A COUPLE OF SWELLS
By Justin Balancier
Email jbalancier9@yahoo.com
A word from Justin:
Thanks in advance for reading this unusual story. I hope you enjoy it. But, even more importin than reading is remembering. Please remember the folks at Nifty with a contribution in any amount. I write the story, but Nifty delivers it to you. Thank you.
Disclaimer
This story is fiction; containing moments that may make you smile, even laugh. The people, places, names (except for Flatbush in Brooklyn) are all factious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
THE STORY
I was just a kid in the fifties; yeah okay, a teen ager, but we could drink at eighteen then, remember?"
"Sure, I remember." Said Harold I am a year older than you."
"You are three years older than me; like an old bastard, you are," said Sol.
Summer 2018
Harold, an elderly Jewish man eighty four years old, stopped for a glass of beer in a gay bar. Sometimes, one just needs a little attention.
It was early afternoon and Harold, a longtime patron of the bar, wanted something cold to drink and to rest for a moment.
"What are you having, sweetie?" asked a lesbian bartender called Sophie, who worked afternoons.
"Beer, no bottle, just in a glass," he mumbled resting his arm on the bar.
"You got it gramps," she replied trying to be polite.
"I assume you're talking about the beer; I don't see anything else, I have worth getting." Harold replied chuckling.
"Ahh, go on with ya, I bet you were a hottie. I can tell the old silent type." She said
"At one time maybe, but now I'm just putting in time. I'm too old for anything else. I once asked myself –"would I go out with me?" – "and do you know what the answer was?" He said to her.
"I know that answer, tell me something new and different; such a comedian you are," she said walking away to serve another patron.
"Bitch, he mumbled under his breath so no one could hear. What the fuck would she know about anything?"
Harold moved away from the bar to a small round table. He had been out all morning, walking and his legs and back was aching, so he needed to sit.
A young gay man, (not so hot looking) came over and sat next to Harold at the table. His name was Hershel, a twenty-one year old Jewish gay boy from Brooklyn. Harold recognized him from the streets. He would see him at night cruising the bushes, from his apartment window, just across from the park on Flatbush Ave.
His name was Manny Hershel and unappealing as anyone legal walking around and still breathing – but he was nice; skinny, tall, pushy, but nice.
"Pop, tell me `bout the good old days" Hershel said to him. "Mind if I sit here for a minute?"
"Don't hustle me kid, I'm past all that."
"I'm not hustling a thing, just being friendly,"
"So what should you want to be knowing? Said Harold. "I'm going to call you Manny." He said
"Of course, everybody calls me Manny; only my teachers call me Hershel; so I don't mind."
"There is a sixty year difference in our age, so tell me what it was like back in the fifties? Will you do that?" He asked
"Why, so you can correct me? You kids think you know everything. "I'm right, ain't I? Hahaha. I was once your age, so I know – I know. You can't fool Harold"
"Cool it man – let me rephrase that. Relax man, calm down, I just asked a question." Manny said
"The way it used to be is remembered by every person who has made to seventy and beyond. Oh sure, the memories pile up like dust, but they're never wiped away. The dust lingers in your thoughts like grey velvet; if you live long enough, you will know it. "Go away" Harold said.
"Come on, dust off those cobwebs and spill the beans."
"Go away young man, so an old joker should be enjoying his beverage."
"Sorry gramps, to have bothered you, said Manny and walked back to the bar."
"And I'm not your `gramps' yelled Harold, so all six people in the bar could hear him." It was the middle of the afternoon and not many customers.
Sitting at the far end of the tavern almost in darkness, was an old time friend of Harold, who also lived on Flatbush Ave. He was 81 and his name was Seymour Solomon. For decades he was known as "Sol" the flame of Flatbush.
"Harold, Harold, Harold, after all these years, you're still a dip stick. Imagine telling that sweet young thing to `get lost'. I'll be his gramps, call Missy back," said Sol sounding serious, and a little ridiculous.
"Sit, sit – have a beer with me and we can talk about the good old days in Brooklyn."
