7-11-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #144 (The Washington Squares - Sidebar about What Happened at One U. . .)

The Squares chugged along like an express train on the local track (a “D” train, perhaps?) in early 1983. We grew close, like a dysfunctional family, and because Tom Goodkind and Jill Greenberg were engaged, of course we were all invited to the wedding.

On May 8, 1983, at the Breakers hotel in Miami Beach, Florida, the Goodkinds became “man and wife.” Actually, they just made official what they’d felt: a destined partnership. They adored each other and were great partners in crime, as the saying goes. We all had a laugh down in Florida, staying with various Greenberg-Goodkind relatives. It was a lavish, lovely wedding at a very ritzy place -- The Breakers Hotel -- and I was honored to be invited and attend.

Then again, I think that Tom wanted to show off his new musical group to one and all and get his family’s blessing -- so of course, we sang for our supper (Bruce and I, that is). It’s all a little blurry but I’m sure we pulled it off with aplomb.

May 8, 1983, was also the last birthday of Mickey Ruskin, my boss in NYC at One U/Chinese Chance, the hip bar/restaurant in the Village. He was 50 years old. I got back to the city one shift before May 16^th. Mickey was hanging at his usual table with some of the usual cronies, the guys who went to the back, in the office, to do the secretive dealings. . . Mickey was looking sallow and kind of distracted, but he wasn’t cranky. To me, he was a mumbling, soft voiced, gentle man.

At any rate, on May 16, 1983, the sad news spread in hushed tones all over the restaurant. I was in shock when I heard about it as I came in for my evening shift: Mickey Ruskin, father, husband, boss, successful restaurateur, was dead. I believe his heart had stopped when he was out somewhere afterhours. . .

The next day, all kinds of folks came in to pay their respects. The Saturday Night Live crowd and Bill Murray showed up with a posse of pals. I recall opening bottles of champagne for them at the table and being REAL nervous, but they were nice, esp. Bill Murray. You can just kind of tell he is, anyway.

So many came to be together to join in mutual sorrow at the passing of the great Mickey Ruskin, all the artists, writers, musicians. . . people like Paul Butterfield (of the ‘60’s Blues Band fame) and John Cale, Joni Mitchell. . . whoever was in town. I felt especially bad for the Ruskin girls, Nina and Victoria, and for Mickey’s widow, Kathy Ruskin. . . such a sad time.

Mickey Ruskin was truly loved -- and truly missed.

6-23-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #133 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: New Beat-ginnings)

All right, so these two musician-contemporaries -- fellow new wavers -- come into the place, looking to talk to me. They weren’t, as it turned out, hungry & thirsty: they wanted to recruit me. And here I was, thinking they needed something tangible!

“You can be center stage -- you can be our Grace Slick!” Tom enthused, following me as I marched toward the kitchen to place a food order. He knew that it bugged me when I was relegated to the back and side of the stage when I was in Nervus Rex and Shawn needed more room in the middle. . . we started out sharing the stage, then as time went on we set up so that he was THE cynosure.

Do what you will with me but show some respect, OK? Because of stuff like that where I felt slighted, I felt bad about being in a group once Nervus Rex broke up, which is why I tried to go solo -- but it wasn’t such a happening thing. I get nervous as a solo, and I didn’t have the necessary confidence; it’s not natural to me.  ‘Cause, to me, building confidence is a mysterious process that takes years. I’m better now, but still. . . . Funny thing: I have a pretty big ego but not always the greatest self esteem. Now, how those two things can be contradictory is indeed interesting: a funny puzzle I’ll probably always puzzle over.

At any rate, when Tom Goodkind and Bruce Jay Paskow approached me to join them in a band that was a combination of The Weavers (they were huge fans of the documentary, “Wasn’t That a Time?”) and Peter, Paul & Mary (but hipper and more ironic), I was intrigued. The concept seemed to have more substance than just the usual ol’ sex, drugs, and Rock & Roll. Vocal harmonies were my pleasure and forte; folk music was pleasurable, albeit not real cool.

As is my wont with most new ventures and things that sound interesting, I said (in Curly Joe Three Stooges voice), “Why, SOI-tenly (certainly)!”  

Maybe Tom Goodkind also knew that I was a fan of Grace Slick’s. . . though that ended after I read her memoir years later, however. . .

6-22-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #132 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: My Well Known Customers)

Besides the amusing characters I worked alongside, like Brenda ballerina, bartender Jimmy, Joe “Mama” in the kitchen, the Ruskin family, and Richard Sanders, I served many and various customers who were -- and are -- fairly well known.

