8-19-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #183 (Working Temp in NYC: Questioning the conscience of the temp employment agency behemoths)

The temporary employment agency business must have grown exponentially from the seventies to the nineties. More and more of them popped up, along with specialty temp firms (“consulting” firms for engineers, architects, graphic artists, even lawyers). At this point, in 2012, I know in the past five years they’ve probably taken a beating due to the recession, but temporary worker agencies remain viable businesses because they’re a practical solution to a hiring problem (“how do we get projects done with a finite beginning and end without using other valuable employee hours?”), or an economic solution to permanent hiring (“how can we get away with not paying any benefits -- and make a big cost savings? -- which means less administrative work as well.”).

And sometimes, in the temp-to-perm world, the companies just want to try out a few potential employees on a probationary basis, and hiring a temp is a safe enough alternative (and somebody else checks out/vets that potential candidate for a permanent job).

As it was, back in the ‘80’s, a lowly office temp like me was paid $15 an hour. The temp agencies charged over $30 to the companies. Knowing the workings of capitalism, I didn’t mind that, so much, but here’s what got to me when I realized it had happened: temp wages froze. Once I got up to the $16 per hour rate in the nineties, it never went higher. Over thirty years, I worked intermittently in the temporary employment field as a high level admin (with a 60 wpm typing speed and thorough knowledge of MS Office: Word, Excel, PowerPoint) and not gotten an hourly wage above $16 p.h.

That meant: no raise, ever. It also meant that wages didn’t keep in line with cost of living increases. . . So, rents would rise along with the price of milk, bread, cereal, fruit, meat etc.-- and the $16 per hour wage would remain. I don’t know how anybody could keep living that way, paying bills and trying to save for a home, a car, a baby, a rainy day. . . not even thinking about saving for retirement on a temp’s salary!

8-14-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #178 (Working Temp in NYC: Personal Errands for The Man)

Another thing about me, I love doing anything that’s uncommon or not part of the plan at work because I like change. I also like to think that life isn’t boring, and when you get out of the same ol’ same ol’, boredom disappears - poof! -- like a cockroach when you turn on the lights.

As it happened, some bosses had interesting requests as far as errands. A few asked if I wouldn’t mind picking up their lunch orders if I was going out -- that was well and fine. One or two asked if I could fetch their shirts from the cleaner’s down the street. That was cool, too.

The most interesting errand -- since this was pre-Ticketmaster -- was to pick up some concert tickets for my groovy divorced older guy boss, Merv Weiner, who was a Sr. VP in M&A at Bristol Myers-Squibb. The concert:  Leonard Cohen Live! at the Felt Forum. Everybody Knows he’s my man and so, I was more than happy to go in person to get tix for Merv because I also picked some up for my boyfriend and me.

Of course, I’d not have been as ecstatic if he asked me to get tickets for Billy Joel or somebody I loathed. . .but the trip outside the office to do just about anything other than work at a desk between 9 and 5 was kinda heavenly.

So, thank you, Merv -- and thanks, Len, for an awesome concert way back when at the Felt Forum. That was where I bumped into Allen Ginsberg and discussed our favorite songs off Cohen’s I’m Your Man album. He said to me, “I like that Manhattan song. And how’s Tommy (Goodkind -- from the Squares) doing?”!

8-13-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #177 (Working Temp in NYC: “Take a memo, please” and Speed Typing for The Man)

Because I have a great love of language and can visualize words on a page while people are speaking, I am an exceptional at transcriber. And because I had plentiful experience as a freelance journalist, writing up interviews from mostly musicians and celebrities, I also had a lot of transcribing under my belt.

As a journalist, my transcribing tools weren’t as highly functional as in an office where they had the almighty DictaPhone machine. It was like a tape player but had a foot pedal attachment with a play, rewind, and fast forward function. You could also adjust the speed on your DictaPhone console so that it played at a good rhythm that you could type as fast or slow as your speed and keep up with the words.

A note on my typing speed: For years, I couldn’t get up to 45 wpm. The better, higher paying hourly jobs went to those who typed 55 wpm and over, so that was an obstacle I needed to surmount. I practiced very hard for a few weeks, then called Accurate about retesting my typing speed.

Because Denise had a soft spot for brash, funny little me, I re-tested and just made it: 56 wpm. My rate increased by $2 per hour! Oh boy, I was on my way to riches, then!

Anyway, when the bosses wanted me to “Take a letter,” I’d explain that I didn’t know shorthand but could make do with a fast longhand. I’d scribble away on a steno pad, then rush to the typewriter to type what the boss had just dictated relying on scribbled phrases and memory. After a few edits back and forth, the letters could be typed in final draft, on company stationery, signed, Xeroxed for the files, and sent. Whew!  

On the days where I had to mostly take dictation, transcribe, and write . . . as the saying goes, “I’d be laughing. . .” It was something I was really good at, and don’t we love feeling good about what we do well?

