Ronald De Nota painting
"Riomar Cafe on Little West 12th Street, NYC, 1998"
Monday, August 25, 2008, 6:45 am
“George”
Last evening it hit me I had never written about George. I didn’t see how that was possible, but it is. Of course I want to write about George. He was a friend of mine and he was a friend of my dogs.
I am sure anyone who lived in the East Village in the ‘60s or the ‘70s or the ‘80s or the ‘90s would know George. I don’t know when he moved there, and I don’t know how long he stayed. In my mind there is no beginning and no end to George. I assume he must have been there forever. Altho of course he was born in Germany (I think) and had thick accent, so I don’t know when he came over. If you say to George “how old are you? what country did you come from? where did you go to high school?” If you ask him anything personal, he will not answer.
I know George is Jewish because when we’d be walking down the street with my dog, George helping me do errands, the older men on First Avenue who worked in the stores, would try to pull George into that tiny little synagogue on Houston Street on Friday evenings so they could have a minyon. Apparently you can’t have your service at all unless there is a minyon. I had no idea what a minyon is, I am guessing 6 men with prayer shawls on standing around the rabbi and the cantor, if that synagogue had a cantor at all. Their eyes would light up when they saw George coming down the street with me and my dog, because it was so close to the time, and they needed that extra person to make a minyon. I have no idea if George acceded to their request or not. I mean when he finished helping me, did he go over to the synagogue? I do not know.
George’s claim to fame is that he had been at City Hall thru umpteen administrations. They all knew him at City Hall. When I told that to my fellow dog walkers in Tompkins Square Park, they scoffed! “He is a meshuginar,” they said to me. “He thinks he goes to City Hall every day and they all know him there,” they said to me. They said “it is like the meshuginar who was in the middle of First Avenue waving his arms last week, he thought he was a traffic cop directing traffic, and George thinks he goes to City Hall every day and he is known there.” This is what Mike said.
Mike is a horse-playing Jewish man, exactly the same age as my father. Mike was born in 1913, like my dad and like Bill’s dad, and is a horseplayer like Bill’s dad, goes to the track every day. In a competition of the most stubborn man on earth, is it Leon my dad, is it Bill’s dad, is it Mike the dog walker in Tompkins Square Park. They are all heavy-weight champions in the area of scoffing; stubborn-minded scoffers. But I guess I would give the award to Mike. There is nothing I could say or do, which would change Mike’s mind that George imagines he goes to City Hall every day, that George is a meshuginar with a vivid imagination.
If Mayor Abe Beame happened to be walking thru Tompkins Square Park (which he would never do!) and came up to George and said “Hi George, how are you doing” and if Mike were sitting next to George, Mike would still not change his mind.
And in fact a year or so before I left New York, George was at City Hall when Mayor Beame showed up for a luncheon. He had been mayor a few administrations before. “Hi George, you still here?” former Mayor Abe Beame said. And George said “yes, your honor.”
I know exactly how George got to be "included" at City Hall because he used the same technique on me and it worked like a charm. Yes it’s true the whole world sees George as a meshuginar, but that is before you get to know him. After you get to know him, I am not saying George is not a meshuginar, but who cares! He just gives you a more expansive view of what human nature is like. Like discovering a new planet in the solar system or new star in the galaxy. Your vision widens to include George. (Before you get to know George, he is not included in your vision, there is the solar system and there is George, and he is excluded.) It is a big difference. And in some ways now I feel myself privileged to be one of those who knows George. Altho of course everyone thru a zillion administrations knows George, plus half my neighborhood. I am not in small club. Half my neighborhood just knows George as meshuginar and excludes him. And half know him as I do, and everyone at City Hall, and the old men who try to pull him into their minyon.
The way George became my friend, and got to be included in City Hall, is by making himself indispensable. I used to always run away from George. But one day I was coming home with all those heavy shopping bags, plus I had my dog, and George offered to carry my shopping bags. It was help I desperately needed. And to my surprise my dog, it was my first dog then, Spes, was madly passionately totally in love with George. George not only carried all my shopping bags home for me, but carried them up the 3 flights of steps and put them by my door. It made my life so much easier, it was such a huge favor.