The artists and their families, for one: John Chamberlain, his son, Jesse, and Jesse’s girlfriend, the drummer Jane Fire (from the Erasers); Lisa deKooning, who came by very regularly. She wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but she liked to drink.

Then there were the musicians: Paul Butterfield, Joni Mitchell.  Butterfield drank a good deal, but was quiet and kind of sad.  Joni Mitchell was upbeat and smiled at me kindly, ordering a Molson Golden beer while she practically chain-smoked her cigarettes and chatted with painter Nathan Josephson.

One night, at my large table in my server section, I waited on a very interesting eight-top of artsy folk who included William Burroughs and Allen Ginsberg (and Peter Orlovsky, of course).  You best believe I was shakin’ in my boots that time. . . how could I not be nervous, waiting on such big legends and their entourage (or their hangers-on -- or is it hanger-ons)? 

I always looked like I kept my cool, though: I was working at One U, but most of all,  I was a New Yorker.  You never blew your cool.  Das wast verboten.  The song, “Broken English,” punctuated the air with Marianne’s sweet ragged voice clawing through the wreckage.

And then, one night in February, two young guys came up to me, dressed in black turtlenecks, with Ray-Bans (very Andy Warhol, I thought).  They knew me from the NY club scene: one guy was from the Invaders, and the other guy booked the Peppermint Lounge and had a band called U.S. Ape. 

I figured they must be hungry and broke, so I brought them sodas and bread and soup (all free).  I wondered why they weren’t that interested in eating. . . instead, they were into goofing around and trying to get my attention by talking about how great my old band was and how the guys used to line up to get in just to see Nervus Rex because a cute girl -- me -- was in the band.

Is there any wonder why I listened to them?  Compliments are the sweetest ambrosia. . . especially to one who was dying of thirst.

6-21-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #131 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: My Big Crush)

I mentioned in One U posts about how much flirtin’ and hurtin’ there was back then and there.  Well, it’s true -- and I was pretty silly at times, too.  However, my big crush shall remain nameless in order to preserve a shred of dignity.  One thing I’m not comfortable with writing or talking about is the kiss-and-tell.  I am sure this is one factor that might prove potential harm when it comes to getting read and published but hey -- as daddy said, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.  I tried just now to curse in print but that looked uncouth, too.  Oh well.  Badass I’m not.

I will say this much about my big crush: I melted every time I saw him, every time he walked in. He was a writer. . . not famous per se, but he did have a famous grandfather, a musician.  I dug this guy (he was maybe five, ten years older than me?) because he was smart, funny, kindhearted, wore glasses, and was cute -- in my mind.  He was part of a movable poker game where the guys all wrote out checks to cover their losses in the written amount of “One hundred hurts.”  I know I saw that. . . . I’ve always been observant of those kinds of amusing details.

One night, at closing time, a bunch of us went out to an afterhours club in Soho.  The expected occurred. . . without spelling it out, I’ll leave it to your imaginations (and if you were indeed around, out and about at the time, you know what probably transpired).  All in all, it was a most unhealthy and (ultimately) unhappy scene.  In my mind’s eye and memory, the song “Billie Jean” by Michael Jackson kept playing in the background, over and over.  Also Human League’s “Love Action”. . . and Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing.”

Toward the dawn hour, I wound up in a cab with the object of my crush, and one of the bartenders from One U. . . believe me, everything wound up being a blur but I do recall slow dancing to Patsy Cline singing “Seven Lonely Days.”  Recalling it all, I shudder to think how dangerous everything really was.  What if somebody had turned violent, or wound up the victim of a mugger, thief, etc?  How did we avoid breaking our necks or worse, doing all that crazy shit? 

I am at a loss; can’t explain. I’m just thankful I lived to tell the tale. 

Oh, and what happened to my crush?  He had already fallen in love with a beautiful young woman who worked at One Fifth (bar/restaurant), whom he courted, married, and settled down to have a family with.  I think they live(d) on Long Island. . . and I wish them well.

6-20-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #130 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: Brenda Ballerina’s Conquest)

So, Brenda ballerina had eyes for M.A. but didn’t have the wherewithal to pursue him.  He remained friendly, yet distant.  She did, however, find consolation by talking with Jimmy at the bar.  The funny, loose-limbed bartender with the rubbery face made Brenda laugh, and she took a shine to him.  Jimmy took a shine to whoever gave him a chance, so it was a perfect match, for a night.