8-12-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #176 (Working Temp in NYC: Setting Up Meetings for The Man)

 So, other than answering the assistant’s phone on their desk outside the boss’s door in the course of a day and sometimes making all kinds of personal calls for the boss, the killer thing would be: setting up meetings.

Because this was the pre-email environment, setting up meetings for me meant taking a deep breath (even though I’m quite good, even sometimes brilliant at it, I have a slight phone phobia) and dialing the extensions.

“Hello, Mr. Whoosit’s office? I’m filling in for Mr. Dutcher’s secretary and he was wondering about setting up a meeting with Mr. Whoosit on August 17? (pause) Oh. Mr. Whoosit’s out of town then. Well, let me get back to you with some other dates. Thank you.”

This kind of thing would happen many times, the invitee not being available and a lot of back and forth, phoning. Aaargh!

Until I got the hang of it, coordinating meeting dates and times was a killer. You had to have multiple possibilities in order to nail one date and time down, and then consider the seniority of the invitees and prioritize. You had to have an org chart for that because usually the boss was too busy to ask. And usually at some point in the process when you reported back to the boss about who was in and who couldn’t come, you’d be yelled at, anyway.

When you finally made all the calls and nailed down the attendees, then you had to find a room for the meeting. I’d rely on other “office gals” for help, regular employees who knew the ropes and rooms.

Setting up meetings was never fun, always work, always stressful. Later on, with computers and emailing, it got better, but still. . . I found that experience useful when I had to set up band rehearsal schedules, or plan a big family gathering.

On the days where I had to set up meetings and it didn’t go well I would NOT laugh, inwardly, that they paid me to work. . . and I’d wonder why anybody would want to work full time, permanently, in an office. Ugh.

8-11-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #175 (Working Temp in NYC: Phoning Home for The Man)

I previously described a nightmarish job, working reception. Well, since most of my temp jobs were for more general office work, it didn’t matter about the phones as much. I grew a mounting respect for receptionists who had to handle so much at one time.

Most jobs, the phones I had to answer were just one of two buttons on an assistant’s phone on their desk outside the boss’s door. And that was a piece of cake, as it’s easier to keep track of a couple of lines/buttons than a few dozen. So today, let’s explore another one of the clerical/secretarial tasks in more thrilling detail. Today’s task: 2. Making phone calls for the bosses.

Hmm. Wouldn’t you think that answering the phone would be the thing we were exclusively responsible for? Ah, not so. In the old days of secretaries, they’d be asked to do any number of multitasks. That would include personal stuff for bosses, even if you were filling in for their assistant. It actually made me kind of laugh -- though I didn’t dare chuckle aloud.

One guy, with Shearson Lehman (before they became Lehman Brothers), had a great name: Dodge Dutcher. I worked for him for a week or two, and I always marveled at how little he seemed to do. Maybe it was because it was the summer? Anyway, he probably had a very patient assistant because quite soon he stared talking away to me -- not that he wanted me to talk, just listen -- and he had a lot of personal agendas.

He’d hand me a list of people to call/things to do every day. Being a hired gun, it was all well and fine to me -- because, with my sense of humor, it was constantly amusing to be around somebody in such a high place with such energy and such apparent ability to run his life AND a business. Then again, my work for him rarely had anything to do with business.

Dodge Dutcher had me call his dry cleaner’s; his Episcopal Church office; his travel agent (making travel arrangements was part of many jobs -- and this was when you called the agent and THEY did all the work that computers now do); his mother (!); old college friends; and last but not least, his wife (who he angrily called at one point “A World Class Bitch”).

He was mad at her all the time, so his assistant had to phone her with his plans. “Ah, Mrs. Dutcher? This is Lauren, Mr. Dutcher’s temporary secretary? Uh, he was hoping to have dinner with you and the Wests at the club on the 21^st, at 7?”  I felt truly lame, having to call the boss’s wife, but I supposed that DD’s ol’ secretary/assistant was used to making such calls.

Thank the heavens for the way things have changed, since: now people call and text their friends and relations from work on personal phones in their pockets. Admin Assistants (not secretaries) now have other busy work that doesn’t include making awkward cold calls of a personal nature for the bosses. . . or at least, not that I know of (say something if you have a job where you have to do that kind of thing, still)!

8-10-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #174 (Working Temp in NYC: Answering Phones/Reception)

So today, let’s explore one of the clerical/secretarial tasks in more thrilling detail. Let’s start with answering phones/reception. Being in the age of the push button reception phone system -- no longer patching in the cords like you see on old movies with phone operators -- in some places, being temporary receptionist was almost a breeze.

But if the large phone console on the reception desk was poorly marked with names or at all dysfunctional (sometimes buttons stuck or there were broken connections wired internally), beware.

Such a thing happened at a small company I once worked for in midtown, Quantum Science Corporation. I took the receptionist temp job because that was all that was available on that particular day and even though it paid a few bucks per hour less, I was feeling industrious and needed the work.

