There were people in Henry’s life whose memory he would carry to the grave and beyond. As for beyond the grave, better to leave the extraterrestrial stuff to holy rollers and snake charmers.
One was his deaf nanny Nil— who made a lasting impression on him. Henry grew up with her in an apartment in the West Village, and Nil was all he had.
His old man was a traveling salesman who sold brassieres, and French knickers from a wholesale catalog, driving his Fleetwood Cadillac up and down the Northeast coast.
His mom loved Black dudes, jazz musicians, dope dealers, and she thought she was Negra queen, camping out at the Harlem Flophouse— the ebony Chelsea Hotel of the time.
Nil, his nanny, was a Norwegian beauty, a natural blond, just twenty-five, raising fifteen-year-old Henry as his mother and lover— a dreamy mix for them that they savored.
Neither drove, so they’d walk the streets of Manhattan at night, beautifully naive, open to everything, and on the run.
One night Nil bought a bottle of Night Train Express and wrapped it in a paper sack— she and Henry passed it back and forth like two Bowery bums, pulling on it as they walked.
In the Meatpacking District, they go to a working man’s bar called Axels. A joint looking like a million other blue-collar joints, with wooden bar and stools, a hard brown tile floor, three levels of top-shelve booze, and bottles of rail booze in the speed rack for easy access.
On the back bar, there was an old NCR cash register, and gallon jars of pickled pigs feet, hot dogs, and hardboiled eggs.
Henry and Nil walk into Axels and sit at an empty table, surrounded by Columbia and NYU students dressed like truck drivers and stevedores wearing jeans and safety boots— college kids slumming it for the weekend who read Sinclair Lewis and Nelson Lichtenstein.
Merl haggard’s song Misery and Gin blares from a large speaker hung on a thick chain from the ceiling.
Nil walks to the bar, a few of the pretend proletariats eyeball her, she’s slender, innocent-like, and moves gracefully.
She pulls a pocket-size notebook and a pencil from her purse jotting down in caps,
TWO VODKA AND ORANGE JUICES
Vodka and orange juice is the type of drink newbie drinkers like because orange juice overpowers vodka which is tasteless.
The bartender, an older man wearing a checkered shirt who has bushy eyebrows pours the drinks, looking at Henry, knowing the kid is underage, not caring because New Yorkers don’t give a shit about much of anything.
Then, the geezer hacks open-mouthed, splashing Nil, who’s standing in front of him at the bar. Unnerved, she takes a hanky from her purse and wipes her face. She writes in her notepad and holds it up so he can read it,
COVER YOUR MOUTH NEXT TIME YOU HAWK ON SOMEONE, ASSHOLE
The rummy hoots, grabbing her notebook and writing in it with an industrial size magic market,
SIT ON MY FACE LITTLE GIRL AND DRINK FREE
She picks up the drinks, turns, and walks back to Henry, writing in her notebook,
LET’S GO, I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THE PHONY PROLETARIATS AND THAT RETCHED BARTENDER
They walk out of Axels without paying for the drinks. On the sidewalk hailing a cab, getting in the first one that comes their way, and going home.
Another memorable friend was Miami Carl, who had a run of bad luck, open heart surgery— having to replace a collapsed heart valve with a Teflon substitute, which worked OK, but made an annoying noise as it opened and shut.
When Carl was excited anyone near him knew, because of the audible sound of his heart valve, which sounded like the lid on a Tupperware container being opened and closed.
Finally, there was Robert the blind man who Henry met in a Key West bar known as the 66 Club one afternoon. Robert was sitting alone at the bar and Henry sits by him and shamelessly comments,
I’ve never met or known personally someone who’s blind.
The blind man who's in his late fifties, heavy-set, balding with stoop shoulders wearing brown slacks, brown shoes, a tie, and a sports coat says,
nice to meet you, I'm Robert,
I’m Henry, Robert.
He looks closely at the blind man’s eyes, there was something different about them. Too much white in the iris, for one thing, and the pupils seemed to move around in the sockets, creepy-like. Henry asks,
How bout a drink?
Yes, scotch and water, Dewars.
Henry waves to the bartender and says,
Give my friend here a Dewars and water.
Robert the blind man raises the tumbler to his mouth, taking a slow swig, savoring it, then lighting a cigarette, smoking it down to the nub, and then lighting another one. Henry then asks him,
what do you do for a living friend?
I’ve done a little bit of everything.
Robert turns his blind face towards Henry saying,
presently I'm selling Fuller Brushes door to door.
The blind man picks up and places a brown suitcase on the bar, opening it and saying,
I have toilet brushes, hairbrushes, toothbrushes, bottle brushes, brushes made of natural and metal bristles.
Henry’s had heard Fuller Brushes were overpriced,
how bout another drink Robert?
You sure know the way to a blind man’s heart, make it a double. Then Henry asks,
Robert do you have a TV?
Why yes I have two of them, a color set and an old black and white relic. I listen to the news and try to keep up with what the announcer says.
Robert the blind man drains his glass taking a long pull and says,
Henry would you mind walking me to the Greyhound station, I have to catch the 5:45 bus to Key Largo.
Robert takes hold of Henry’s arm and they walk to the bus station where they wish each other luck and say goodbye.
Robert, Nil, and Carl, three people who, for different reasons, greater and lessor reasons, made an impression on Henry.
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