’
‘Excellent,
Perry, excellent. I’ll give you a call
for our next meeting that should be a couple weeks from now. I have to go now, have some things to
do. Expect a call tonight or
tomorrow. ‘Till then.’
And Lessing
got up and walked away. Wonderful, there
was nothing I wanted more than congenial company to discuss the weighty
problems.
After
spending a pleasant afternoon touring the Met I went back to my digs, don’t you
love calling a thirty million dollar condo, digs? I sure as heck do. Be that as it may I went ‘home’ to plan my
next moves.
-III-
I spent that
Sunday sitting looking out the floor to ceiling windows at the light dancing
off the waters and boat traffic drifting around. I sat musing on how to order my miraculous year. Obviously one carry on bag of clothes wasn’t
going to do me much good nor would one suit of clothes. Still, I breathed easy, I was content, even
happy at the prospect of building a new wardrobe. What the heck, at eighty what did I have to
lose, life is short and what was left ahead of me was even shorter. I might not even live out the year. I had enough so I wouldn’t go broke unless I
lost all self-control, so what the heck.
From viewing
street activity I also realized I would need several wardrobes. Driving around with Ragnar yesterday I
realized what a diverse population, what bizarre costumes Manhattan boasted. Of course being well dressed was essential
but there were neighborhoods in which it might be perilous. Hell, looking at some areas I saw it might be
wise to buy a dress or two and bob my hair.
I must have passed through Tranny Central. Anyway, shopping was first on my list. And then I was ravenous to visit New York’s
fabulous book stores.
I made the
Strand Bookstore my first objective but then when Ragnar pulled up I suddenly
decided to go to Harry’s for a haircut and professional shave. I began using Harry’s razors a few years before,
I had always wanted to visit the shop so now was the time.
I could have
walked up to McDougal Street but I thought it best to use the limo. I’m sure the style of my arrival wasn’t
unique in New York, still it placed me in a certain class. Fortunately I was early or I might not have
gotten in. I didn’t really need a
haircut; two years previously I had devised my hair style and had gotten those
Hollywood invisible cuts to maintain the same appearance at all times.
A couple
snips and the haircut was finished, a few more moments for a shave and Ragnar
whisked me over to the Strand. Billed as
having miles of aisles the selection was incredible. You can imagine what New Yorkers could sell
as used books. I actually came away with
a couple hundred pounds of books including a great five volume set of
Bancroft’s record of the 1893 Chicago Columbian Exposition that I intended to
offer as a gift to Miles and Lady. No
home is complete without one.
Well, you
know, you don’t cover miles of aisles in a minute or two and I was not even
thinking lunch amidst all those volumes so it was four before I called Ragnar
around and let him load the tonnage. New
York, New York, what a wonderful town.
Of course I hadn’t gotten to the underside yet.
If you don’t
like books you won’t understand the exhilaration I felt the next morning
looking at the mound of books sitting on the living room floor the next
morning. I never got enough books for
Christmas and always the wrong kind as a kid so whammo!- all the
disappointments of those Christmases wiped away in one fell swoop. That Columbian Expo set was a real
delight. Maybe I’ll keep it and get Lady
and Miles something else.
Bedtime
found me still flipping pages and fondling covers. But, too much fun…I still had numerous duties
and miles to go.
Lessing had
called so I was obligated to write something for the meeting of the New
Serapion Brethren two weeks hence. I
decided to devote the day to wardrobe building.
While no expert on New York still back on the Coast I had had my trusty
computer with the ability to search. Oh
yes, I ordered a new HP for my stay. I
had visited New York way back in the seventies, but believe me, that was then
and this was now so not exactly a novice I wasn’t much more. The images on the net had given me some idea
of what to expect along with reading New York Magazine. It was almost as though I had visited the
stores.
The first
thing I needed was some shirts, shorts too, but I figured that if I found
shirts I would find shorts and perhaps socks too. I selected Charles Tyrwhitt for my shirts. Tyrwhitt was just a block up from James
Carter on Madison Avenue. The latter was
my choice for suits.
I was
familiar with both stores’ merchandise both from the net and catalogs. The world at my doorstep and all that. Picking up a couple dozen shirts from
Tyrwhitt didn’t involve any agonizing decisions although there was a moment’s
hesitation over a couple ties, I finally settled on five and bounced out of the
store. I noticed a couple idlers as I
got into the limo but didn’t think too much of it.