My temperament wasn’t ideally suited to working a busy reception desk, though -- I got easily flustered and when the heat was on I was brusque with some callers, which I instantly regretted but there, it happened, harm was done. Oh well. I never said I specialized in reception but could be a pinch player.

“Hello, good morning, Quantum Science Corporation, how may I help you?”

“Looking for Mister Coodleschnook.”

“Ah, um, just a minute.” I’d put the caller on hold and try to find that button and the instructions on how to transfer the call (each phone console was slightly different each place you went, it seemed). Then I’d go to the phone list which was key to what extensions went to which employee ‘cause the phone consoles weren’t always marked accurately.

“I’m back, thanks for holding, transferring to Mister Coodleschnook,” I’d say, and deftly make the transfer. Well, on a couple of calls, the transfer button stuck so they didn’t go through, and I had a few irate callbacks.

Then, in the middle of all that mishigas, one of the queen bees of the office sashays by and tells me what a crappy job I’m doing on reception, wondering aloud where they get the awful temps from. Of course I tried to bite my tongue, but being the type A communicator, I tried to explain to her that the list wasn’t updated, the buttons were sticking etc.

Frankly, my dear, she didn’t give a damn.

At any rate, if that was the nightmare scenario, there were better ones, too.

8-08-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #172 (Working Temp in NYC, Getting the jobs)

All right. But before we describe those many wonderful clerical/secretarial tasks mentioned in the previous post, a few words about actually GETTING the work (in the pre-computer age):

First of all, I had to call around to find a temp agency that I could work with, a place that would appreciate and utilize my talents, experience, and work ethic. That wound up being Accurate Temporaries in downtown NYC. I had to go there, dress nice, interview, register, take a typing test. Once in, I was pretty much on (unspoken) probation. But then, once I started and completed about five assignments, the people in the temp office actually started remembering my name, my face.

So, to get the work, I’d call the office. For example:

“Hello, Accurate. This is Lauren Agnelli. Are there any jobs I could fill for you from now through August 31^st?”  Or I’d also ask, “Is Denise available for a minute?”  Denise was one of the counselors and the office manager and I liked her very down-to-earth, Working Girl manner, accent, and directness. 

Denise was tall, big boned, with hazel eyes and dark, straight hair that was longish and in a kind of flip. She was an attractive woman who was only about five years older than me, I thought. Then again, we might have been the same age, but as a very responsible office manager with the power to hire and fire, she seemed somehow older. I have to thank her time and again for keeping me working through those crazy eighties and even nuttier nineties.

But rather than calling on the phone, Accurate Temporaries preferred for their temps to actually wait around in the office and sit on chairs against the wall, huddled next to each other. That way, when the call came in for a temp worker, Accurate could just give one of the waiting workers the nod, scrawl down the information on a piece of paper, and send them out to work right away.

Of course, some people never got called to work, so those unlucky ones waited around for two, three hours in the office, then went home, empty handed and heavy hearted. . .

8-07-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #171 (Yuppie Culture in NYC, substance beyond style)

What kind of work was a young temp(orary secretary) in NYC in the 1980’s called upon to do?  First of all, we weren’t office administrators, we were secretaries. And really, I thought clerical work was terribly easy especially before technology arrived. I generally worked for Accurate Temporaries, but also did some work for Kelly Girls, I think.

The hardest thing about temping was dealing with new people, new personalities, constantly. Some were nice, some not so nice; some were assholes, some were evil. Regardless, you had to maintain good relationships with them AND remember names and faces.

With practice and necessity, I became pretty good at short term name recall and temporary relationships.

At work, we had any number of clerical tasks or duties. The main categories: 1. answering phones/reception; 2. Making phone calls for the bosses; 3. Taking dictation and/or transcribing taped memos with a Dictaphone; 4. Doing personal errands for the bosses; 5. Making photocopies on Xerox machines; 6. Sending faxes; 7. Filing; 8. Lastly,  perhaps one of my favorite tasks: Typing drafts from pages of handwritten notes, on a typewriter, usually on IBM Selectrics -- large, clunky, loud machines that had removable font balls and, if you were lucky, had white correction strips so you could cover your mistakes, cleanly and fast. 

Let’s explore each one of the previous clerical/secretarial tasks in more thrilling detail. . .

8-05-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #169 (Yuppie Culture in NYC, So let’s talk style). . .

Yes indeed, in Working Girl, yuppie style was explained and exhibited very well. . . from the running shoes that girls wore to work then changed into sexy heels at the office to the conservative jewelry, pearls and little tank watches and little gold hoops (hate to admit it but I am partial to that kind of subtle, ladylike jewelry. . . could it be the closet yuppie in me?).

Hairstyles were generally conservative, with excellent cuts, subtly coiffed unless you were one of the “working classes,” where a more extreme female or male hairstyle was tolerated. A true yuppie had short hair if a man, and very manageable hair, if female -- and frequently trimmed by expert, well paid, hairdressers.