And after that he figured out my habits, that I went to the park every day with the fellow dog walkers, and then grocery shopped on First Avenue on the way home. And it seems just at the instant I was trying to navigate all those heavy bags, George would appear, carry them home and up all the steps. And of course my dog was overjoyed out of her mind to be with George, she loved George. And then somehow that became our routine. My dog Spes never liked going to the park with the fellow dog-walkers, so instead George and I would walk around the neighborhood with her as I stopped in stores to pick up this or that. Once the 3 of us walked to SoHo together to the discount paper store and I bought 10 heavy packages of top quality typing paper, and George carried it all home for me. When I got one of those huge Selectric typewriters because they cost nothing when computers came in, and it broke a few times, George carried that huge heavy thing downstairs. And we took taxi together to Chelsea to my typewriter store to have it fixed. And then George and I and dog walked home. Same thing when we picked it up. I do not know how I would have managed without George.
And this is exactly what happened at City Hall. I have no idea where in City Hall the big machers spent all day schmoozing. But it was very convenient for them, if someone wanted container of coffee to-go, with bagel and shmear, that George was always there, eager and willing to go. Whatever anyone had a taste for, there was George. They only had to give him the money for it and he would go across the street and get it. There were probably lots of errands they could send George for. To get their cigars, to get their cigarettes. If they bought their cigars in a different neighborhood, George would go get it! Anything! wherever it was! When Isaac Bashevis Singer was invited for tea, it was George who bought the napkins, who bought the cookies, and even poured out the coffee and tea. He told me later “Isaac Bashevis Singer had tea not coffee, just lemon no sugar, and didn’t eat any of the cookies.” That might have been where former Mayor Abe Beame showed up and said “I see you’re still here, George” and George said “nice to see you, your honor.”
Even if something was on another floor, they could send George to get it. With George around no one had to move a muscle, George would get it for you. They couldn’t run away from George like I did the first ten years, they were stuck with him from the beginning, so I bet they discovered very quickly how indispensable George is. It hit me once that Mayors come and go but George is always there. I tried to explain this to Mike. But you can get a good idea what my dad was like and Bill’s dad was like. All Mike did was to say again about the meshuginar on First Avenue, how he stood there waving his arms directing traffic, till the cops finally took him away. Mike refused to believe George ever stepped foot in City Hall.
The very few personal things I know about George are things he let drop, because as I say he wouldn’t answer any question. One very cold day in winter he mentioned, during the Depression in Germany he would go to the public library because it was the only warm place. But when I said “did you come from Germany, George?” He gave that odd look and either said “no” or refused to answer. Once he said his uncle is still mad at him, because he accuses George of stealing the bottle of whiskey at his daughter’s bas mitzvah, which of course George did. “I didn’t know you have family here?” I said. And George refused to answer. That is the only time George mentioned any family at all.
I have the impression George might have gone to high school here and had a terrible time, no one talked to him. But I may not be right about this, it may be some other early experience in America where things were awful for George.
When my dog Spes was ill, George was my savior. He arrived every day, and when she could no longer make the steps, he carried her down, he carried her up, and she would walk with us to the card tables by the precinct across the street, where she would lie under the table while George and I played cards. I did this because she wanted to be outside so much. So George and I would spend hours upon hours playing cards. I was absolutely completely devoted to my dog, I would do anything for her, and George was a saint and angel to do this for me. That’s really when George and I became close. He was the worst card player in the world. We played Gin Rummy, and at first I easily beat him every game, even tho I had not played cards since I was 9 years old. But when I saw how much George wanted to win, I managed to lose every game after that. George kept score with pencil and paper. Sometimes George, who was up every night and never slept, would fold his arms on the table, rest his head on it, and say “wake me up with a kiss.” I wish I could replicate George’s heavy accent “vake me up mit a kiss.” It was hard to understand George cause of his heavy accent.
After two months Spes did go to Heaven, early one Saturday morning. Bill and I spent the whole day at home together talking being close. At 4 pm the intercom bell rang, and I thought to myself “that is George! he is so faithful! he is here to help me walk Spes.” I wasn’t ready to say anything, I just buzzed George in and called down the stairs “thank you very much George, but I am already back home.” But that evening when I went out to buy something at the corner store, George passed me on First Avenue. I said “George, Spes went to Heaven this morning, Bill and I are upstairs sitting shiva for her right now.” And a smile crossed George’s lips when I said I was sitting shiva for Spes. And he said “I thought if she made it thru the weekend she would be OK.” How sweet of George to have had faith in my dog, that she could make it! I had too, till she went to Heaven. But I tell you, it took all the faith in the Universe for me to have believed that. No one will ever know the effort I put into having faith and hope my dog would make it.