Tyrwhitt is
modestly priced while James Carter is on the high side, nothing like Brioni,
but respectably high priced. They
consider themselves expensive but fifteen hundred for a jacket is chicken feed
compared to Brioni. If you really want
to spend money believe me, you can do it.
I wanted to make an impression at Carter so we pulled up in front while
I took a long time getting out of the limo.
As I sat there I noticed the idlers from Tyrwhitt drifting down to
Carter’s.
Could have
been the limo but then they weren’t that rare in the Big Bagel, as some people
call it.
James Carter
was high fashion dress. It was one of these
classy stores, maybe three thousand square feet a floor, three floors, lots and
lots of what they call negative space.
Of course on a good day these guys could probably do a hundred thousand
so I guess empty square footage didn’t count against them too much. They’d probably have to have ten mill a year
to make it. I was there to help them
over the hump.
When it
comes to today’s fashions I am no admirer of them either men’s or women’s. It’s not because I have a long memory
although I will confess that as I was going to buy bespoke the designs I had in
mind were very close to 1956. Check out
the jacket Ferlin Husky wears on his record Boulevard Of Broken Dreams. But that involved no nostalgia or fogeyism; I
just didn’t like the short jacket too big for your britches look that
prevailed.
And that’s
all they had on display, these horrid short jackets that look like they’re two
sizes too small including the more than tight fitting high water pants that
they used to laugh at hillbillies for wearing.
I was study a manikin trying to keep the look of disgust off my face
when I was approached by a salesman elegantly decked out, obviously gay. But then what would expect in a men’s
store? After all, that’s where the boys
are. He wasn’t objectionable just that arch
attitude they have.
Nice looking
fellow about six-three, slim, trim, and a million dollars on the hoof.
‘Is there
anything I can do for you?’ He arched.
‘Is this the
only style of suit you’re showing?’ I
arched back.
‘This is the
style of today.’ He replied.
‘Does that
mean the only style you show?’
‘This is THE
style. It is what with it men are
wearing.’
With
it? I hadn’t that one for a while.
‘Yes. I’m a very with it guy but I interpret ‘it’
perhaps in a somewhat different manner.
Perhaps I should confer with your tailors in the bespoke department.’
‘That would
be second floor, to your right.’
‘Many
thanks.’ I said drily.
Then someone
who might have been the floor manager swept up and said: ‘Here, let me show you up.’
I almost
said: Lead on MacDuff but I had gotten that one out of my system decades ago; I
don’t quote Shakespeare anymore. To be
or not to be is a good workhorse but even that has fallen into desuetude.
I know many
of you consider eighty to be a ripe old age but let me say as one who knows,
eighty is not as old as it looks. It may
be for some people, but for those of us who have either been lucky or taken
care of themselves it is not a problem.
I can walk for miles, believe me, a flight of steps was no difficulty, I
could have taken them two at a time although my knees aren’t what they were.
Because of
my early childhood I had always played the goof or clown when under
stress. Over the decades using
self-analysis and Coue’s auto-suggestion I had cleared out my fixations
allowing me to function in a more or less clear state but I had still buckled
under pressure.
Apparently
there was another kind of conditioning beneath the fixations. I could feel the stirrings in my undermind
but was unable to identify the cause although I would soon experience the
effect. But not now.
While you
may think a fitting trivial it was a profound test for me. It was a question of whether I could avoid
being a mark or not. Men have all kinds
of ways of marking each other as to how they will be treated; a great part of
it in the clothes line is the clothes one is allowed to wear; another, if you
break through the clothes taboo as I had several decades ago was to mark the
clothes. While chance may allow most men
to buy good clothes, markings he might not notice are affixed as it were to the
clothes.
Unless you
pass judgment for instance in suits you will not be allowed four buttons on the
cuff. You will only be allowed three and
in some instances two. Tailoring flaws
such as bunching behind the neck and others define your station in masculine
circles. These markings are always
honored by others in the industry so that even if you know the markings it is nearly
impossible to correct them.
I had always
been in the three button class with a bunched neck in the fabric. I had been successful in my mid-years far
exceeding most of my contemporaries thus their anger and resentment at being
surpassed by someone they believed their inferior enraged them. And so I was marked. To complain about being marked is to no
effect other than to give your tormenters pleasure. You can demand four sleeve buttons or
whatever but in no way can you compel the tailors to correct the mark. There is a code.