Women wore shoulder padded suits and dresses, just like in the 1940’s, when fashion decreed that women could look more formidable, as they actually were given a little more power to achieve, just like in the 1980’s. Some of the suits looked downright mannish, in fact, kinda dowdy. The lines were boxy, not form fitting, and blouses resembled shirts, all buttoned down with little tie-like decorations.

Heels were kind of clunky and toes were squared or round-toed. . . but spikey high heels were also around, let’s not kid ourselves. I had a beautiful purple silk pants suit that I loved, and lots of black skirts. Sweaters weren’t so popular, but jackets and blazers were often worn.

For the men, conservative suits and starched shirts with semi-wide ties were worn, black or brown shiny lace-up wing tip shoes de rigeur. Unusual shirt colors like pink and lavender weren’t yet popular, with white being the uniform, mostly. Later on in the ‘80’s and ‘90’s, dark blue shirts became the rage (and they look very nice, in general).

And even though this was all happening, I would wear my beret proudly on my head whenever the temperature dipped below 50. . . and a nice scarf around my neck. I have always had a thing for vintage silk scarves, like my mom.

Oh -- and red lipstick. Definitely red lipstick. So the eighties and yuppie fashion wasn’t ALL that bad. . . just looks dated, now.

8-04-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #168 (Yuppie Culture in NYC, Where will it all end for me, already?). . .

Let me repeat those coupla disclaimers, first:

** News flash to loyal readers: not feelin’ my usual healthy self since my CA trip. . . did Jet Blue poison me with their plentiful fun snacks and ”superhealthy” Snack Up box? Hope not! Anyhoo, pardon the (temporary) disappearance. I’ll get back up to speed so hang on & fasten your seatbelts: it’s gonna be a bumpy ride (kinda). . . pickin’ up old memories for me ain’t all roses and chocolates. . .

*** PS - I could use another real good survival job right now: any ideas?

Yuppies on the screen: All right, other than the aforementioned Afterhours by Martin Scorcese, various Yuppie portrayals on the screen helped form the image that we formed and projected of that sometimes scurrilous sociological species: Yuppie.

All right, so there was Michael in The Big Chill.  In the movie, he was called cold and manipulative, and wasn’t very sexy. Played by Jeff Goldblum in thick eyeglasses, he was also a funny Jewish yuppie. Of course, yuppies came in all sizes, ethnicities, and religions. But, on re-watching The Big Chill, it seemed insipid and unsatisfying. Other than seeing a really young and skinny William Hurt, Glenn Close, and the whole rest of the cast (wow -- well, it WAS almost 30 years ago), and having an all right soundtrack, I don’t like it.

Another funny -- and sweet -- yuppie on the screen: Alex in the television show Family Ties, as played by Michael J. Fox. His yuppieism seemed a reactionary move to his liberal hippie-ish parents, who despaired of him ever earning back the soul he sold to the devil of commerce. . . or tried/wanted to sell it.

But of course the greatest yuppie fairy tale of all came with two strong female characters -- played by Sigourney Weaver and Melanie Griffith -- with one dreamy (at the time) romantic lead, a good guy played by Harrison Ford.

If you said Working Girl -- bingo! I’ve got to mention supporting actress Joan Cusack, too, and Alec Baldwin as the philandering Staten Island boyfriend of Melanie Griffith’s character. . . the movie’s premise, plot, characters, and music was all so well done I still kinda love it. . . “I’ve got a mind for business and a body for sin” is just one of the great lines. And how about, “. . . it’s not even lea-thuh!?”

Working Girl is a classic good yuppie/bad yuppie saga. . . and yuppie style was explained and exhibited very well. . .

8-02-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #166 (The Early Stirrings of Yuppie Culture in NYC, Where It All Started Pt. 4). . .

So. Thanks to my close personal Yuppie friend, Kris Skrinak, I was able to get into word processing as a temp. He'd invited me to join him at the Goldman Sachs office where he worked, afterhours, to try my hand at this program (on early PCs of course) called MultiMate. It was pretty primitive and involved a lot of F keys and shifting on the keyboard, etc. etc. A little laminated template on the keyboard was helpful because only if you used it all the time could you remember how to do everything necessary to create good looking, well formatted documents. I learned just enough to get my foot in the door and work jobs where I'd learn to do even more, on the job.

In the 1980s, when you worked in an office as an administrative assistant, we were called secretaries, still. And because I was on the road so much, I had to work, for years, as a temporary secretary (like the Paul McCartney song). My temp agency was called Accurate Temporaries (they're still around, on lower Broadway I think).  

Accurate had a little office in Two World Trade Center on the 21st floor. This was before the high security measures instituted after the first (in 1993?) and second, fatal, attacks on the World Trade Centers on 9/11/2001-- so getting around into almost any building was a breeze. Nobody was stopped on their way here and there -- we had so much more physical and mental freedom. Getting places was so much faster without all the mishigas of the security stops we experience post- 9/11, in 2012.

