That's why I became a Management Trainee for the Bank of New York...doing the same type of work my Dad did at JP Morgan, in Corporate Trust...something I swore I would never do. You see, being born at the tail end of the Baby Boom (those of us born between 1959-1964), we really were too young for the Boomers, and too old for Generation X. So, as a "Tweener" (as we're now called) you kind of had to decide where you would fit in. Coming from a very Politics-oriented household where discussing current events at the dinner table was a way of life, I made my choice early on to side with the Boomers. My Mom was (and still is) extremely Liberal; my Dad was (and definately not so much anymore...but that's for another post) a Conservative.
I grew up in a time when daily body counts of our dead in Viet Nam were broadcast on the Nightly News, where I saw racial strife daily on the television, and was the first to tell my Mom that Bobby Kennedy and Martin Luther King were killed...all at the tender age of 7. All of this of course was mixed in with the original runs of Star Trek, Lost In Space, Speed Racer, and the Thunderbirds.
My heroes growing up were astronauts...THE ASTRONAUTS...the Original 7, The New 9 et al. Al Sheppard was (and still is) one of my heroes, because he was FIRST, he was Chief Astronaut and nothing like a little Menuere's Disease was going to prevent him from going to the moon. I wanted to be an Astronaut; I wanted to attend the Air Force Academy or West Point. I wanted to do *something*, because above all else, no matter their political differences, my parents instilled in me a love of country...and that has still not abated to this day; it's just a lot truer now and not some talking points memo from the Right or the Left. Back in the late 60s and early 70s though, you had to take a side on everything from the Viet Nam War to what to wear, how long your hair was, and what music you listened to.
There was no in-between; there was either Right or Left, Conformist or Non-Conformist, Rock and Roll or Ray Connick. I grew up in a house that had all these things going on at the same time; it's no wonder I'm fucked up.
So here I was in 1974, on the cusp of puberty and finally realizing that things were pretty messed up in America. Sure, we finally ended that travesty in Viet Nam, and had landed on the moon. I was knowing "peace" for the first time in my life after knowing nothing but body counts throughout my youth. Things were looking good...until August 1974, when the rug was pulled out from under me, my blind love of country was shaken, and I took a side and a stand for the first time in my life.
Our President resigned in disgrace after a scandal that shook the very foundations of our Nation, and still reverberates to this day. On that day, I decided that I could no longer look at our way of life blindly; that those who were in charge of things were just in it for themselves. I no longer had a desire to go to any of the Military Academies. I questioned everything I knew, and began to rebel against everything; especially my Dad. After all, if anyone ever represented the Establishment, it was my father...who went to work in a suit and tie day in and day out, living the same mundane lie that millions of others did.
1974 was the year I kissed my first girl, smoked my first cigarette, got drunk for the first time. (The girl is happilly married with several kids, I'm a recovering alcoholic, but I still smoke. Hey, I need at least one vice!).
From 1975-1979 I attended an all-boys Catholic High School run by the Irish Christian Brothers; not the guys who made the Brandy, but the other guys who drank enough of the stuff, and also let you hang out and drink and smoke with them occasionally, usually the younger Brothers in their late 20s-early 30s. In a manner of speaking, I was somewhat being a conformist (had to wear a tie and jacket daily), but half the fun was breaking the rules, not getting caught, or even going to class high. We had quite a liberal education, and it was never mandated that you attend Church services, although you had to take 4 years of religious education. This was great for me, because by that time I had divorced myself from the Catholic Church and was an agnostic. So I still had a chance to rebel, in my own way.
So why in the hell would I place myself in that environment? Because it was one of the three best private High Schools in NYC with a graduation rate of 99% with 95% of the students receiving some sort of schollarship to college.
So off I went to college; grew my hair and beard really long; marched in any protest that I could; became a registered socialist; joined (and eventually ran) my college radio station; wrote exposees for the campus newspaper; and partied...A LOT.
So, along comes an offer for a steady job of (at the time a great starting salary) $18,000 per year. So, the hair gets cut and I finally see what my face looks like after keeping a beard for the better part of 4 years. The paychecks come in, and since I'm living at home, I could spend it all.
A friend of mine who was also a Management Trainee for another Bank once told me that the first year of being a Trainee was like a 5th year of college. Oh boy, was he right!
And this is where my beloved Twin Towers come back into my life.
One of my favorite watering holes was the Market Bar, just inside PATH Square, which was an area that surrounded the escallators that went down 6 stories to the trains. Great food, and they were one of the few places at the time that had Bass Ale on tap. A few of us would go there for lunch quite often, especially in the winter. NYC women don't go outside in the winter unless they have to, and they used to come into this bar like the Red Chinese Army marched across the Yalu River for lunch and after work. In my youth, I was quite the rake and I had my share of conquests. One of the things I found out about from a few of the ladies was a great beach town at the NJ Shore called Manasquan where you could rent a house that was meant to hold 8 people and cram 32 people in there, with each one buying a "share". A full share guaranteed you a bed and full use of the house all summer; all the way down to a partial share which would guarantee you a spot on the floor on the occasional weekend.
A few friends and I got together and got full shares in a house just two blocks from the beach in Manasquan; across the street from a 24 hour newsstand, a dry cleaner, and two of the most popular bars and a liquor store around the corner. I was living in Staten Island at the time, except for the weekends, when my Friday went something like this:
- Recover from Thursday Evenings drinking and debauchery, pack my weekend bag, pop two asprin, and hope to God that the hangover wouldn't last all day.
- Walk up 5 blocks to the WTC and have Hair of the Dog at Market Bar at lunch
- Finish the day, go to Market Bar for two pints, and then hop on the PATH Train to Newark and change trains for the ride to Manasquan...this of course after stopping in the Newark Station liquor store for two "oil cans" of Fosters Lager for the ride.
- Walk to the house; get changed, drop my suit off at the cleaners for Sunday afternoon pickup.
- Party all night Friday, and all day and night Saturday and Sunday.
- Get dressed early in my newly pressed suit on Monday Morning, hop on the train and catch a few hours sleep, and get back on the PATH to the WTC again.
- Repeat every Friday.
I loved the Shore, always have. I said to myself that one day I was going to move down there; it was better (MUCH BETTER) than Staten Island, the girls were prettier (and looser), and the commute was just slightly longer than it took me from my Parents house. Plus, I would always come in and out of NYC through that magnificent gateway that was the WTC.
And something else...I said that one day I was going to work in the WTC; the sheer fact that I could work in one of the largest buildings on the planet, go to my favorite bar, and have a commute where I would never have to go outside in bad weather was just one hell of a great idea.
It would take a few years...but I would achieve these goals. It would take a few years before my life would change forever, and just like the dust scattered upon the wind on that horrible Tuesday, all that I could do to pick up my life was to simply watch hopelessly as the dust slipped through my fingers.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment