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.

6-28-12 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. . . 

6-23-12 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. . .

6-20-12 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.

6-19-12 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. 

6-16-12 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.