To get into Goldman Sachs after the workday, I thought, would be difficult -- but Kris figured it all out. I liked the scofflaw aspect of him having his boho writer-musician friend, me, come in and benefit from using the corporate equipment without their knowledge. I admired Kris for possibly putting his neck (and job) on the line to give me a helping hand. If I didn't learn word processing, I wouldn't be getting work in offices. I had to constantly learn and keep up with technology the whole time I did the part time office work gig.

And that's key: always keeping up with modern technology when you want to be useful. Again, I have to thank Kris S. for helping me get to the point where I could go to my temp agency and say to Denise at Accurate: "Yup, I know MultiMate -- I'm available to work for the next three weeks," and get work. Because from then on, it was all word processing -- typing into computers.

Don't recall the exact pay rate, but it was probably around $8 or $9 per hour in the mid '80's. . . and as my rent was between $300 and $400, it worked all right. Not great, but all right. . . . 

8-01-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #165 (The Early Stirrings of Yuppie Culture in NYC, Where It All Started Pt. 3). . .

** FLASH to loyal readers: I'm on the road again now so it's been difficult to keep up with the blogs, but here we are again!  I'll fire off another few & hope it'll keep you in good stead . . . **

Former Yippie leader, Jerry Rubin, morphed from being a '60's idealist to an '80's capitalist, starting a business networking group in 1982. Newspaper columnist Bob Greene wrote an article about Rubin and called it "From Yippie to Yuppie." Even in the pre-internet days, this, of course, did not escape our notice; Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman were very big in our eyes as radical type people who also wanted political change in the world.

The fact that the Yuppies as a rule weren't concerned about others who weren't just like them -- who weren't like the rich democrats who had a social conscience -- really irked us. Say what you will about the envy factor on our parts: we at least were working with a social conscience and cared about the have-nots. That whole trickle-down economic theory nonsense sounded ridiculous to us, and we really were hoping that there WOULD be a "New Generation" of people and leaders who cared about all of us, the Yuppies as well as the Poverty Jet Setters, the down-and-out and broken spirited who needed a little hand up as well as the others who already had it all. . . 

One of my yuppie friends who really did care about me was my boyfriend RIck's friend, Kris S. A Business major from King's College in PA (graduated '83), Kris moved to Manhattan with his girlfriend, MaryAnn (or moved with Rick, then MaryAnn joined him). 

Kris had the merriest soul, the best laugh, and a very lovely way with people. He was kind of silly at times, but young -- and one of three brothers: Kim, Kris, and Kyle. Of the three, he was the middle son, and the destined Yuppie. Kris didn't talk about it, but you could tell he was ambitious and wanted to make a mark on the world. He had a job at Goldman Sachs whom he called, "Golden Socks" with a peal of laughter. Sometimes Kris would meet us after work -- he worked in the downtown, Wall Street area. 

One night, we were talking about the newest thing in offices: word processing. The almighty IBM Selectric Typewriter was on its way OUT, forever. Kris said to me, "Lauren, we have computers and word processing at work. I could get you in afterhours* and you could learn it. . . want to?"

(Almost) always say yes! That's the way I live, so of course, I jumped at the chance to learn some MultiMAte on my own. Kris set up a few nights when he was working late, called me up, and invited me down to work on learning word processing so that I would be worth more to my temp agency. . .

* After Hours was also the title of a very funny 1985 Scorcese black comedy movie with Griffin Dunne as a young word processor in downtown Manhattan who went on a ridiculous but scary adventure one night, in Soho. . . almost like life imitating art for me because, except that I was a female, that movie could have been about a nutty night on the town that happened to me. . . 

7-31-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians -- Starter Job #164 (The Early Stirrings of Yuppie Culture in NYC, Where It All Started Pt. 2). . .

** FLASH to loyal readers: I'm on the road again now so it's been difficult to keep up with the blogs, but here we are again!  I'll fire off another few & hope it'll keep you in good stead . . . **

Well, the Yuppie explosion happened, around 1984. Living and working in NYC, being of that age, I definitely had some Yuppie friends -- who were "forgiven" their status and ambitions because they were nice, fun, helpful, generous people. My boyfriend at the time, Rick, had a couple of friends from PA who moved to NYC about the same time as he (early '80's) and they wanted to "make it" -- as the Washington Squares did -- and be successes.

I must admit, I did feel some envy and regret that I wasn't able to also be a respected professional -- which of course those white collar professionals in the offices of power were -- and I wanted to have money, but on my terms. And sure, part of me would love to be rich because that would mean different kinds of worries. . . and very likely I'd feel more respected in life.

Respect is so important to me. . . I do feel I respect myself, and respect others. But when I don't feel it, my anger swells and the tears (privately) come. A lot of the "boho hipsters" that I hung with (including the Squares) had a grudging admiration for Yuppies, but wanted them to show us some respect, too. When we did a good show with a big crowd, or when we were nominated for a Grammy, we felt more universal respect. 

