Out of Paradise - Ch. 5 - New York, New York, Or Joey Gutierez Revisited Pt.1

New York

Out of Paradise - Ch. 5 - New York, New York, Or Joey Gutierez Revisited Pt.1

"So, where 'bouts you going?" the driver asks.

"New York," I say.

"We've been in New York for the past hour," he counters.

"Er, I dunno. New York. I'm on my way to Europe. Gotta get me a ticket."

With that, he drops me at Grand Central Station and with a menacing shrug and a worrisome grin, bids me, "Good luck."

Now it's getting on to about 10:00 pm by now - the homeless are spreading their cardboard mattresses out in the shadowy alcoves of the station's corridors - and here I am, a helpless, hapless, 19 year old hitcher and Grand Central Station virgin, trapped in the heart of darkness, without any cardboard nor a clue of what might be in store. Being up a creek without a paddle has nothing on Grand Central Station without any cardboard. I locate the least menacing and intimidating vagrant I can find, unsling my pack from my back and with a nod and a gesture for his approval to take up temporary residence in his hood, I succumb to my fate and make myself ready to hunker down for the night. I sit down on the hard cold marble floor, back resting against the hard cold marble wall pondering my fate. A light bulb suddenly illuminates from the darkest reaches of my mind. I pull out my wallet, cupping my hand around its contents as not to reveal its meager holdings to any unwanted glances from the surrounding derelicts and retrieve a crumpled up half torn scrap of paper deposited there a week or more earlier. Joey Gutierez - you remember Joey - I had almost forgotten about him myself. The crumpled up half torn scrap of paper held the light that would lead me out of the heart of darkness and my exoneration from the hell I was about to endure - the names and numbers of his mates in Queens. My next mission is to find some way to contact them - Ah, a bank of pay phones. I pull a dime out of my right front pocket and dial the first number on the list.

"Ah, hello?" I say reservedly, unknowing the response I might receive, "You don't know me, but I spent a day hitching up from San Diego to LA with a mate of yours, Joey Gut..."

And before I could finish his name, he shouts, "Ah, you're a friend of Joey's? How the hell is he? Haven't seen him for about 6 months or more. Where's he now?"

I tell him I hadn't seen him myself for a week or so now and about my current predicament of being homeless in Grand Central Station without any cardboard.

He gets all excited about the possibility of hearing some news (as old and as sparse as it might be) about his old mate Joey back in California and says, "Cool, we're just on our way to the city for a friend's birthday party - We'll come by and pick you up."

I tell him my whereabouts, you know, amongst the bums and derelicts in the shadowy alcoves of Grand Central Station's corridors - and, sure enough, about a half hour later, just in the middle of an engaging conversation with my would be floormate - you know, probably something about the latest insider tips from Wall St., along comes a '65 Ford Fairlane crammed with pals of Joey Gutierez on their way to their friend's 21st birthday party. Don't you love it when a plan comes together?

I slide in the car at shotgun and after a series of introductions and reaching into the backseat for handshakes we all become best buddies and proceed into the heart of Manhattan to their friend's 21st birthday party.

"So, you're good friends with Joey, huh?" Avi, the driver asks.

I was about to tell them I only spent the day with him hitching up to LA from San Diego - It wasn't even a day, more like half a day, a few hours really and didn't really know him any more than I knew the lamppost we were both leaning against - but with such cordiality and hospitableness I knew I had to embellish. "Oh, yeah, yeah, great guy. Great guy. Yeah, had a few laughs."

The drive from Grand Central Station up 42nd Street through Midtown Manhattan is truly an awesome spectacle to the virgin eye. The neon monoliths oozing seduction, the ravenous throngs of party-goers lapping it up - the twilight Taxi Drivers and Midnight Cowboys - The Dusk to Dawn vampires and Dawn of the Dead zombies all rising from their crypts, coming alive in raucous debauchery and seductive scavengery. Eyes agape and head craning back and forth and up and down like a spastic geek on crack playing high speed Tetris on two separate monitors simultaneously, I take in the wonders that is Times Square. Hey, isn’t that Holly Golightly standing over there outside Tiffany's - and I think Riff Lorton just punched out Bernardo Nuñez in the ally next door... Everything alive and wonderful, vibrant and decadent is happening before my eyes. "A hustle here and a hustle there, New York City's the place where they said: Hey babe, take a walk on the wild side."

I stretch my neck upward and further upward to find the peaks of the massive monuments of steel and glass and concrete towering skyward like Jack and his beanstalk where giants reside in penthouse suites and aerie office complexes - the masters of the universe - the Bruce Waynes - the Tony Starks - the "Daddy" Warbuckses - the Uncle Pennybagses – the Montgomery Burnses, the monocled men in black three piece suits with black top hats and walking sticks - the Charles Foster Kanes - the Gordon Gekkos - the John D. Rockefellers - the Andrew Carnegies - the Cornelius Vanderbilts - the JP Morgans - the Charles M. Schwabs - the Icons of Industry - the Titans of Technology - the Emperors of Energy - the Fatcats of Finance - the Wizards of War - the source and the bane of our existence - all holding vigilance over their brood, puppeteering the proletariat to suit their satchels. Think about it - 10% of the world's population own 86% of total worldwide wealth! And a shitload of them live right here.

We pull up along the curb outside a boisterous pub somewhere in the heart of Midtown Manhattan. We all spill out of the car and into the seeming fray that is Joey Gutierez's friend's 21st birthday party.

With hell raising roars of, "Hey!!! Hey!!! Hey!!!” slaps on the back and hands clasping beers raised to the roof, the horde welcomes us in as we make our entry and jostle our way to the bar.

"Ah, you must be Joey's best friend from California. How, the hell's he doin'? Haven't seen him for over 6 months now. Where the hell is he anyway?" I’m queried as I order a Bud. "My name's Sal, this is Ari and that's Big Joey over there."

I make their acquaintances, shake their hands and come to the realization that I am amongst what's got to be the biggest fraternity of Jews outside Jerusalem.

"Hear yer goin' ta Europe? Listen, my uncle's got a travel agency in Queens - He can fix ya up with a good deal on flight tickets, ya know," Ari says.

"And my cousin's got a bookstore over there too if ya need any maps or travel books or any shit like that," Big Joey says.

I hadn't been in New York more than an hour now and not only had I been rescued from the heart of darkness, but I've already got a 'good deal' lined up on flight tickets to Europe, Aurther Fromer's Europe on 5 Dollars a Day and inclusion into what's got to be the biggest fraternity of Jews outside Jerusalem, not to mention an invite to the loudest and most boisterous birthday party I've ever attended with the loudest and most boisterous band of misfits I've ever met.

The party goes on as such, meeting Uncle Ravi, Cousin Eli, Nephew Hershel and so on, 'til the barman calls for last drinks and we all stumbled out into the night.

The drive back to Queens is both harrowing and exhilarating. We only spin out once, surprisingly, as we are coming up on the entrance to the Queensboro Bridge. It has just started raining, the roads have started slimming up, it's 3:00 am and here we come, a '65 Ford Fairlane crammed full of pals of Joey Gutierez on our way back from a friend's 21st birthday party in Midtown Manhattan, helter skelter, 3 sheets to the wind and hell bent on destruction.

"Whoa shit, Avi," Adam, sitting between Avi and I, pissing his pants and holding his hands to the roof of the car to maintain his grip on equilibrium, screams in hysteria...