• Category Archives People
  • Meetings with Unusual Men

    The Story of FJB, Part 1

    Have you ever met someone so unusual that their ability to sustain themselves is itself one of the biggest mysteries in your life? Someone whose life seems like it is defined by confusion and always careening towards disaster? And yet, somehow, these individuals survive without any apparent livelihood and with sources of income as mysterious as the riddle of the universe.

    Often, quirkiness is merely an affectation or a fashion statement. Or perhaps it is an expression of a strain of individualism, but deep down lies a serious, responsible adult with a career. Our friend Jenn (see Part 1 and Part 2) is a good example. But other times, the quirkiness runs all way the way through and no matter how deep you dig, the inside is just as offbeat as the outside, perhaps even more so. I know such a person.

    During my years as student at NYU and resident of the Brittany dormitory, our room became a nexus of sorts with all manner of people coming and going, a virtual real life TV sitcom such as Friends, where apparently no one has a lonely moment and a social life comes with no effort.

    Visitors included both students and outsiders. Often, we had no idea how or where these people came from, but for a newcomer to the Jungle, it was a dream come true. Every day was filled with adventure and bristled with excitement. One day we met a college senior, FJB, whom we befriended past his graduation. He was truly quirky.
    I had lost contact with him, and about a year ago he called at my office, saying he had followed my business career. He also told me that he had a TV program that airs weekly on MNN.* I watched the show a number of times, seeing his odd character sneaking out of his weekly shtick.

    I met with FJB this summer for the first time in nearly 40 years. I recently proposed the idea to do a story on him, and he readily agreed. I met and interviewed him, appropriately in a corridor at MNN.
    People love to throw around words like quirky, maverick, iconoclast, oddball, or offbeat. Trust me, however, that in this case, FJB truly fits the word quirky. How much so? Enough that seminal comedy legend Del Close once commented to him that he would love to do a film involving FJB’s unusual character.

    Tomorrow you will meet this man (see Part 2 here), someone virtually unknown but whose comedy writing credits include Saturday Night Live. You will read a story that has never been told anywhere, about a man who has good reason to believe that his character was used in a major motion picture with a title eerily close to his own name. He is a native New Yorker, born and bred. I do so love that, because there’s no character like the offbeat New Yorker, where everything is just slightly askew or off kilter, right down to his missing big toe 🙂

    *Manhattan Neighborhood Network (MNN) is a non-profit organization that broadcasts programming on four public access stations in New York City, located at 537 W. 59th Street. It facilities and equipment free for individuals and groups to produce shows for its network.


  • Friends – Part 2

    (see Part 1 here)

    Meet Su Jung and read about our serendipitous adventure together. See my complete photo gallery here.

    A young woman approached me, asking if could I take a photo of her in front of the building at the corner of Bedford and Grove Streets. As a photographer I always relish the opportunity to do this for a visitor. My puzzlement as to why this building was soon answered when she asked was this in fact the building used in the popular TV series Friends? I answered that I did not know (it turns out it is) but if so, it would certainly only be for the exterior shots only and that the balance would have been done in a studio. She appeared to be somewhat disappointed. This type of thing is a common quest and also the type of thing tours often feature. However, just seeing a building or location without the characters can often be a bit of a let down.

    My second question as to why she was alone, deep in the West Village in one of New York City’s biggest blizzards in history was also soon answered. Su Jung is a 22-year-old engineering student from Korea who was studying for one year in California, was visiting New York City for the Christmas weekend, and had been trapped in the city due to a cancelled plane flight. She did have friends in the city with her, but they were uninterested in making the pilgrimage in a blizzard to accompany her.

    Seeing an opportunity to brighten her day and at the same time have a companion, I explained my day’s mission and asked if she would like to come along. I got a resounding yes, so off we were into the streets and storm. I also told her of this website and asked if she would like to be a story. She was delighted, so my time with her also included photos punctuating our adventure.

    I now switched gears, turning this much more into a private tour, knowing full well that for me, any route would take me through snow laden environments and plenty of photo ops. I showed her my favorite spots, including Commerce Street, Cherry Lane Theater, Grove Court, and Washington Mews.
    However, I had planned to go all the way to the Hudson River, truly insane in this weather. Was she game? A resounding yes again. She did ask how far, and I explained that in Manhattan, the river was never that far, with the entire island being only 2 miles wide, and we were in fact only a few blocks away.

    We went to the Christopher Street Pier. The wind was howling with gusts over 50 miles per hour – absolutely frigid, cutting your face like a knife. The sun was setting, and the lighting and atmosphere was dramatic. I pointed out the Statue of Liberty, the Verrazano Bridge, the financial district, and New Jersey across the river where snow was being blown, looking like a sandstorm (see gallery). Su commented how waves were rolling in like the ocean. Even though she had a wool hat and mittens, she often felt it necessary to cover her ears.

    On our return, I took Su Jung by 121 Charles Street, on of my favorite anomalies in the entire city (lower center photo) and then down Bleecker Street, stopping in renowned guitar shop Matt Umanov and Murray’s Cheese. I followed with a jaunt through Washington Square Park, which she had not yet visited with its Christmas tree still up.

    I had a nagging problem, however – a girl with soaked, cold feet. Like many, she had purchased Ugg-styled boots not realizing these were not waterproof. In fact, they operate more like sponges than protective footwear in wet weather. The situation desperately ns eeded to be dealt with, and she said she would try to find a place to buy new boots. In this weather? I asked. Most stores were closed, and she did not know the city. If she liked, I could take her up Broadway toward Union Square, where most likely David Z or Shoemania would be open. Shoemania was living up to its name – it was a veritable zoo, with hundreds with the same dilemma shopping for footwear, appropriate for the storm.

    Su Jung made a quick decision but showed concern about my time waiting. No matter – I was committed to seeing her through this and out of those wet boots. She made her selection quickly but was worried that she was taking the last size 4 and another woman after her expressed interest. No matter, I replied. You were first and your feet are cold and wet. There were no appropriate socks, however, so back out into the cold in wet feet, with Su Jung saying she would deal with this at her hotel on the Upper West Side.

    I was bothered by this – my home was just a few blocks away, and I agonized about suggesting the obvious, which could certainly be misconstrued. But I asked – did she want to stop at my home, warm up, dry off, change her socks, and then go to her hotel? I was surprised to get the same charming yea that I had gotten the entire afternoon. Arriving at my home on Washington Square North, I explained my good fortune to live in such an historic building overlooking a park (and my reason for living in the same apartment for 30 years).

