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I was born in a log cabin… sorry actually I was born on april 7th 1950, in polyclinic hospital on 48th between 8th and 9th avenue in manhattan, that has since been converted to a co-op. I lived the first 18 years in an apartment on 56th between 8th and 9th called the floral gardens. floral gardens, which also was converted to co-op, was the definition of a misnomer considering you had to go 4 blocks north just to find the nearest tree in the area in a place called central park. they called this area "midtown" although me and some of the neighborhood toughs preferred to call it by it's more colorful name... "hell's kitchen". considering the images this name conjures I should be describing gang wars, blood shed and petty crime as the everyday hood occurrences but that would a bit of an exaggeration. fortunately our block was anchored by the stately, massive, awning marked entrances of the parc vendome, a luxury apartment building that prompted ralph russo to appropriately point out... "hey sh*t-head, you can't be part of hell's kitchen if your block has a door man," and ours had two. more to the point, me and my posse would don navy blazers with our sunday school pants, the ones with the knee patches covering the holes and sneak into the very finest of broadway plays during intermission. after dodging the guys in the red butler suits we made our exit and would head across town to the waldorf astoria hotel and after we tucked in our shirts would slowly stroll through the grand lobby entrance daring anyone to notice us, does it sound a bit closer to heaven then hell, you betcha! |
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