The amusing
thing is that since tailors are most frequently homosexuals their fellows are
given top status in their tailoring so that they can pass other tests. Now I would not only have to appear as an A
man but probably have to beg or should I say, command, a homosexual. It would be in the stance, the voice, the
manner and most importantly in the eyes.
My haircut was good; I had seen to that.
Barbers are tough ones too because they are very astute analysts and
excellent markers. It is hard to get by
them. They don’t go to school either
they just learn and assimilate thus becoming supreme judges.
The manager
was going to interview me first before I was allowed to see the tailor. The various marks he exhibited indicated
homosexuality. As I say I had been
experiencing subliminal stirring for several weeks indicating deep
changes. I had even had an event simulating
a heart attack that had been a significant psychological adjustment. Since then I had been more confident and much
less diffident so I pulled up my reserves and went to work on the manager who
gave his name as Steve.
Our eyes
locked. He betrayed the insecurity of
the homosexual; I saw and he recognized my recognition giving that appeal for
acceptance that I knew so well. I
smilingly overrode him as my eyes acknowledged him and subordinated him but the
contest was not settled. My stance and
mannerisms secured my masculinity over his although I began to feel that I was
acting the Macho Man and that would give the wrong signal. Now, if I could control my voice. My undermind gave, wincing, but didn’t erupt
just yet. I was in control and meant to
stay that way.
‘And what
can we do for you, Mr. Wright?’ Michael
Ignatiev asked.
‘I’m here to
buy some sartorial splendor, Michael.’ A
little too florid indicating frivolousness.
‘This is the
place isn’t it? That’s a very nice
jacket you’ve got on now. May I ask who
made it?’
‘I don’t
mind. This is a Brioni designed by Eric
Ross circa 1975.’
‘Nineteen
seventy-five? Really? I know Brioni of course but I haven’t hear of
Eric Ross.’
‘He was a
little before your time. I don’t
remember his last name. Like your James
Carter Eric Ross was his son’s two first names just like your founders’ the
Osipov’s. He was Jewish, in love with
English styling adapted to US traditions also, like your shop. He mixed in everything. He was big on the cowboy look…;
‘Cowboy,
eh? You seem knowledgeable about James
Carter. You learned about us where?’
Dewey turned
around to show his back. ‘See how the
seams turn toward the shoulders in the back?
Cowboy style. I almost didn’t
patronize Eric Ross because of that.
Once I got started there was no stopping me. Loved the stuff; I’m so happy are careers
coincided. In answer to your question I
studied your internet site. It tells you
what you what you want your customers to think of you.’
‘Oh yes, our
internet site. So what happened with
Eric Ross?’
‘I was in a
different business but we both epitomized the Sixties, made it through the
seventies and expired at the same time.’
‘What
happened?’
‘The Sixties
ethic wore out at the end of the seventies.
As the saying goes: This too will pass and it did, tragically. The Sixties weren’t what they were supposed
to have been but they were still the Sixties.
Charles Manson was imprisoned for our sins. Big changes happened too fast while there was
no time to adapt. I was in London in
late seventy-eight, looked around and all the peacocks were wearing grey and
black. I realized the ethic was
dead. I rushed back to buy a black
straight legged suit from ER and told it him it was over. The Sixties we loved so much were no longer
happening.
The record
business I was in collapsed in on itself and changed over to CDs at the same
time leaving me high and dry while Eric Ross was caught in the midst of a big
expansion, Japan actually, quite like yourself.
Many parallels that drew me to you. ER had a store full of expensive
obsolete goods and a container of Brioni suits sitting on the dock in Italy
that he left stranded because he didn’t have the cash and couldn’t get the
credit. Boom! Just like a Stuka dive bomber that didn’t
pull out of the dive.
I got some
memories out of it although I wasn’t laughing at the time, not even for
show. As I say Eric Ross was rather
slavishly devoted to the English ideal.
His son’s initials are ER so he devised his brass buttons after the
royal insignia. My wife and I were
visiting the Rothschild estate, Waddington, open to the public we weren’t
invited, and I was wearing the blazer with the ER buttons, Elizabeth Regina in
England not Eric Ross. I kept getting
these looks while being gently shunned.
It wasn’t until a couple years later that I figured it out.
By the way
if you like old seventies movies and TV reruns you will be able to notice ER
clothes appearing frequently. They
usually give a shot of the cowboy back.