    Once inside, I attended to the first order of business: I gave Su Jung a selection of several pairs of socks and a hairdryer, suggesting she use it to dry her feet. She seemed very much at home, sitting in the center of my living room on the floor. When I suggested she could use a chair, she responded that she was quite comfortable there – she was Korean.

    Afterwards, we spent some time perusing my website. It was 8PM and we had been together nearly 4 hours. I suggested she may want to return to her hotel and friends. Another yea, and off we were to the subway, where I told her that she was to take the C train only. A parting hug and off she went.

    Overall, it was a remarkable day. Su Jung’s incredible trust as a newcomer to New York City gave me an unprecedented sense of responsibility. Her joyous and adventurous spirit was truly disarming. No need to find a special building on Bedford and Grove or watch a TV series if you’re looking for Friends

    Note: Here is the email I received from Su Jung the following day:

    It was the most awesome day in the last 3 days in NY. I couldn’t ever imagine I would meet Brian and have fun looking around the real NY life that I could ever get by myself. I was kind of deseparate from the calcellation of the flight to LA cause I’d been thinking Cali was much better than NY. It seems like Californian in spacious and quiet area by oceans can afford to enjoy their life more than New Yorkers in the packed city. The 3days’ itinerary was too short that I was traveling around only the main landmarks like Times Square and Wall street just crowded by tons of tourists around so I couldn’t reveal the charm of New York. However, yesterday’s journey changed my mind and I gotta love staying more days in NY thanks to the snow storm and it was ‘no pain no gain’:D. My feet were frozen by the watery ugg boots.


  • Area Code 714

    The Story of a thing Lost, Found and Nicole Dubuc. Part 2 (see Part 1 here)

    Of course it was Nicole. A very, very happy Nicole. At one juncture in her profusive thanks, she asserted that she owed me a lot. To which I responded that she would have a way to repay me in a way she would not expect. Her response was a concerned OK.
    I told her she could pick up her license at any time – at my office or elsewhere after work. Immediately is the time she chose and accompanied (with a male friend) is the way she came. I imagine my comment regarding repayment would concern anyone.

    On meeting me, Nicole seemed relieved to find I was not a psychopathic serial killer but a business owner surrounded by people and immersed in the throws of the holiday season. After a brief tour, I made my proposal: could I take a photo of her and do a story for this website? And would she agree to supplying some biographical details by email? She gave me her email address. I provided her with a biographical questionnaire. I imagine that all this was much more than she ever imagined, but she agreed:

    FROM NICOLE’S EMAIL:

    Thanks again for all your help with the license — seriously, you were a lifesaver. Thank you for sharing your blog with me! I’m humbled and honored to be invited to contribute.

    ABOUT HER EDUCATION:

    I was born in Huntington Beach, California. I went to Yale University. I have a BA in English and graduated with my pre-med requirements fulfilled. Which means I can recite poetry while I apply bandaids.

    Most of my work has been in the entertainment industry in one way or another — I started out as a child actress, and then after graduating college (with a six month stint in the world of dot coms), I became a writer, with most of my work in animated tv series.

    ANYTHING ELSE TO SHARE?

    Well, I can tell you a bit about animation — I love it. I watched cartoons as a kid and all through college. I knew the names of Pokemon way past the age where that is acceptable trivia. I’m very proud of some of the shows I worked on this year; “Young Justice,” a new DC/WB show about the sidekicks of the DC universe coming into their own, and “Transformers: Prime,” Hasbro’s new computer-animated show.

    WOW, SO I ASKED NICOLE IF SHE WAS A CELEBRITY:

    I wouldn’t classify myself as a celebrity, but when I was a child actress I was a regular on “Major Dad” and “Our House,” which still occasionally leads to people recognizing me. Apparently I look exactly the same. I acted for 11 years in commercials, TV and movies before finishing high school and calling it quits for college.

    WHY SHE WAS HERE AND HOW SHE FEELS ABOUT NEW YORK CITY:

    I was visiting New York for fun! I hadn’t been back this time of year since I was in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (many moons ago), and I wanted to see the city in holiday splendor. This trip I indulged my Christmas craving by skating at Rockefeller Center, seeing the Rockettes, and cruising the windows at Macy’s. I think I’ve been to New York over ten times (easy when you’re living in CT), and I love the constant current of excitement that seems to permeate the place.

    The biggest difference between the East Coast and the West Coast that I noted when I came here for college was that in California you got a free refill on your iced tea or Coke or whatever, and on the East Coast you were charged for it. To me, that can be extrapolated to say something about the cultures of the place: in NYC there’s less space, less time, and you have to EARN your place. In CA, it’s more laid back, more willing to accept you… But perhaps less sincere about it because it’s so easily achieved. Or, you know, maybe I’ve just been going to the wrong restaurants.

    HOW SHE LOST HER LICENSE:

    I lost my license coming back from Babbo. I LOVE Mario Batali, and I try to eat at his restaurant whenever I’m here. One thing I’m really unfamiliar with is wearing a coat/scarf/gloves/hat when I’m going out, so I think in juggling all my belongings, my license didn’t get as firmly placed in my back pocket as it should have. And, seeing as I skipped twenty blocks home from dinner because I was so happy with a belly full of boar papparadelle, it’s no wonder it fell out.

    AND WHY SHE BELIEVES IT WAS FOUND AND RETURNED TO HER:

    Whenever we lose something in my family, we say a prayer to St. Anthony. I picture him as a very harried monk-like guy who rolls his eyes and says, “really?! What did you lose NOW?” He waves you away and says, “I’ll see what I can do, alright?” So it was to the St. Anthony in my subconscious I turned to when I couldn’t find my license.

    A SMALL MIRACLE ON THE PHONES:

    And I didn’t realize it was missing until around 1 PM, since I was writing all morning. Earlier, I had called my mom, and during our conversation and my rundown on my amazing meal at Babbo, she noticed she was getting a call from New York. “Who else besides you would call me from New York?” she mused. We laughed it off and it went forgotten until she got my second call of the day, panicked and all thoughts of chianti banished from my mind. That’s when she remembered your call and finally listened to the message. She called me back and it basically went like this:

    Mom: I know where your license is.
    Me (wondering if my mom’s up-til-now-dormant psychic powers were suddenly making their appearance, and grateful they were): What?!
    Mom (dramatic, as though speaking with spirits beyond): It’s in SoHo.
    Me: How could you possibly know that? Is this like a Miss Cleo moment?
    Mom: This very nice man called. He said he found it. He’s so kind, said he knew you’d be worried sick. You should call him back. See if he’s single.
    Me: MOM!!!!
    Mom: You’re the one who dropped your license. And who am I to argue with fate?

