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.

6-19-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #129 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: Brenda Ballerina’s Big Crush)

In that world of atmosphere, the sexual tension was palpable and, well, kind of fun.  The combination of talent, wealth, fame, and animal magnetism on any given night filled the room as lingeringly as songs like “Moist Towelettes” or “Let’s Eat Breakfast!” (An ironic song to hear on the jukebox, considering many of the regulars would get up and have a boilermaker for breakfast at 5 p.m.). 

So.  Horny older guys plus cute waitresses a decade younger or more?  Lotsa flirtin’ and hurtin’ at One U.  The chips fell where they may have, but I tried to stay out of as much of the mishigas as I could ‘cause I knew my fragile psyche wasn’t as strong as my tough words.  I mostly would listen and look -- and laugh.

My co-worker, Brenda the ballerina, carried a torch for one of the regulars, “M.A.,” as did Claudia Awed-eyes.  M.A. was a manly fella, about 40 years old, with a trim & athletic physique (he looked kind of like Barbie’s Ken).  He had that ruggedly handsome face with chiseled features, a full head of carelessly coiffed dark brown hair that was neatly brushed up & back, and a penetrating hazel-eyed gaze.  M.A. was good friends with our boss, Richie, and seemed to be there so much he could have been on the payroll.

I figured he was from the Midwest or something, probably a latter-day Gatsby type.  His tight bluejeans looked so perfect they could have been ironed; his button-down shirts were always freshly laundered.  I wasn’t sure what else he did, but he sure as heck wasn’t an artist.

Although M.A. wasn’t my type and plain didn’t appeal to me, he wasn’t a jerk and he treated us “girls” just fine.  Brenda ballerina fell for him; whenever he was around, she changed from an efficient server to an excited little girl behind the swinging kitchen door: “Did you see what he just did?  Did he go off with Lisa?  Is he drinking coffee or tequila, yet?”  Brenda kept an excited monologue up in the back of the house whenever he was around during her shifts and she came to drop off a tray or pick up an order.

Objectively, I could see that he was a striking figure of a man and that most girls would find him irresistible.  I was glad that Brenda liked him and that I didn’t.  I let her carry on about M.A. and wondered if they were destined to consummate her passion.  He seemed to like everybody just about the same amount, but acted more distracted as the evening progressed. . . acted more distracted each time he ducked back into the office for a few minutes, then returned. . .

6-18-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #128 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: No-No Nina)

In her no-nonsense clogs, Nina Ruskin clomp-clomped with a light foot, as she weighed a scant 100 pounds.  With purpose she clomped, with her bar tray of drinks held firmly in front of her: 3 Dos Equiss (“Double-X suds”), 3 shots of Jameson’s straight up, a tall screwdriver, and a bottle of coca cola (for dad, Mickey).

Drinks delivered to her dad and a table full of raucous older artists, with the younger-generation (by 15 years, maybe) artist, Nathan Josephson, regaling them all with jokes that kicked up the hilarity a notch, Nina’s mouth tightened as she turned heel.  Back at the bar, she paused and stretched up on tippytoes to survey the scene, her perhaps 20-60 eyes squinting.

A thin, sallow girl who looked remarkably like dad, Mickey, young Nina Ruskin took her job very seriously.  She kept a baleful eye out for misbehavior in general and rarely seemed to have fun.  In days of yore, she’d have been deigned of bilious temperament.  At One U -- an outpost of outlaws and reprobates, druggies and dealers, poets and painters -- Nina felt that she needed to keep things steady, on an even keel.  I, too, thought of how this was important, but I never envied her being the one to remind people of rules.  

I mean, One U was a notably lawless place.  Many of its artist patrons ate and drank on tabs that owner Mickey Ruskin bestowed in exchange for pieces of their art.  Many fine pieces hung on the crisp white walls.  Working at One U was kind of like working a constant downtown gallery opening -- with a kitchen, a great jukebox, and a bar that was open ‘till late o’ clock.

Drinks in those days were as fancy as a screwdriver or a margarita; a tequila sunrise, maybe some kirs (white wine with cassis) and kir royales (champagne with cassis) were served.  Martinis weren’t very popular.  Of course, mimosas were consumed along with bloody marys in the morning, but who got up early enough for such things?  Maybe the people who slept all day and got up at dark, the cocaine vampires. . . I for one could not understand how anybody could function at all, let alone for lengthy periods of time, high on anything, esp. coke (cocaine). 

I started working there in December of 1982, and by February of ’83 I knew what was going on in the back office, roughly. . . they weren’t exactly hawkin’ vichyssoise in bulk, or anything remotely calorific. . .  but very, very hush hush. . . dangerous.  Did Nina or Victoria, her little sister, know what was being cooked up in the back?  I really doubt it on one hand, but on the other hand I wonder how they couldn’t have known. . .

Even if not exactly likable, I thought Nina was so brave and strong and I admired her ability to keep her head in that zoo that her dad built.  She knew that few people liked her, but stuck to her guns and worked really hard -- probably with blinders on. 

6-17-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #127 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: And now, Father’s Day with Mickey Ruskin & My Dad)

(Well now, you know that saying that nobody’s perfect -- and that parents are people, after all.  Of course it’s true.  Many of you are now parents, and you finally realize that it’s a heavy job but that you’re human -- just like your own parents.  And on account of that, you forgave them, if possible, for any hurt you suffered at their neglect.  Right?  Moving on, right?  After all these years. . . you’re finally grown up enough to recognize that flaws are part of life and that you are flawed, your kids are flawed, your parents are flawed. . . but in spite and on top of it all, there is love.)

How are Mickey Ruskin and my dad similar?  They’re both:  dark haired men, who are dead.  They were both dyed-in-the-wool New Yorkers; both beloved by many, both mysterious men.  They probably did stuff that they weren’t totally proud of. . . but still, their kids loved and still love them.

Two pictures worth 1,000 words each?  This is one LONG blog post!  Happy Father’s Day to all applicable, with love.  

Mickey Ruskin by G. Malanga, 1982

Bernard F. Agnelli, circa mid 1950s

I still miss you, daddy. . .

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.