"Where the hell, did that come from? What good old days? Said Sol
"Back in the fifties"
I was just a kid in the fifties; yeah okay, a teen ager, but we could drink at eighteen then, remember?"
"Sure, I remember." Said Harold I am a year older than you."
"You are three years older than me; like an old bastard, you are." Said Sol. Hey, what's that kid's name?
"Manny Hershel, is what he told me"
"The Hershel's from Flatbush"
"How the hell do I know – he said `Manny,' good enough."
"Call him back over" said Sol
"You think I'm fuckin nuts; I told him to get lost and now I say – don't get lost – what a putz you are." Harold said to his friend.
Just the same, Harold motioned to Manny and he came over to where they were sitting.
"Join us for a drink. I'm..."
Before he could get the word out, Manny, said "Sol." "Everybody knows Sol from Flatbush."
"So who's everybody?"
"Everybody – I don't know, everybody." Said Manny
"Nah, I'm Norma Desmond, from Flatbush. Some people are meant to be one thing, some another. Today I'm Norma, tomorrow, who knows." He said "Well, aren't you wild? Who's Norma Desmond?" Inquired Manny
"She's a sandwich maker at Jake's delicatessen," screamed Harold on this mindless conversation.
"Harold, you're much too armature to comment on Miss Desmond. You don't feel it; but I do, you old goat" said Sol doing his best Gloria Swanson imitation.
"Oh, cut the shit; or I'll scratch the Ben Gay off your grocery list" said Harold
"Clever, like it should be. Some days you're the dog and some days you're the hydrant."
"Hydrants, I should be knowing -dogs, I don't know – `you' I know"
I have trouble accepting, but I'm not as perfect as you and Cecil B DeMille. Said Sol
"Who's DeMille? Asked Manny
"His cat; Manny – his cat. Shouted Harold
"I think I better leave," said Manny
"Oh no, we are talking about the old days. You want to hear about the fifties, don't you?"
"Well, not really, I was just curious, maybe some other time." Manny replied
Sophie came over to the table. "Can I get anybody a refill; I go off the bar at 4:00 pm."
"Yes, drinks for everyone," said Sol and gave Sophie the money. "You keep the change sweetie," he said to her, patting her hand.
"Such a spender, you are" said Harold
"Paper bubala. It's only paper." Replied Sol. "She's okay for a dyke. I mean she's not a dinosaur."
"A dinosaur?" said Harold looking confused.
"You didn't know that butch lesbians are dinosaurs with a scientific name, lick a lot of puss." "Sophie – she's not so butch."
"Your business, you should be keeping quiet," said Harold; yet all three were laughing when Sophie returned with their drinks.
"It's nice to see the old ladies and the chicken boy having a good time" she commented, before picking up the empty glasses.
"Ahh, you should be knowing how good," blurted out Sol, still laughing.
"Pay no attention to them," said Manny – trolls amuse easily, and the old ones – only God knows how easy.
"I never do. They're all the same." She said
Gone astray in 1950
"Back in the fifties, I was in high school and Harold had graduated. I believe it was 1954," began Sol. "Now pay attention kid, there may be a quiz later."
"It was 1957, such a yutzi, already you're screwing it up," chimed in Harold
"It was 1954, maybe '55; that I will give you. I remember, but you never could remember anything." Sol shouted back
"I remember when I graduated and it was 1957." Repeated Harold. "Life for gays was different; how different you wouldn't believe. Not like today –no, not easy like today."
"You want I should talk" Asked Sol
"Later, much later, but jump in any time, because you will anyway. So jump, who gives a damn?"
"Gay life was not a life to be happy about in the 40ties and fifties," said Harold
"Don't forget the 60ties," mumbled Sol
"Shut up already; I'll get there maybe yes and maybe not. Anyway it was not a happy life Manny; and do you know why? Asked Harold
"Probably had something to do with the `closet," replied Manny
"It had everything to do with the closet. That meant you kept your sexual feelings to yourself and only talked about it with other gay men, if you knew any that would talk to you. It was taboo in the highest sense. No Jewish mother wanted to have a gay son and fathers thought a sexy woman would snap you out of it."