He was quite the rage.’ My voice
and delivery was perfect.
‘That is
humorous. So, you like fine
clothes? Nothing downstairs interested
you?’
‘Nice work,
wrong styles. When the style changed to
that American Gigolo look back then, if you know that movie, I stopped buying
and haven’t begun again till now but I still reject current styles. They’re offensive. Looks like someone’s telling you you’re too
big for your britches; like wearing a baseball cap backwards. So, I want something more along the line of
what I’m wearing, longer skirts than currently, hate those short jackets. Of course we can skip the cowboy
influence. I’ll want some different
fabrics also.’
‘Yes, we can
do that. I think it will be a pleasure
working with you. How about Tuesday at
ten AM for your first fitting?’
‘Of course,
that would be fine.’
I should
have known about the fitting. Strange
me, expecting to be fitted the same day.
I phoned
Ragnar then talked to a salesman before Ragnar pulled up a few minutes later.
As I walked
out of the store the idlers were still waiting.
One approached and said: The Jews
gave us monotheism.
I shrugged
him off and hopped into the limo.
-IV-
The limo had
just pulled from the curb when Ragnar asked if he could talk to me. I said sure, just park the limo somewhere and
I’d come up front. I didn’t want anyone
invading my private space in back.
Unlike Rosa Parks I had no qualms in the back. Nowadays it is being said that as a Commie
she, or they, planned the situation. If
so, I wonder, was the guy who told her to move in on it. If it was staged was the media in on it?
Ragnar had
his ways and means as he drove the limo under a building containing any number
of limos. Money has its prerogatives
including private parking lots. I went
up front and slid into the passenger’s seat.
Ragnar
hesitantly asked me what the guy had said to me. I replied:
He said we owed monotheism to the Jews.
‘Why would
he say that to you?’
‘I don’t
know who he represents, Ragnar, but I assume he was referring to my critical
historical essays on the internet in which the Jews are given their true
historical roles. I assume that my
criticisms have taken effect but in defense of the Jews monotheism is
considered preeminent. This happens
fairly frequently back home.’
‘But how
would he know you? You’re new to New
York while being from far away?’
‘This is the
internet age, Ragnar. As the saying
goes, you can run but you can’t hide.
Contrary to propaganda society is full of secret societies while with
the internet they are effective anywhere in the world. Did you notice the guy at the airport holding
up the card with my name on it? I have
no idea what organization sent him. If
the Carmichaels and I hadn’t maintained internet contact exchanging pictures of
you and I, I might have mistakenly gone with him or them.
I might be
floating face down on the East River now or perhaps six fathoms down in cement
shoes. When you’re in movement you’re
more vulnerable.’
‘You think
they would have killed you?’
‘Why
not? I can’t imagine they just wanted to
talk to me?’
‘Who are
you? I noticed other people following
the limo or showing up wherever you go.
Who are these people?’
‘Ragnar,
you’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t
know who they are and don’t particularly care.
I’m sure there is more than one group involved. Possibly the Feds, possibly Jewish
organizations, possibly homosexual groups, some freelance guardians of public
morals, Reds of some sort, hard to tell.
I write critical historical articles that ‘offend’ the hyper
sensitive. For all I know they might be
admirers who don’t know how to approach me.
I do speak for at least a large minority. That’s the way it is; nothing
I can do about it.’
‘And they
already know that you’re in New York?’
‘Of course,
the internet, Ragnar, the internet.
There’s nowhere you can go without them following you around. They all have cell phones and post lookouts
to track your movements. Believe it or
not they have nothing better to do. The
Jews, for instance, on the fiftieth anniversary of Kristalnacht posted guys on
the hill outside my house in case, I suppose, I consecrated the day by bombing
a synagogue. They’re all nuts, crazy as
loons, obsessed by their fantasies, reality is just an impediment to their
beliefs. Actually I’m used to them; if
they weren’t there I’d be disappointed because they would no longer think I was
important.
Sort of like
Gloria Vanderbilt who got a lot of press attention when her parents were
getting a divorce. Every morning a
gaggle of reporters were waiting outside the house. She got used to them, one morning when she
and her parents were no longer news the reporters weren’t there. ‘Mommy,’ she said, ‘Where are my
reporters?’ I feel the same way. If they weren’t around I’d have to ask what
went wrong.’