Back to Yuppies on Wikipedia:  "Author and political commentator Victor Davis Hanson has written:

Yuppism... is not definable entirely by income or class. Rather, it is a late-20th-century cultural phenomenon of self-absorbed young professionals, earning good pay, enjoying the cultural attractions of sophisticated urban life and thought, and generally out of touch with, indeed antithetical to, most of the challenges and concerns of a far less well-off and more parochial Middle America. For the yuppie male a well-paying job in law, finance, academia, or consulting in a cultural hub, hip fashion, cool appearance, studied poise, elite education, proper recreation and fitness, and general proximity to liberal-thinking elites, especially of the more rarefied sort in the arts, are the mark of a real man.^[5]"

7-19-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #152 (The Washington Squares - Broaching conflicts as a subject)

Hitherto -- up to now -- I’ve been waxing all positive and glowing about how things were back in the day we were carving our name in the annals of ‘80’s folkrockdom. You see, I’ve always had a difficult time facing conflict, dealing with conflict, writing about conflict. . . though I must admit I have probably created a lot of my own conflicts.

And when in one of “those” moods, I’ve been called a Jack Russell terrier of conflict -- small, loud, and mouthy. When I get mad, get moving!

Truth is, it DOES take two to tangle (I don’t tango) and friction is an essential part of life. Without it, nothing is created. Even babies are created by friction between male & female. . . not to get too deep or literal here. At any rate, try as I have to not be part of the problem, sometimes when I come up with solutions they aren’t always agreeable to others or part of the agenda -- thusly, CONFLICT rears its ugly head, big or little.

Even now, I’m pussyfooting around because I shudder at the feelings that difficulties -- conflicts -- create. I’m conflicted about letting loose and showing my true DARK feelings. . . you might think I’m a beast, a monster, not “nice.”

ENOUGH! Just so you know, I’m very human. I am so emotional I try to go the other way and be logical/stonefaced. Stoic, in fact. It’s self protection.

One night, before the Squares began, at the old Hurrah’s club (or was it the Peppermint Lounge or Danceteria?) I was introduced to Richard, from one of those snotty new wave Brit bands. He called me “Stone faced” -- to my face -- and I was in a really bad mood, so I punched him. I just saw red and lost it.

Not only that, he never punched back, just started yelling or something. I think he was in shock. What an asshole.

I know you could also think that about me, but I am trying not to care. Because I want to write about the upsets, disappointments, and CONFLICTS I felt when I was a Washington Square. All right with that?

Can I get a witness?

7-02-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #138 (Starting Out Again. . .with New Beat-ginnings in The Washington Squares - Open Mic at the Speakeasy)

The Speakeasy scene was not hard to penetrate if you had something good.  Monday night open mics were the main hoot.  Rod MacDonald hosted around our time in the scene (spring of 1983).  We showed up in our striped shirts, Ray Bans, berets  and annoyingly confident attitudes the first time out.  I had a little old acoustic F-30 Guild guitar that sounded great, and Bruce had a Gibson Hummingbird (or was it Tom’s guitar that he lent to Bruce?).   Anyway, Tom played his electric P-bass because this was before Tom got his big acoustic bass, a Guild “guitarrone” style guitar.  It looked good on him because he’s a tall guy and proportionally, it worked. 

The Speakeasy’s owner, Joseph, was a nice older man who Goodkind always schmoozed, making ol’ Joseph smile so that he practically gave Goodkind carte blanche, let Tom do whatever he wanted.   See, Tom was always ingratiating his way into favors, and we never stood in his way.  Tom wanted bookings for us, with lines around the corner.  We didn’t object to that, either!

So, at the Speakeasy on a typical night you might hear Roger Manning doing his Folkgrass duo, or Enamel the Camel singing truly bizarre songs (his theme song went, “Enamel the Camel.  . . “ etc. etc. of course).  Folk humorist Christine Lavin would sing a new satirical song that would get everybody snickering, and Rod MacDonald would sing his own songs, sometimes with Tom Intondi.

Eric Frandsen was a funny guy and a great guitar player, with a handlebar mustache that made him look kinda Gilded Age.  He wasn’t very nice at times so I steered clear; didn’t want to be in his way and get hurt.

Lucy Kaplansky and Peggy Atwood also played. . . they were lovely, fragile, and endearing. 

But the cherry on the sundae, so to speak, was young woman with a guitar who wrote songs and seemed very serious.  She was a waiflike, smart girl who wrote her own songs and never seemed to get overly excited.  Tom and Bruce in the Squares always went out of their ways to be nice and try to make her laugh and “court” her, in a way.  I wasn’t sure of their sincerity, but I was sure she had talent.  I didn’t know if she liked us, though, so that kind of got in my way of enjoying Suzanne Vega. . .   