"That's right – that's right," added Sol. "My mother used to scream, so the neighbors could hear, "Dear God, where did I go wrong." Like it was a choice, and we took the wrong road. "You see that way, the neighbors felt sorry and brought over food. It was all bobbymyseh," (nonsense)
"Some people said homosexuals were born that way. Others believed we learned how to be girlish from our mothers. My father, an ignorant Jew, used to tell the men. - "Ahh, it's his mother;" like he had nothing to do with it."
"It was hell going to playgrounds and school. You got called names, bullied, beat up and robbed. You learned to keep your mouth shut because teachers wouldn't help you and you avoided embarrassment that way. You don't know how it feels, when people are looking at you and laughing at you; and they think you're nobody".
"What about the cops?" Asked Manny
"Not so good, no - not good at all."
"Tell Manny about David, blurted out Sol, still drinking beer and munching on potato chips.
"David – David, oh yeah, that was a funny one."
"Sol and I were nineteen years old, walking up State Street hill, piss-ass drunk, 4;00 o'clock in the morning; when a big Buick pulled up and waved us over to the car."
"It was dark grey" Sol said
"Who gives a damn about the color, I'm talking." Said Harold
"So talk," he replied
"There were two burly fat ass detectives looking like gangsters. Let me tell you, we sobered up pretty fast seeing those bastards. They hated queers."
"Jesus Christ Tony, they're fairies," said one of them to the other.
"Where you going girls?"
"Home"
"Where do you live?"
"On Wilkins"
"You've been drinking, where have you been?"
"We just came from a party, but it's over," I said
That was a lie, but I had to think of something fast and that was it. We had been to a gay bar called the Barcelona, and didn't want to get the owner in trouble with the police.
Back then, the borough passed a local ordinance saying it was unlawful for homosexuals to congregate in public. Nobody complained, so they called it a law, which was bull shit. It was no damn law that I ever heard of.
"There were low key gay bars that paid for police protection. It was a lot of crap, but that's what we put up with being gay.
"Where was this party" asked the detective
Sol gave him the name of a gay man, `David'. He made up a last name like Cohen or Belzer, living on Hudson Avenue. We knew that David was always throwing parties, so what the fuck, Sol threw it out there, and hoped for the best. I felt like shit doing that, but Sol knew it wouldn't go anyplace."
You gotta know that cops were too fuckin lazy to check. They just liked scaring the crap out of queers, Jews and blacks.
"Okay, get your ass off the street and get outta here" they said to us and drove away.
"Oh my God, that doesn't sound funny to me" said Manny
"It wasn't - here's the funny part. Not `funny' ha-ha, just funny" continued Harold
The next weekend, David, who really lived on Hudson Ave, threw a gay party and it was packed with people; laughing, dancing and horrific loud music coming from the building.
Nobody knew, but the cops were watching the party going on. Around midnight, (maybe later) they staged a raid with only three cops and a paddy wagon waiting outside. The paddy wagon was to scare everybody and it did.
"Okay, you homo's, anybody who doesn't live here, get the hell out." screamed one of the cops.
David, very calmly, was the first one to put on his coat and leave, along with everybody else. He disappeared into the night, with the cops standing in his empty apartment. I guess they called it a `flat.'
He returned in the morning and everything was okay. No cops and no problems. Being a Jew was bad enough, but a queer Jew was meshugameh.
"They can't do that" Manny said
"Rights – blah. This was sixty years ago." Mumbled Harold "There were still plenty of good things about being gay in the 50ties and 60ties," he continued.
"We thought we were special. We had our own bars, where we could let down our hair and be ourselves. We could touch, hold and dance with men and not be called queer. We were gay boys who liked gay boys, with an occasional straight man thrown in for hot sex. We had cruising spots, (but often chased away) and steam baths. Plus the streets – Oh, the sex we found on the streets and parks were unbelievable. When rugged gay men began walking around, the name calling came to a trickle, but never stopped completely."
"We do all that stuff today" interjected Manny being very interested in what Harold was saying.