    I’M GLAD YOU GOT YOUR LICENSE BACK. MERRY CHRISTMAS, NICOLE!

    See Nicole’s Internet Movie Database page here.
    See Nicole’s website here.


  • Area Code 714

    The Story of a thing Lost, Found and Nicole Dubuc. Part 1

    It was so obviously, cleanly, and squarely placed on the sidewalk, it was begging to be picked up. So much so, that my friend Bill, who spotted the license, was concerned that perhaps it had been planted there intentionally for some nefarious reason. We found it on Washington Square North on my way my home.
    I love the opportunity to do a good deed, but it was not clear what type of deed this would end up being. Undaunted as the the fool who rushes in where angels fear to tread, I picked up the driver’s license* and examined the identity of the owner.

    ‘Twas a Californian from Huntington Beach. I do love California, so this was not only an opportunity to do the right thing, but also to be an ambassador of good will and let it be known to those in the Sunshine State that New York is not a den of charlatans, thieves, and ne’er-do-wells.

    When arriving at my home my first priority was to do an online lookup. Nicole Dubuc was easy to find. However, in spite of an extensive website, Nicole had absolutely NO contact information whatsoever.
    A whitepages.com lookup produced a Nicole Dubuc with matching address. However, in what was becoming a common occurrence, a companion website was offering additional information, including the phone number, for a charge. However, many a New Yorker refuses to pay a toll and prides him or herself on taking the free alternate road. I was not going to pay for a phone number. At least not yet. And I am tenacious. But it was late. Off to bed. I would try searching again in the morning.

    On rising, I did a reverse lookup on the address instead of a name search and, voila, a phone number. I would wait a few hours until 10 AM Eastern Time before calling the California number. At 10 AM (7 AM Pacific Time), I made the call and was quite disappointed to get an answering machine. I left a detailed message, explaining that I had found the license and gave my cell phone and business numbers. I also explained that I would be carrying the license all day and would be at my office in SoHo where the owner could pick it up. Or she could arrange to pick it up after office hours.

    I hoped that I had sounded as honest as possible on my message – who would believe that anyone would go through all this trouble? Why not just throw the card in an envelope and mail it back, as all my coworkers suggested?
    But I wanted to let Nicole know NOW that her card had been found and make unnecessary any efforts on her part to start the process of replacing her license. Also, as a traveler away from home, I was sure that a driver’s license would be important. 

    As I ruminated during the day, an idea began to crystallize. I had visited Nicole’s website and she appeared to be quite interesting. Perhaps this tale of lost and found, depending on how it played out, might make a story.
    But by mid-afternoon, with no returned phone call, I was beginning to have my doubts about getting Nicole’s license back to her in New York City. The story was secondary. I was just ready to make a second and last phone call when, at 3:32 PM, my cellphone rang. A glance showed exactly what I was hoping for, a number with area code 714… (see part 2 here)

    *For Nicole’s privacy, some of the data on the license’s image has been deleted.


  • Meetings With Remarkable Men

    The Story of Professor Robert Gurland, Part 2 (see Part 1 here)

    I was so excited yet frustrated sitting in that class. Didn’t these students know they were with a living legend? Why weren’t they hanging on his every word? It costs big money to attend NYU. Why was one student sleeping and another looking at dresses online and messaging on Facebook? Gurland was discussing the nature of evil – man’s inhumanity to man. On the chalk board were the names Hitler, Stalin, Idi Amin, Pol Pot, and Duvalier. What the hell does it take to galvanize students?

    I was following his presentation and completing some of his sentences in my mind. I was flying. This was education at its best. The man’s ability to communicate is brilliant, with a perfect meld of theater, anecdotes, insight, and passion, making the content accessible and relevant. No wonder he is a superstar educator with the highest student ratings, a cabinet full of letters (see here), and has been referred to as an icon for educators.

    I understand we live in a world of information and sensory overload. However, I would find it extremely disappointing to be a man like Professor Robert Gurland, with all of his accolades, and lose to Facebook. When I expressed my outrage in my second interview in his office, he laughed and said, “When I look at those Apples, I know that they’re looking at a porn site on the other side.”

    The man for this job needs a tough skin and a realization that in this world, you often lose to competing interests in the classroom. Who better to weather this storm of our current times than a tough, New York City Bronx-born Jew grounded in reality and who knows how to take a beating?

    I had taken a class with Robert Gurland circa 1970. Even at 9 AM, his classes were packed with sizes at one time of as many as 450 students. Historically his classes have been so popular that it became a problem in the Philosophy department – no one has wanted to take other courses. In the late 1990s, a part-time employee who was also an NYU student was raving about a professor. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that it was the very same Professor Gurland, who was still going strong in his unique style of teaching and making impressions with his indelible stamp. As the result of a recent inquiry, I discovered Gurland was still teaching at 77 years old.

    I obtained his phone number and had a brief phone conversation – I was amazed that in spite of the fact that he has had over 25,000 students, he remembered my name and the class I was in – Practical Reasoning. I arranged an interview and to sit in on two of his classes. He was extremely gracious and permitted any manner of recording I wanted. I came armed with cameras and video and voice recorders. I interviewed Professor Robert Gurland twice in his office at 726 Broadway, once before and once after the two classes I attended. These were his last classes of the semester. I recorded both classes on video and 78 minutes of our dialog in his office.

    We met in the lobby at 8:30 AM. His office door is open, but Gurland values his privacy, and I appreciated the privilege of spending time with him. As we entered his private office, I felt electricity in the air – I had never been with Gurland outside the classroom. The ensuing conversation was charged.

    In our conversation, I learned many things I did not know about this superstar of university teaching. We discussed his working class roots, his growing up in the Bronx, and his attendance at the Bronx High School of Science, at the time an experimental school. At one point, Gurland showed me a photo of himself at 20 years old as a professional trumpet player. He recounted the litany of jazz legends he played with, such as Krupa and Dorsey. A small trumpet hangs from his neck. We discussed his personal life briefly. Gurland is married with one son who is a full-time professional musician. When younger, Gurland dabbled in photography and won two Eastman contests.