‘Watching
you on Kristalnacht? The Jews really
give us Germans a hard time. I’m not so
sure us Germans were in the wrong.’
‘Of course
you weren’t Ragnar, but Bismarck made a mistake in not occupying and annexing
France in eighteen seventy-one. Instead
he settled for Alsace-Lorraine and a bundle of cash. You Germans paid a heavy price for that in
the World Wars and after. And of course
the Jewish war against you continues today and has spread to the United States
where the Jews have convinced Americans that they too are Nazis and guilty for
their extermination. Scratch a White
person they say and you will find a Nazi.
It’s crazy.’
‘I don’t
understand how Bismarck has anything to do with Hitler.’
‘The
Interdependence Of Things as your great writer ETA Hoffmann called it. It’s all connected Ragnar, it’s all
connected. You just have to find the
connections. If Bismarck had conquered
the whole of France, incorporating it into a Greater Germany much as did
Charlemagne, then sending tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of settlers
into France instead of having them emigrate to the US and Russia he would have
created a huge country that would have changed the destiny of Europe.’
‘The French
would never have tolerated that.’
‘Sure they
would have. When Caesar conquered Gaul
Roman settlers flowed in changing the demographics of what was then Celtic Gaul
creating Roman Gaul. The Gauls, however
reluctantly, accepted a superior civilization eventually getting comfortable
with it. There might have been more
trouble if the Gauls had been superior but then they weren’t.
Later the
German tribes invaded, Franks and what have you, that dominated the
Gallo-Romans by force creating the country as France, the land of the
Franks. Napoleon wiped out perhaps the
majority of Franco-Germans in his wars since he favored the taller Germans over
the shorter Gallo-Romans as soldiers.
Still in eighteen seventy-one there was a large body of Franco-Germans
who would have blended with Bismarck’s new immigrants. Sure it would have been a taut situation for
a generation or two but the German civilization was superior to the French so
as life would have been better under the Germans it wouldn’t have taken too
long for the populations to meld.
The result
would have been a reuniting of the two western parts of Charlemagne’s empire
creating a European super state that would have drawn all Europe into its
orbit. There would have been no WWI and
consequently no WWII. England would have
been trapped between a Greater Germany and the US. How that would have worked out is anybody’s
guess. So as I see it Bismarck not
having Napoleon’s vision blew it when he retired back into the newly united
German States.
Now,
consider the European situation today Ragnar.
The result
of WWII that left Europe and Germany prostrated was that the Jews undeservedly
scored a huge moral victory. Having
mounted the dais as victorious victims they unleashed a propaganda campaign
against not only Germany but the West as a whole that totally morally disarmed
both Europeans and Americans leaving the Jews to call the shots. I think it was one of your German generals
who said that peace is war by other means.
Perceptive fellow he.
The West has
been bled white of more billions than you can count supporting the failed State
of Israel. Indoctrinaires such as
France’s Sarkozy and the dumbest woman on the planet, Angela Merkel, of Germany
have worked in combination with the Jews to destroy Europe. As in Spanish days when the Jews opened the
doors to Moslem invaders the three have conspired to flood Europe with Negro
and Moslem hordes.
Sarkozy who
was unable to pass a law compelling White women to marry Negroes has instead
opted to flood France with Africans who will eventually mongrelize Europe. Merkel has welcomed, indeed, invited millions
of Moslems into Germany and hence Europe that has overstrained social, economic
and political matters while stressing water and food supplies to the point of
exhaustion. The whole structure has
actually been broken down. The whole of
Europe will be impoverished except the Jews.
Unlike the
Roman and German invasions of Gaul and France in which a higher civilization did
or would have replaced an inferior one the millions of Moslems and Africans now
colonizing Europe represent either primitive or medieval inferior peoples. Africans and Moslems have no hope of
maintaining any semblance of European civilization. Nor can they be taught. There lies the great tragedy.
All this is
the result of Bismarck’s not following through and annexing France into a
Greater Germany. Had he had vision all of this could have been avoided. Europe would have been a happier place. The Bolsheviks would never have been able to
appropriate Russia. The Jewish people
would have of course continued their activities to destroy Europe with what
result we can’t see. As peace is war by
other means peace may have favored their plans as much as war. Perhaps today Europe would have been a Jewish
empire anyway. So, Ragnar.’
-V-
The story
continues in Clip 2.