"Of course you do and much more. The difference is we were clandestine gay and had to sneak and keep our feeling quiet." Replied Harold
Now, cops can't arrest you simply because you're gay, and calling someone degrading names is harassment.
Today you can walk down Flatbush hand and hand, get married and adopt kids' if that is something you want to do.
And what do the neighbors say? They say, "Oh, they are such good boys with two lovely children and curtains; they are Jewish – how nice."
So, if you're comfortable – be comfortable; enjoy – what can I say, the haters will always be there." concluded Harold
"And, we're still around, two old bastards, annoying and useless. Nobody cares what we say, and we don't either," added Sol.
"Your mouth is running, finish your beer," said Harold "quiet you should be."
Manny left smiling and went back to the bar to meet his friend.
"I liked him" said Harold
"Why not, he's upright and breathing. Just don't take your clothes off, if you want a second date.
"Who's talking about a date? I'm only saying that the past controls the present"
"It does keep one going. Not fast but going, yet it won't change the facts"
"What facts" said Harold?"
"We need some cheap trashy slut in heat"
"Tell me again on the 4th of July and I'll send up a rocket"
"You have to do what you think is best"
"For you, Geritol is best, believe me." Said Harold
"Does there have to be a reason?"
"You should be needing the energy, and Geritol will help"
"It gives me heartburn and I poop green," said Sol
"Gone, is your get up and go, what has happened to you Solly?" asked Harold
"I'm old"
"What?"
"I said, "I'm fuckin old."
"I know"
"Oh, shut up, - I'm willing to do anything that doesn't require naked. It's not the dirt around the plant that matters; it's the rose"
"Don't tell me – you are..." began Harold
"The "Rose" – I am the rose, stammered Sol "You remember the way it used to be. I could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch"
"I do remember like the Greek goddess of labyrinth, you were" Said Harold
Manny came back over to where they were sitting caring two glasses of beer and some potato chips.
"Here Pop, have a drink on me." And set everything down on the table.
"My limit is two, but since your money, you are not saving, we accept. Said Sol
"Sit with us for just a moment" said Harold
"Okay, but only a minute, I am meeting somebody anytime now." Said Manny
"Oh, a date?"
"No, just a hook up." Manny replied
"What's with this hook up' business? Hook up – hook up, we never did hook ups,' we had tricks. When we picked up a guy, he was a trick" said Sol.
"Don't relive the past because you can't change it," said Harold
"I've turned the past into an art form. It brings out happiness in me that I thought was lost. All my friends love me" replied Sol
"What friends" they're all dead."
"Dead right, but you're still around and such a kibitzer, you are"
"You see a lot when you don't close your eyes" said Harold
"It's not difficult seeing the things you should be remembering."
"What's that supposed to mean"
"You're so busy finding fault, that you forget we're the problem"
"A problem, no we're not. I mind my own business and okay, I think dirty, but that is the business I am talking about." Said Harold
Somewhere in that comment was a spark realism, and it took some chutzpah to see a new kind of awesome. It's never too much, when you're gay, only not enough.
They swallowed the last bit of beer and struggled getting to their feet. The two small bags of potato chips, from Manny, still sat on the table untouched.
"Here, said Harold to Sol. Take these home with you, the salt, I don't need," and tucked them into Sol's pocket.
"So where are you going?" asked Sol
"I have a mud pack waiting for me. I need all the help I can get"
I'm going home and wash my balls" said Sol
"Why"
"They itch"
"Good enough – use warm water – cold you shrink."
"I know"
"Okay, good enough"
They walked out the door together and started over Flatbush Ave.
"All this crap is Meshugameh (crazy – nuts)" said Harold
"You think so?"
"Yeah, I think so" he replied
"That because we're old. Hot seems to work for everybody but us.
"You think so?" said Harold
"Yeah, I think so" replied Sol. Sometimes you just need to be quiet. It's no more complicated than that.
The light turned green and slowly they crossed the street still talking.
"You know, that Manny wasn't so bad. I would go out with him," said Sol
"Do me a favor", asked Harold
"What's that?"
"Shut up, just shut up"
Email jbalancier9@yahoo.com - If you care to comment / thanks