    Now a philosophy professor at NYU, Gurland has served as chair of the department. However, I was also surprised to learn that his first educational degrees were in mathematics, eventually culminating in a Ph.D and a tenured professorship of mathematics at Long Island University.

    Do I over inflate Gurland’s achievements and charisma? Not at all. Gurland has taught at many universities and has won best teacher awards at all of them. He has been awarded NYU’s Golden Dozen Teaching Award numerous times and was the youngest person to get the alumni association great teaching award. He holds three MA degrees and two PhDs.

    For a man like Robert Gurland, these are but milestones on a road that many others have taken but to a destination few will ever reach. There were a few students who lingered after class to say goodbye and express their appreciation for this great educator.

    I am immersed in technology and spend hours online. I recorded Professor Gurland’s classes using two video camcorders, a digital voice recorder, and professional DSLR camera. But these are only tools. I was not distracted from Gurland’s presentation and the special things only a relationship with a human being can bring to our world. I salute him on giving such spirited and impassioned lectures, even to empty classrooms filled with so many students preoccupied with something or someone else. I am having a hard time this morning deleting those images of dresses and Facebook from my mind…


  • Meetings With Remarkable Men

    The Story of Professor Robert Gurland, Part 1

    I came to New York City in 1969, ostensibly to study at New York University. But there would not be much studying, for this was not just any time. Political upheaval and violence was mixed with sex, drugs, and rock and roll. There was extreme distraction.

    The Vietnam War colored and dominated everything. Hanging on my dorm room wall was the iconic anti-Vietnam War poster, And babies, with its horrifying image of the My Lai massacre. Dead soldiers in body bags seemed like a daily sight on television. On the heels of the civil rights movement, Martin Luther King had just been assassinated in 1968. President Richard Nixon, a man seen to be so evil, in 1974 at the apex of the Watergate scandal needed to proclaim to the nation, “I am not a crook”.

    Some of the most seminal and notable music groups of the 20th century flourished at the time. And, of course, there was Woodstock. This was a time of rampant drug use, particularly LSD. Timothy Leary had already commanded America’s youth to “Turn on, tune in, drop out.” There was fallout from these excesses. Music icons were dropping like flies, primarily from drug related causes – Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Janis Joplin, and Brian Jones.

    Sexual freedom reigned after the introduction of the contraceptive pill in the early 1960s. The spirit of the Summer of Love in 1967 permeated the culture.
    Consciousness was being expanded. Everything was in question. Groups were beginning to vocalize and demonstrate. In New York City, there were the Stonewall riots in June 1969. The women’s rights movement was in full force, on the heels of the birth control pill and Betty Friedan’s revolutionary book, The Feminine Mystique.
    There was the SDS and the Black Panther Party. The Weathermen, a small extreme group of radicals formerly from the SDS, had built a bomb factory in the Village and blew up an entire townhouse.
    We had just landed on the moon on July 1969.

    Study? In New York City?

    It took an enormous draw to get a student into a classroom and keep him or her attentive. In spite of bullets flying in the world outside, there was one man who could do it. A legend in 1970s time and still today. In just a few minutes, across that park and behind those trees, I have an appointment to meet that man again, for the first time in 40 years. I can’t wait. It’s 19 degrees out there, but I won’t feel it. Got to run. See you later. In Part 2, you will meet Professor Robert Gurland 🙂


  • The Real Peel

    David Peel’s website consists of one page, however, much can be gleaned from a quick read –

    Favorite Band or Musician: David Peel & The Lower East Side
    Favorite TV show: The Simpsons
    Favorite movie: West Side Story
    Favorite book: 1984 by George Orwell
    Favorite sports team: Bonghitters
    Favorite food: Ice Cream

    Take equal parts of self absorption, political activism (with a hint of conspiratorialism), punk rock, marijuana, and maniacal energy, and you have David Peel. Born David Michael Rosario, the New York City-based musician and activist began recording with his group as David Peel and the Lower East Side in the late 1960s. He is credited with being one of the early performers of punk rock. A tireless advocate for the legalization of marijuana, Peel’s first album in 1972 was entitled Have a Marijuana. His discography is over 20 albums. He has been closely associated with the Yippie movement, Smoke-In concerts, and the annual Marijuana March.

    David Peel’s close association with John Lennon propelled him to celebrity status and helped pave the way for him to perform with top acts, such as Alice Cooper, Doctor John, Stevie Wonder, Dave Brubeck, Herbie Mann, Rod Stewart, Emerson Lake and Palmer, BB King, the Chambers Brothers, Joan Baez, Frank Zappa, Iggy Pop, and countless others.

    Lennon recalled first seeing David Peel, and his street assembled version of the “Lower East Side Band,” performing in front of a large crowd in Washington Square Park, in 1971. “He was shouting, why do you have to pay to see stars?” says Lennon. “I was embarrassed. I thought surely he must know I’m here. Yoko and I loved his music, his spirit, and his philosophy of the street.”

    Ignoring the objections by “certain” former members of The Beatles, John and Yoko still signed Peel to Apple Records. Peel’s first effort for Apple was an album entitled “The Pope Smokes Dope,” which immediately set off an international furor. The record was banned in nearly every country of the world, except for the United States, Canada, and Japan.

    In a memorable appearance on the nationally televised “David Frost Show” in 1972, John and Yoko let David Peel and his Lower East Side Band take the spotlight, choosing instead, to perform behind the group. John noted that Peel always wore round sunglasses that were a perfect duplicate of the glasses that had become John Lennon’s trademark, and Lennon took to wearing Peel’s black leather jacket.

    I have known David for years and see him frequently – his is a habitue of Washington Square Park. Always on a rant or rave, Peel’s energy is truly maniacal. His lyrics can be caustic, angry, and often spew hatred. The song he was performing in the top photo had a constant refrain, I Hate You. But do not be fooled by the theater, lyrics, or politics. Underneath you’ll find a warm and fuzzy, benign human being. That’s the real Peel 🙂


  • "The Women"


    When I was a child at family gatherings, people grouped by sex and age, some occurring naturally and some of it planned. Often, when large numbers came together and it was mealtime, children would be relegated to the basement to sit together at a folding card table. We made the best of it to sit and eat in that dank, dreary, sunless, subterranean place. It was clear we did not have adult status and that kitchen or dining room tables were prime real estate.