It was kind of cute to see Brenda and Jimmy at the bar, flirting.  He acted extra silly and showed off for her benefit, juggling lemons and limes, shaking up cocktails in comical ways.  She had an extra sashay in her prim ballerina walk. . . actually kind of a pigeon-toed walk.  Brenda was so skinny, yet strong.  She could pick up those big hotel trays full of 6 - 8 dinners and move them across the floor, effortlessly and with grace.  The build up to a romantic encounter is always mesmerizing to witness, and I enjoyed seeing their sexually tinged repartee.

The day after spending the night (or a portion thereof) with Jimmy, Brenda reported back: “Oh, he’s so good!”  I don’t know if we were all just naturally horny or if it was the dictum of the day, what with the sexual revolution, Erica Jong’s zipless fucks and what-all.  This was just before AIDS became a terrible plague on so many talented and beautiful men. . . and eventually women too.

At any rate, one night stands did happen on occasion between coworkers and it might have been a little awkward to keep working together without a relationship but. . . those were the breaks. 

I’ll say it again: One U was a lawless place.  You had to be really tough on several levels to work as hard physically, mentally, and emotionally.  Once Brenda and Jimmy had their moment, it was back to work -- but not as much fun between them. 

M.A. continued being Brenda’s crush, but in a less frantic way on her part.  They became friends because she’d always linger around & talk with him. . . I don’t know if he cared one way or the other, as M.A. was as inscrutable as he was mysteriously employed -- or not.  Claudia with her eyes of awe giggled more after talking with him, so there was some competition going on.  What a lucky man he was, with all that young female attention; small wonder why M.A. and the like would come around and hang at One U.

6-16-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #126 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: And now, some history on our Grand High Poobah, Mickey Ruskin)

As interesting as were my co-workers at One U, the bosses were certainly megastars in the firmament of the NYC bar/restaurant scene, and their stock-in-trade was a hip clientele.

Most of this was no doubt on account of the legendary Mickey Ruskin, whose bio I will recount here with some help from the internet (and Wikipedia -- though there is no one entry for Mickey Ruskin per se, which is a crime, I tell ya!).

Originally a lawyer for a brief spell (attended Cornell Law School), Mickey Ruskin started his restaurant career in the early ‘60’s.  He opened The Tenth Street Coffeehouse in the Village, which featured nightly poetry readings.  Then on East Ninth Street, he opens Les Deux Magots.  That led to a bar called the Ninth Circle Steak House on West Tenth Street; it became a hangout for artists and musicians.  Then Mickey hits his stride in 1965 by opening a place called Max’s Kansas City, on Park Avenue South near 17^th Street. 

Max’s became a hangout for the Andy Warhol Factory people, as well as a large following of The New York School sculptors and artists, poets, musicians, and celebrities -- including John Chamberlain, Robert Rauschenberg and Larry Rivers, whose presence attracted hip celebrities and the jet set.[1] Neil Williams, Larry Zox, Forrest (Frosty) Myers, Larry Poons, Brice Marden, Bob Neuwirth, Dan Christensen, Ronnie Landfield, Peter Reginato, Carl Andre, Dan Graham, Lawrence Weiner, Robert Smithson, Joseph Kosuth, Brigid Berlin, David R. Prentice, Roy Lichtenstein, Peter Forakis, Peter Young, Mark di Suvero, Larry Bell, Donald Judd, Dan Flavin, Richard Serra, Lee Lozano, Robert (Tex) Wray, Carlos Villa, Jack Whitten, Philip Glass, Max Neuhaus, Ray Johnson, Malcolm Morley, Marjorie Strider, Edward Avedisian, Carolee Schneemann, Dorothea Rockburne, David Budd, Norman Bluhm, Kenneth Showell, Tiger Morse, Colette Justine, Lenore Jaffee, William S. Burroughs, Allen Ginsberg, and Marisol were just a few of the artists seen regularly at Max's. Willem de Kooning, Barnett Newman, art critics Lucy Lippard, Robert Hughes, Clement Greenberg, and Harold Rosenberg, art dealers Leo Castelli. . . .

Before opening the bar/restaurant Chinese Chance (a.k.a. One U) roundabouts 1980, in the late seventies Ruskin own and ran a club on Chambers street long before Tribeca was at all hip, called The Lower Manhattan Ocean Club. Many cool, avant garde musicians performed there while other cool people played and drank: John Cale, Talking Heads, Patti Smith, Dwight Twilley -- even jazz legends like Lester Young and David Murray.  (The rock press enjoyed the ambiance too, of course -- Trixie A. Balm and her friends enjoyed frequenting the Ocean Club.) Many of those same luminaries followed, eventually, to One U -- Mickey’s last earthly watering hole.