7-01-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #137 (Starting Out Again. . .with New Beat-ginnings in The Washington Squares - Fast Folk at the Speakeasy)

The pain of Nervus Rex coming to an end was behind me; the new band, “the Squares,” healed that wound and made a lot of sense, really.  Around that time, painfully commercial popsters Huey Lewis and the News did a song called “Hip to Be Square” and a group called Timbuk 3 did a song, “The Future’s So Bright, I’ve Gotta Wear Shades.” 

(look!  We even had a logo, thanks to Marlene Weisman, a talented artist/graphic designer that Tom Goodkind hired to do design for the Peppermint Lounge, too)

As counterculture and so-called hip as we were, those popular songs were eerily apropos.  You’d think they were custom-writ for the yuppies, but most young people felt it and resonated with it.  I guess we were riding a zeitgeist, some sorta gemutlichkeit.  We felt at home anywhere there was a reason to protest, a microphone, and a spotlight.  We had something(s) to say and had to get it right out there. . . in song, and jokes.

So our initial plan of attack had us attending open mics in the village, mostly at Folk City and the Speakeasy.  There was this organization called Fast Folk that I think Jack Hardy spearheaded.  He was a preppy looking guy who wasn’t too friendly to me, but I guess I wasn’t the friendliest character either.  At turns, I was shy, wary, moody, and a little paranoid.  Of course, the cheery face I usually showed to the world belied all the weirdness going on in my head.

Tom Goodkind and Bruce Paskow (but more Tom) were good at hanging out with the other guys, and they got to know Rod MacDonald, Jack Hardy, David Massengill (he was a friend -- he and his sweetheart, Lisie), Eric Frandsen, even Dave Van Ronk.  Christine Lavin also was a part of that scene, and Frank Christian (Jr.).  Cliff Eberhardt, Tom Intondi, Carolyn Mas, Shawn Colvin. . . . lotsa good singer-songwriters.

Like I said, I wasn’t the most social person -- kind of reserved, I hung back and had a hard time feeling a part of that Fast Folk group, even at times my own group felt strange and I always questioned my sense of belonging.  But not to belabor that point here. . . I’ve always felt that way, even in my own family.  Moving on. . .

So, ever notice how different people have different effects on you?  There are those who somehow just make you feel better being in their orbit; there are others who seem to bring out the negative, the whiner in you.  I had just figured that one out right about this time. . . and if I didn’t resonate with a person, if they didn’t make me feel good or comfortable or positive. . . I kinda lost interest and wandered off, in my own self-created haze.

That haze was pure creativity (with a little pity party and self reflection sprinkled in).  I had so many songs in me, so much music to share.  The harmonies flowed on.  I felt happiest when writing and singing. . . some things never change.

6-28-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #136 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: New Beat-ginnings: Finally Naming the Washington Squares)

(sung to the tune of “Old Paint”) “I buy some old paint/Feel like an old man/Go back to my apartment to paint it up again/I work hard all my life just to make ends meet/One slip of the payment, and I’m out in the street (CHORUS) Drive around little tourists, drive around real slow/See the last of the village, it’s ready to go.”

So went one of our early traddie rewrites.  We’d make songs topical about what we were experiencing -- similar to the folk process that Woody Guthrie or any other self-respecting folk singer would do. It really sounded cool because it was rocked up with a hard beat, a throbbing R&B bassline, and jangly, loud guitar riffs.  Add the three part harmonies and ten thousand watts of folk and WHOOO!  Off we went.  I always smiled extra wide when we did “Old Paint”. . . .

Anyway.  The three of us “New Wave Refugees” sat together with our bar napkins to write on and our non-alcoholic bevs (the guys liked coca colas and I drank seltzer with a splash of cranberry) to brainstorm until the name -- so obvious it was genius -- came up: The Washington Squares.  Whose idea was it?  I say it was a harmonic convergence of all our brainpans, an amalgamation if you will of all of our ideas.  The fastball wit and back and forth punning (my forte IS puns) with those guys was like alternately witnessing -- and playing -- a pinball game.

We became the Washington Squares (not the Pinball Wizards) in an inspired act of communal wordplay.  Together we named the beast -- but of course, Tom or Bruce would say it was THEIR idea.  I’d expect that, wouldn’t you?  If you knew them, you’d know how territorial things got. . . but neither could agree on who was top dog, and I never challenged either.  They were like two different breeds of dog: a Labradoodle and a Jack Russell terrier.  But of course, I’m a furry medium hair mutt of a pussycat -- but no Josie, oh no.

In that band, I figured as long as I was the queen, so be it *-)  I was the only girl, and if I’d been more forceful or sexy, or if I worked with blander personalities I’d have been potentially more of a star, but it was work enough being a Washington Square -- part of three great harmony singers and rebels from the village. I just wanted equal attention -- and a chance to shine at being a songwriting musician.