    At other times there was a division of the sexes, a natural tendency. In our household, however, my mother would make an announcement, something like, “why don’t the men go in the other room and the women can stay here and talk.” The sexes were referred to in the third person, even the announcer and her entourage. It was always “the men” and “the women.”

    The problem is, I never really liked being with “the men” – it was typically synonymous with watching sports on TV. I sought out the women, who appeared to have more meaningful conversations on a variety of subjects and were very comfortable socially.

    I recently attended a hooping event at a bar in midtown Manhattan. Although there were a handful of men attending, this event was primarily dominated by women, to be expected in the hooping community. I was there as an equipment maker to meet, greet, show, and tell. However, it should come as no surprise that I soon found a room where “the women” were socializing.
    I was drawn to Bex Burton, fascinated with her mountain of hair.

    Bex is a woman whose life straddles many of the alternative worlds of occupation and recreation. Perhaps surprising to some, but New York City is no stranger to new agism, body work, healing, or even Burning Man devotees (she has attended 3 years). People adorned like Rebecca typically do not shun attention (she has over 1000 images on her Facebook page), so it is not surprising that she was very receptive to allowing me to photograph her, agree to this story, supply a detailed life history, and, of course, tell me about her hair:

    “I have yarn and synthetic hair extensions, installed by Dana Devine, The Goddess Maker. The yarn that comprises my hair is a combination of wool, mohair, roving (equivalent to the same lambs’ wool I once lined my point shoes with!) acrylic gold (which makes it sparkle), and a silk yarn that’s made from sari’s from India. The extensions were installed on Friday 8/13, the day before my birthday and massive boat party, and 2 weeks before my departure to Burning Man. Dana was at my house for 12 hours, though I believe we actually worked for about 8-9 hours. We took many breaks, as it’s pretty intense work for a long haul.”

    “Over time the yarn will “felt” together, forming dreadlocks. I encouraged the felting by braiding and wrapping each yarn cluster to keep them tidy and avoid cross-cluster felting. The conditions of Burning Man are extremely conducive to this type of hair, as the dust encourages the felting, the wool keeps your body warm at night, and the segmentation of hair at the scalp keeps you air conditioned during the daytime. I washed the yarn the first time after Burning Man in Reno with organic dish soap. Other detergents are more likely to leave residue. I suppose Woolite would work too, as the process is similar to washing your favorite wool sweater. The wool dried within hours thanks to Reno’s desert climate, and thank goodness because a head full of wet wool is h-e-a-v-y. Drying in NYC takes quite a bit longer, more like 24 hours. I employ the sham-wow technique cityside.”

    Bex was born in Newport, Rhode Island, and moved to New York City in 2005. I asked about her education:

    “I have a Bachelor of Science degree in Television / Radio production from Ithaca College. My focus of study was Video Production. I held four internships in college in two different cities. After which I determined I didn’t want to work in television, so I completed my studies producing video art (and earning the highest grades of my academic career). Following school I pursued Video, but quickly realized I wanted to create movement, rather than capture it.”

    Currently, she is a Pilates Instructor, Thai Massage practitioner, Hula Hoop Performer and teacher. She also told me some about her family life:

    “I come from a military family. My dad is a retired Naval Captain, and my brother is an active duty Lt. Commander helicopter pilot. When I was young there was discussion of me following the same path. (gasp!) At this point, I am fully committed to my artistic life and look, and my family is wonderfully supportive and happy for me.”

    Today, Bex is removing her yarn extensions, a process she says will take all day. After reading a few stories on this website, she says:

    “Also, similar to Jenn’s story, your timing is amazing. I’m scheduled to remove the extensions TOMORROW. I’ll quickly cut and color, and prep for FEATHER locks on Monday.”

    Good luck to Rebecca and thanks, for these are the things you can learn if you spend time with “the women.” 🙂


  • Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here

    The continuing story of Gaby Lampkey with new surprises and a live broadcast.

    I have written numerous stories about remarkable New Yorkers, many whose accomplishments are hidden beneath an unassuming or unlikely exterior. But all of these have been images captured at one moment in time. The timespan of this website has not typically been conducive to multipart stories showing an individual’s changing life. Until today.

    On July 7, I had a remarkable experience meeting Gaby Lampkey, an Alaskan Indian who had been on the road for 10 years without a home. However, our chance encounter also had a amazing twist – we had a previous connection 26 years prior which we were both unaware of. If you have not read my story, you can find it here.
    A regular reader from Kansas, familiar with the individuals featured here, paid a visit to New York City and, in another twist of fate, met me and also Gaby. See that story here.

    Since that first meeting on July 27, in a short 3 months, Gaby has found a home, met a woman, gotten a job, and is working towards his goal at becoming a professional musician. Gaby has a positive aura and has endeared himself to everyone who meets him, including virtually all the local musicians who play regularly in Washington Square Park. I envisioned a part 2 to Gaby’s story, but only a farewell as he continued his life on the road, certainly no reincarnation that would qualify Gaby for my “Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here.”

    He has proven to be quite ambitious, rising at 5 AM, resume writing, job hunting, etc. On Friday, November 12, he made a surprise visit to my office. I had not yet arrived at the office and was called at my home. I sped to the office to meet a man in a sport jacket who now had limited time – he was on his lunch hour. We joked at the irony of his waiting for a business owner not yet at work by a man who, 3 months prior, had all the time in the world. When I asked if my story had any influence on his life, he said yes, it was a mirror. “I read it and said, hey, that’s me.”

    I asked if he would return to play and sing for our staff. He readily agreed. This casual suggestion turned into an event, as I saw this as the perfect opportunity to record a live performance before an audience for a demo DVD that we had discussed making for Gaby to pursue music gigs.

    I have equipped the showroom with a webcam and will be broadcasting the performance live with an audience of fans and friends. Join us in this celebration of this man who is transforming his life before our very eyes.


  • Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here

    The Story of Jenn Kabacinski, Part 2 (see Part 1 here)

    Jenn has been stressing a little bit about her birthday. Today is Jenn’s 30th.

    From her first email last week:

    My birthday is actually next week. The big 3-0. I know turning 30 won’t change a damn thing about me but I can’t resist complaining about it anyway.

    From her second email to me:

    My birthday on the 8th. Pee Wee on Broadway on the 10th. [Pee Wee Herman was my high school sweetheart… only he never knew anything about it]. My anniversary on the 11th. I’m excited about everything except the turning 30 part.

