(You know, if I had a PUNK tee shirt or knew where my PUNK mags were, I'd have included that here. But then, I'd have to be way more organized with my archived artifacts. What fun it THAT??! Someday, definitely. . .)
Time to recollect about those guys at PUNK Magazine in NYC in ’76. John Holmstrum and Legs McNeil were really nice guys, but Legs of course was a real character who had writing talent, brilliance, dyslexia, self-destructive tendencies, and a sense of humor: hence, he was PUNK Magazine’s mascot of sorts and “resident punk.” (He later wrote a Punk & New Wave classic, Please Kill Me -- which really is apropos!)
At any rate, around Halloween I was invited to a dress-up party at Fran Pelzman’s apartment uptown. I was dressed as my fantasy of Zelda Scott Fitzgerald (I’d just read Zelda by Nancy Mitford and related to the former Belle’s “artistic temperament,” I guess) on the golf course. I had these saddle shoes (golf shoes!) with big cleats on them from my fave thrift store, and lord knows what else, probably some strange hat and a pleated skirt.
Legs came as himself, but he’d been drinking more than usual (!!). So, along toward the middle of the party, Legs asked if I’d be okay to drive his (mother’s) car downtown after the party. “Sure,” I piped, “I’m cool.”
“Now Trixie, really, are ya?” Legs lurched, swaying and peering from under that mop of then-splendid dark hair.”
La Trix confided, “Yeah, uh, you know I don’t drink?” in a hushed tone worried others might hear she wasn’t a hard drinking, cool chick. Legs looked a little more at ease. Trixie went on, “You know, I had a car until a few months ago. It died on the Pelham Parkway. . . I called it Elenore.”
“Yeah? Nice name. Y’see, I don’t care if I drive and kill myself, but I just wouldn’t want to kill the other people,” Legs slurred. “So you’re sure now, you’ll drive?”
“Yeah, you bet.” Odds were I’d get there safely as usual with the angels riding on my shoulders, ‘cause that’s the ol’ Trixter’s style --
As it was then, is now, and ever shall be, Amen!