As before mentioned, we had an image (neo beatnik), a mission (We just basically hated Ronald Reagan and everything he stood for). We had our Ray-Bans, berets, our turtlenecks. . .  

AND we had just acquired a great name. . . 

6-27-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #135 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: New Beat-ginnings: Almost Naming the Washington Squares)

What’s in a name?  Just about everything.  In an age when there were band names like The Pretenders, Heaven 17, A Flock of Seagulls, Squeeze, REM, the Violent Femmes, Husker Du, and (my favorite name) Drivin’ and Cryin’, we knew we had to get something good.  This name had to be somehow redolent of the Beat Generation plus the Beatnik (a media took the cool but dangerously subversive Beats, mixing it up with sputnik to create: Beatnik!) with a slight homage to Maynard G. Krebs.

Finding a name was weighing heavily on us, and being a triad of hyper, type A personalities (yes, even the bass player wasn’t laid back!), we all wanted to come up with it.  But together we brainstormed: one late winter night in particular.  We’d been walking around the village, then we wound up at One U for a drink & whatever.  It was easy to stay skinny ‘cause we were all in our 20’s and didn’t have much cash.  I mean, it wasn’t in the budget to be eating out except for occasional slices of pizza and the heavenly Mamoun’s falafel (it was $1.50 at the time, I believe.  Started eating at Mamoun’s when the falafel was 75 cents. . . but that was in the seventies, when I’d skip school and take the train to the village, from Queens).

So, at One U that chilly night in March, Tom, Bruce and I sat at a table in the front of the place (at One U, you sat in the back if you were dining, most often) scrawling names on bar napkins.  The guys were joking around about the Hollywood Squares. . . with Charlie Weaver to block (get it -- the Weavers reference?).  Then we realized we were just steps away from Washington Square park, and that great monument. . . symbolizing bohemia and freedom and a life away from those “squares” uptown.

This was during the yuppie era, when the haves and the have nots were separated by what they did, what they wore, where they worked, and what they believed in.  Sure, we were from middle and upper-middle class homes, in the suburbs, but our hearts were into idealism, a true democracy, perhaps tinged with socialism. . . and living the artist’s life. 

If I had the ability to be somebody else (with a REAL job and respect in the world), believe me, I would have. .  . I really didn’t choose writing and music, they chose me -- and at the time, music also chose Tom and Bruce.  That was how it went back then, at least. . . 

6-24-12 Survival Jobs for Writer-Musicians – Starter Job #134 (Starting Out Again. . .in the Big Apple with a new survival job at One U: The Birth of the Washington Squares)

We didn’t have a name yet, but we definitely had direction -- and a few songs.  Bruce Jay Paskow had written a harmony-filled anthem called “New Generation”:  “. . . It’s time for direction, caring and trust (so) Be on the lookout/for a new generation/Comin’ down strong, filled with inspiration/Be on the lookout for a new-ew-ew-ew Generation.”

Tom Goodkind had written a tex-mex style ballad called “Gestures of Passion” (“Gestures of Passion/They’re all fake/when you kiss her/It’s a mistake”) with pretty harmonies & a descending chord structure.

I had written a folky ballad-anthem with a Joni Mitchell/Steve Stills D-chord shaped lick capoed up on the 3^rd fret called “Charcoal” with a William Blake poem, “Riches,” in the middle. It, too, was harmony-laden (“Some do search for gold/what is the purpose?/Yellow smiles or warm souls/I’ll take the charcoal/melt down that gold”).

When we started rehearsing, we sang old Peter, Paul & Mary songs we remembered from summer camps and our childhoods, like “Cruel War” and “If I Had a Hammer.” We had a natural harmony blend that we just fell into -- although of course sometimes we actually had to work them out, our three-part harmonies worked naturally and well.

We went into an electric rehearsal studio the first time or two, but after that realized we sounded better acoustically, with our acoustic guitars. Our rehearsal space/hangout became Tom & Jill’s small one bedroom apartment in the Village, on 13^th Street between University Place and 5^th Avenue South. Just a few doors down, the Lone Star Café was poised on the corner, a huge Iguana lizard sculpture hanging on the sign and the side of the building.

And the Peppermint Lounge, where Tom worked, was right across the street from that, on 5th Avenue at 13th.  He held that job as long as the club was open (it had moved downtown from 45th - ? - street), but it had to close because of good ol' Rudy Giuliani who cracked down on clubs and money laundering operations (boo hiss -- we hated Rudy).

At any rate, we had a great sound, some cool original songs, and were amassing a repertoire (in our first year) of over a hundred covers, traddies, and originals.  We rehearsed a few times a week, and hung out around the village, kind of like musical terrorists. It was fun.

We had an image (neo beatnik), a mission (the violent overthrow of the U.S. government -- only kidding!  We just basically hated Ronald Reagan and everything he stood for). We had our Ray-Bans, berets, and boatneck shirts. . .

We just needed a great name. . .