    What can I tell Jenn to reassure her about aging? That 30 is really young and her whole life is before her? That she can still do virtually anything she wants? All true. But empty words when you hit those mile markers on life’s highway. I won’t lie to you Jenn or insult by giving you the “wisdom” of an older person. I don’t like aging either.

    Jenn speaks of her heritage:

    My last name is Kabacinski. It’s pronounced how it’s spelled. I didn’t take my husband’s name because I almost find that disrespectful to my dad. I’ll always be my dad’s daughter – married or not. I think the world of him. … I’m a European mutt. Dad’s Polish and German. Mom’s Irish, German, Swedish, Scottish, English, Welsh, and Danish too.

    Jenn is no poser. She is as authentic a New Yorker as they come:

    I was born and raised in Brooklyn – Gowanus… South Slope… whatever people are calling it now. … My parents were born and raised in Brooklyn. Their parents, if not born and raised in Brooklyn, at least lived here most of their lives. Same neighborhood too actually. So I have Gowanus Brooklyn blood running through these veins.

    Jenn is very close to her family:

    And I lived with my parents for most of my life. I lived with them until I got married. Even when I moved three blocks away from them, I was there all of the time so I might as well have been paying them rent then too. Ha.

    I did the whole move in with the current boyfriend [while dragging my sister along] stint in 2005 but that only lasted the year. I moved back home shortly after the MTA hired me.

    I’m super super close with my parents. My mom and I used to joke about us being our version of Grey Gardens if it was just us. And I’m definitely daddy’s little girl even though I’m the oldest.

    Her marriage to Anthony:

    This is my one and only marriage. I never really believed in monogamy or *love and marriage* in the traditional sense before Anthony. I didn’t think any of that was natural but getting to know him instantly screwed those beliefs all up. I was suggesting to him within that first month that we should get married and three months later, we were in Vegas exchanging vows and rings in front of Elvis.

    I ended up moving to Staten Island last year for a few months after Anthony and I got married. He was born in Brooklyn but lived in Staten Island most of his life. I’m a Brooklyn girl at heart but you’re supposed to sacrifice for the ones you love, right? Anyway, I couldn’t take that ferry anymore [I can’t drive] so I kidnapped him and we’ve been back in Brooklyn since June.

    Jenn talks of her love of school and work:

    I took the 6-year plan in college [I went to Brooklyn College] because I wasn’t sure what I wanted to study. I actually liked school. If I could be a professional student, I would. But I ended up majoring in both Philosophy and Early Childhood Education and minoring in Math. I wanted to teach Pre-K or Kindergarten but the MTA ended up calling me once I graduated. I did tutor and work for summer camps and after school centers but that was all part-time. I loved it but I love money and benefits more so now the MTA owns my soul. I’m a Train Conductor. Yes. I’m that person in the middle of the train opening and closing the doors and making those wonderful announcements.

    The MTA also introduced me to my husband [he’s a Conductor also and that’s how I met him] so it makes it all the better. And my sister is actually a Conductor too. We’re taking them over. They just don’t know it yet.

    Jenn talks of her appearance:

    As for my “goth” look… I don’t know what to say about it. I wouldn’t actually consider myself goth. I wouldn’t actually consider myself anything. How original… I know. It takes me maybe a half hour to put the face on. It used to be more dramatic and colorful years ago but I don’t have the patience for that anymore. I don’t really encounter any problems. Some looks. Some comments. Some bad. Some good. I like it so I’ll continue to do it as long as I do like it. I think it works for me. It doesn’t bother my family as far as I know. My parents are used to it and any other family should be too. My sister’s look is kinda sorta similar so I’m sure they all realize that’s just us by now. And now that I think about it, my mom had that crazy permed poofy 80s hair with the black eyeliner and red lipstick when I was growing up so I guess we can blame my offshoot on her. The look runs in the family. 😉

    And her final words to me:

    But yes, I think it’s time to get lost in your website for a bit before Anthony gets home from practice. I hope this is what you wanted and I hope it didn’t end up being too wordy. My fingers can get carried away. Thanks again and it was awesome meeting you Brian.

    …thanks for giving me the opportunity to ramble about myself. Broads usually love that. And I think you found yourself a new soon to be regular reader of your blog. I did lose myself in it for almost two hours last night. I love reading about your own personal experiences in NYC and abroad and I love how you highlight things that would normally just be overlooked by the typical NYer you find now [that happens not to be an actual NYer]. So thank you again.

    Thank you, Jenn, for being so candid and forthcoming and letting the world share the life of a real New Yorker. It was awesome meeting you too. Oh, and Happy Birthday and Happy Anniversary from all of us!


  • Abandon All Preconceived Notions Ye Who Enter Here

    The Story of Jenn, Part 1 (See Part 2 here)


    There is a very good reason this story must be told TODAY, before Monday, when I will reveal why.

    I was at a concert October 23rd in Tompkins Square Park featuring a number of bands, including David Peel. Scanning the sparse crowd, the photo subject du jour was immediately obvious – a Goth Girl accompanied by a Man in Black.

    Just take a photo – you don’t need permission. This is a public park, many are taking photos, and certainly a woman that looks like this must be somewhat of an attention hound.

    Yes, but to take a photo or two at close range is a bit awkward. This is not a crowd shot – it will be very obvious you are taking her photo. And if you get her cooperation, not only will you be comfortable taking more photos, you will also feel better as a human and will likely have an opportunity to chat about her appearance.

    So I decided to approach the couple and ask if they minded if I take photos. The response was an immediate “Us? Sure!” A few photos later, and we were on to the interview portion of the afternoon. I had already made a number of assessments – she was a rebel, not particularly well-employed or educated, and perhaps a resident of the East Village.

    The Man in Black, Anthony, told me that in fact they were married. Surprise number one. I asked him if his wife, Jenn, looks like this just for special occasions. He told me that she looks like this “pretty much all the time.” To which I thought, where does this person work, if at all? At an East Village boutique? I was not interested in tempering my inquiry, so I just asked Jenn, “Do you work?” “Yes” “Where do you work?” (wanting to add “looking like that”) “I AM A SUBWAY CONDUCTOR”

    WOW. Of course – what better place for a Morticia lookalike to work than the subterranean depths of New York City. “Do they care that you look like this?” “Not at all.” Perfect. And her husband, Anthony? ALSO A SUBWAY CONDUCTOR. The MTA is where they met. A friend in tow was a conductor too. Jenn’s sister is a subway conductor. They’re taking over.