Then Bill took me on camping trip in Adirondacks for 4 or 5 days so we could recuperate from Spes and the day we got back we got Clio. Adina had brought Clio over the day before we left, to ask if we wanted her. She couldn’t stand Clio and was giving Clio up. And she came up with Clio, and Bill said “fine we will take her!” But we were going on camping trip. We asked Adina to keep Clio for those few days. Adina clearly never wanted Clio back in her apartment but of course she said yes, she was so relieved she had found a home for Clio. And Bill had me call from Grand Central Station when we got off the train, to tell Adina we will take taxi home now and to bring Clio over right now.
Clio was 4 months old and a torture chamber, and she could not be walked off the leash the way I did with Spes. She had to be on the leash every second, because when she wasn’t she took off faster than lightning and danced in First Avenue in heavy traffic. That girl gave me so many traumas! But George and I took up where we left off. I had to hold Clio on the leash, so it would have been even harder to carry home all those shopping bags of groceries. But I didn’t need to, I had George. I was very close to George now and loved him beyond measure for what he had done for Spes, my beloved beloved beloved Spes. And it turned out what George wanted, I don’t know how we arrived at this, what George wanted was-- after I threw the ball for Clio at the school playground across from the precinct, the girl was a great athlete-- We would sit on the bench or at the card table, I would have Clio on the leash. George would bring pencil and paper, and he would dictate a letter.
It began off as one letter, he had something he really wanted to say to someone at City Hall about how things should be. I copied down his dictation in good English with punctuation, and then had George type it up, and I proofread it. It didn’t matter what I wrote down in perfect spelling and good English. By the time George typed it up, the spelling was a catastrophe and there was no punctuation. The first time I had him redo it, but after that I didn’t bother. I would read him back his letter after I first took it down, and then read it back to him after he brought me the typewritten copy. George was very satisfied, he liked hearing his letter. George never said “I” in the letter, he didn’t say “I think.” He always said “we.” “We think” “ We suggest” “What we think you should do..”
After the first few letters George discovered he loved this so much, that I would sit on the bench with him and take down 10 letters. Since George did not have very much to say, and would only try to think of something to say and to who he could possibly write to, the letters became very brief. “Perfect!” I would say after I took it down. “Perfect!” I would say, after he showed me the typewritten letters from the ones I had taken down day before. I thought “what does it matter all the typos and spelling mistakes,” some of the letters were so silly, George’s suggestion for the type of teabags they use at City Hall. All the letters were to City Hall.
I said to George “I am your secretary,” and he loved that. After that wherever we went, which was everywhere in our neighborhood, and whoever we met, and George knew everyone in the neighborhood, he introduced me as his secretary. “This is my secretary” he would say. And they would look at me (they didn’t believe George) “yes” I said, “I am his secretary.” George loved having a secretary. And somehow it is my destiny lol, to always be a secretary. In one way or another, my whole life I have been a secretary. I am one to this day
Clio was 4 months old when we adopted her, and 4 years old when we moved to Tucson, so this life must have continued till the day we left. He would help me with my shopping while I walked Clio, then we would sit on the bench, and I would be his secretary, and then he would keep me company while I threw the ball for Clio at the handball courts.
Clio loved George too, all dogs loved George.
I didn’t tell George I was leaving, I knew it would break his heart. But he found out after we left, and he handled it well. I wrote to all my neighbors and friends in the neighborhood “if you see George give him my address in Tucson, and tell him to write.” And sure enough I got a letter. He must have come to my building to find me and Catherine came down and gave him my address. And I got a letter from him saying “now he doesn’t have his secretary,” but it was still a nice letter -- if you could figure out what he was saying, every word was misspelt and it was one long sentence. (“dear secriterti” it began off.) He wouldn’t tell me his address, he kept everything about his life secret to the end. I never even know which block he lived on. He told me to write to him at the Democratic headquarters on 9th Street and gave me their address, which is a storefront on 9th Street.
And so George and I corresponded for about a year. And then I guess I forgot about George and he forgot about me. But he has a place in my heart which will always be there. And I bet George too has never forgotten, that one day he had a great secretary.
Post script, I remember now when George and I sat on the bench to be his secretary, first I had George get me a container of coffee to go, sweet and light, and a danish to go with it. And I bet I made him pay. I know George has no money, but he walked everywhere, he never took public transportation to City Hall or to anywhere. He walked. For dinner he had can of sardines. What did he spend money on, except a bottle of whiskey. He could afford to spring $1 for his secretary to have coffee and danish while he dictated his letters to her. LOL I bet George liked it. It made him feel like a real employer. “You are a great employer” I said happily to George when he handed me my coffee and danish.
Ronnie DeNota with fellow painters
Gotham Drawing
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