    I still had many unanswered questions about her childhood, family life, where she grew up, her education, etc. Jenn agreed to continue the dialog by email. I emailed Jenn with a number of questions on October 28.

    I was very disappointed however. My email to her was not answered (nor bounced back). Six days later, on November 3, and after giving up, I finally received a response explaining that my email had found its way into a spam folder, similarly to my experience with Driss Aqil.

    Jenn provided not just answers but an 840-word biography. A simple follow-up question returned a 540-word clarification. I now had enough material for a documentary. Everyone has a life story. But this is Jenn’s, and like many New Yorkers, it’s has many surprises and some edge. With a Special Event on Monday… (see Part 2 here)


  • When Brian Met Sally…

    A Tale of the Fortuitous, Serendipitous, and a Late Night Offer


    Sally Darling is a regular reader of this website and is one of the most effusive, ebullient individuals who has graced these cyberpages. She lives in Kansas, a virtual metaphor for all that is not New York City.
    On September 9th, 2010, she commented:

    Me again. Sorry, I’m your new stalker now 🙂 I literally can not stop reading your posts. I can’t explain how there is something in my bones that has always, my whole life, made me feel like I belong there, that I should be living there, but life’s events didn’t see it that way. Thank you so much for letting me have my little NYC Oasis right here in Kansas!

    On September 10th she commented, announcing her upcoming visit to New York City:

    Thanks Brian! I stayed up last night and read almost all of your 2010 posts. Not quite through with them, but I’m enjoying every second! I hope you know, my passion and thrill for your fascinating city is only getting fueled by your incredible photos and writing! I can’t wait until we arrive on September 25th! My mind is racing a mile a minute with my itinerary selections!

    But the Plot Thickens.

    On September 24th at 12:41 PM, the day before leaving for New York, Sally commented:

    I just love all your adventures that you have in your splendid park! I can’t wait to be there Saturday! All I want to do is sit, watch, enjoy, and take in all the wonderment WSP [Washington Square Park] has to bring. You are so lucky that you have it at the tip of your fingertips! I’m counting the minutes until I walk through that wonderful Arch!

    A fortuitous turn of events started as a dishwasher disaster at Sally’s home in Kansas the night before leaving for New York City. Read the entire story here in her own words. Prompted by or nearly prevented by this accident, at 4:30 AM with 6 minutes left at home before leaving for the airport, Sally decided to make a quick examination of the comments on the blog with no expectations. She was surprised to find my late night offer posted at 11PM:

    Sally – welcome to our world. Ask for me if ur in the park.

    You’re way ahead of me, I am sure, but the devil is in the details.

    On Saturday night, September 25th, I was in Washington Square Park. The weather was superb and the evening glorious. Music was everywhere to be found, and the park regulars were all there. Jeff, one of the habituĂ©s, approached me and said, “Brian, you have some visitors looking for you.” And there was Sally with her husband and daughter! After a mutual round of OMGs, I told them how they had picked the absolute best night.

    I gave them a tour of the plaza, introducing them to all the important regulars, some of which have appeared on this website. Gaby, who was featured on September 8th, 2010, was also there. His story is another tale of the serendipitous (read On The Road and Part 2 of his story here). A photo was taken of the three of us, which you see here today.

    Two friends, Hellen and Harvey, a married couple living in a nearby high-rise, met Sally and her family and made a spectacular offer – to take them up to the roof deck on the 26th floor of their apartment building. The views from there are spectacular, a virtual unobstructed 360 degrees, including south views directly to Washington Square Park (lower photo). Sally was, of course, just brimming with enthusiasm. When it was time for our guests to leave, Hellen, the ever gracious hostess, insisted on walking them right to the subway platform.

    On September 28th, after Sally’s return to Kansas, I got this email:

    Hello Brian I hope this is your email, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m sending you this note. I just want to thank you for one of the most amazing evenings I’ve ever experienced. It was literally one of those unexpected moments that one might never experience in their lifetime. Please, Please, pass along my thanks to Harvey & Helen, for opening up their home and allowing us to see something my eyes will never forget! How can I ever repay you and them! And I thank you for not only introducing us to them, but for introducing us to your other wonderful Park friends. Sandy Vitamin, Hans, Gabby…..what a wonderful night! I wish we could have all sat down over a cocktail someplace and continued our visit. I knew my daughter was getting tired, and was not feeling good, so unfortunately we had to end our evening. I only hope that one day our paths will cross again, and we can continue where we left off. Your friend, Sally

    ‘Twas a case of the Fortuitous, Serendipitous, and a Late Night Offer, When Brian Met Sally…*

    Please Note: All correspondence between Sally and myself were reproduced here only after obtaining her permission. Thanks Sally.

    *When Brian Met Sally is a play on the award winning 1989 comedy classic When Harry Met Sally…, starring Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan. Read more here.


  • Africa

    I was standing on the base of a light post on Broadway, looking for breaks in traffic to get a good photo of the Cable Building (see here), when a man driving in the rush hour traffic shouts out to me. It took a few moments to place him. It was Michael Ahuja, the owner of Shona Gallery, a SoHo business owner whom I had befriended and written about with a shop selling African art objects and furniture. On my way home from my office, I would often drop into his shop and chat, usually about Africa.

    When I met Essau Pwelle and found out he was from Tanzania, I was quite excited and eager to tell him of my passions for Africa. Essau, who hails from Yenzebwe Village, has been a resident of the USA since 2003 and currently resides in New York City. He is a 4th generation banjo maker and, in conversation, told me of the African roots of the banjo. He has played banjo since he was 14 and is also a singer, songwriter, performance artist, and event organizer.

    Even in a place as large as New York City, it never ceases to amaze me how many acquaintances in common there are between people that I encounter. In conversation, I found out Essau knew Michael Ahuja. I told Essau that all with all this passion, it was still unlikely that I would ever go to Africa. “Why?,” he asked. “Fear of the known and unknown,” I answered. There is an aura of mystery surrounding Africa, fueled by books with titles like Heart of Darkness and phrases like Henry Stanley’s “Dark Continent.” He assured me, as did Michael Ahuja, that I would find Africa to be to my liking.

    When I had occasionally spoken to Michael in our chats about any of my business difficulties or stresses, he suggested that I liquidate and move to Africa. Surely this was insanity, but he assured me that I would find it the palliative I needed. He described an idyllic life in various places, as did Essau, who spoke of those he knew who found great joy in Tanzania and made their residence there.

    When I asked to photograph Essau, he was quite accommodating, moving into various positions. Unsatisfied with the various conventional shots I was getting (see here), I crouched down, shooting upwards for a silhouette. After all, as I told Essau and others around us, we need some drama – this is not a man from New Jersey, this man is from Africa 🙂


  • On The Road

    If you are not familiar with what I do for a livelihood, click here before reading this story. Also see the related links at the bottom.


    Note: Please click and play the audio link to accompany your reading of this remarkable tale.


    In a typical evening ritual, I circumnavigated the central plaza of Washington Square Park looking for a music jam. I had a number of choices, but I was drawn to this particular man who I had never seen before. He looked like a man passing through.

    His voice was very good, his playing style confident and his repertoire quite extensive. The more I listened, the more I liked him, so I decided to make a commitment and sit down. I took a few photos.

    Between songs, a number of friends and I learned a few things about him – he was a native Alaskan on the road. A broken G string offered the opportunity to dig deeper.
    He seemed extremely accommodating, and as we spoke, I took out paper and pen and began making notes about the details of his life. I slowly began to feel that there is a good story here. But nothing as good as what was to come.

    At one point, I told him that I hoped he did not mind, but he was going to be the subject of the next day’s story. He appeared pleased, and I was also, so now with a green light, I filled in the details of his life.

    Gaby Lampkey is 54 years old and was born in Juneau, Alaska, to a Filipino father and a Tlingit mother* who busied herself raising nine children. Gaby is a member of the Raven Tribe, Seagull Clan. His family moved to Los Angeles when he was young. He served in the Coast Guard for 6 years, where he worked as a captain’s cook, and was married for 13 years and has two girls.

    Gaby has been on the road for 10 years, with no real home, living by his wits and sleeping wherever he can (he plans to move into the Manhattan hostel on the Upper West Side). His income of tribal dividends is supplemented by work as a street musician playing guitar. We spoke of hobos and trains, which was not his preferred mode of travel – he is an itinerant hitchhiker. Gaby described himself more as a traveling hippie, a participant in the annual Rainbow Gatherings and a recent attendee of the 41st anniversary of Woodstock, where he performed. He said he was an avid reader and read everything he could get his hands on, including the sides of iodine bottles.

    In a very surprising shift, he said he was a juggler and spoke of how juggling changed his life with anecdotes. I acknowledged his experiences, only half hearing them, my mind intoxicated with the possibility of the obvious connection. If this was going were I think it was, it would be as astonishing as Walid Soroor .

    But play your cards slowly, I thought – don’t reveal them now, go for the knockout punch.

    I have a hard time keeping a secret or containing my enthusiasm, but while Gaby spoke, I contained myself and very casually reached into my bag for a stack of business cards.
    I handed him one and asked him if he had heard of the company. He immediately responded, yes indeed, and that Brian Dubé was the person that made him his first set of juggling clubs.

    He recounted how, for most things in Juneau, he had to order from a catalog. He had poured over the Dubé Juggling Equipment catalog as a boy and ordered his first set of juggling clubs. He also told me, that unlike most other products that did not live up to catalog imagery, when his new clubs arrived, they were just like those pictured, and he worshipped those objects which he kept in his room. I was beaming.

    You have him now, I thought, no need to belabor this any longer. Deliver the one-two punch.

    I asked offhandedly if he knew Brian DubĂ©. He answered that he had never met Brian personally. I said, “Yes you have, you have been talking to him for the last two hours.”

    Gaby and a handful of friends around me who were privy to this conversation were just stunned and burst into a virtual applause. This was a connection just too amazing to believe, and we spent quite some time exchanging more notes, anecdotes, mutual friends, and acquaintances. I expect to see him again and give a copy of this story. Only in New York with a fortuitous set of circumstances and an intersection in time and space with a man who is on the road

    *The Tlingits are a matrilineal indigenous people from the Pacific Northwest Coast. You can read more about the Tlingits here.

    UPDATE: For an update on Gaby’s life, go here.

    Related Posts: Supercute!, Signature, Juggle This, Spinning, Artiste Extraordinaire, Fish and Ponds


  • The Bathroom Closes in 20 Minutes

    There are innumerable thankless jobs, and many of us worked them when we were young. But for those of us who were college-bound, doing these jobs in high school, no matter how distasteful, was made tolerable by seeing light at the end of the tunnel – knowing full well that this was only a temporary position on a journey to an easier life. There was hope.

    But the masses of the work force are employed in jobs knowing that despite any late-night self-improvement evangelists, the reality is that the thankless job that they have is the end of the tunnel. Despite patronizing platitudes such as “every job has worth,” who of those with a good job and pay will trade it for the thankless job with its purported dignity? “Make the best of it,” we are told, but few of us have the temperament to make lemonade from these kinds of lemons for a lifetime.

    John Henry Black is a maintenance worker in Washington Square Park. He not only has a great attitude, but he also makes a real difference for those who enjoy the park. Complaints about odors emanating from a sewer area where hot dog vendors dump their refuse water daily has John preparing and adding a cleaning solution to douse the odoriferous offensive waters. He is known to warn women tourists to look out after their handbags or to suggest to others that they should move from the bench they are sitting on since it is located below roosting pigeons. John is also a harmonica player and will often take a few moments to join a music jam.

    He is best known for his mantra, which he belts out in the evening making his final rounds: “The bathroom closes in 20 minutes. If you gotta go, you better go.”* We who spend time there regularly find his words and routine to be a palliative, a familiar soothing balm. And, of course, many do appreciate these announcements, which were never made in the past, leaving those in need of a bathroom and unfamiliar with park policy unpleasantly surprised that Washington Square Park is open long after its bathrooms close.

    John Black hails from Florence, South Carolina, and has lived in New York City for 25 years, currently a resident of Harlem. His job as park maintenance worker is seasonal. In the late fall, he fills in his off time with other jobs until the following spring. When I asked his full name, he proudly smiled and answered, “Black.” Seeing that I was doubtful, he produced official identification that did indeed identify him as John Black.

    Today, on Labor Day, September 6, 2010, I nominate John Henry Black for candidate as poster child for the American Worker, an inspiration to make the best you can of what you do. But don’t wait too long, because the bathroom closes in 20 minutes 🙂

    *John actually starts with a series of announcements, typically an hour before, changing his mantra to reflect the time remaining.



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