I want to tell you about a man named Dave. He was a New Yorker, and for a time, I and a number of friends would see him daily in Washington Square Park. He was a gentle person and one of the most considerate individuals I have ever met. His concern was always for others, and at one point, when I was going through a trying time, he consoled me daily, always asking for a update the moment he saw me.

He had a comforting aura about him. At a surface level, Dave looked quite ragtag, very poor, and eccentric. His wardrobe was very limited, and he wore threadbare shirts and torn belts. He was always overdressed, often with sweaters and a down jacket, even in warm weather. He carried old and worn plastic shopping bags that were stuffed – I have no idea what he was carrying. At times, he could be mistaken for someone homeless.

He had a job, although he never spoke of his work or home. One of our group of friends said that he was told by Dave that he was a clerical worker in a hospital. He lived alone, had no family and, other than his park forays, was a recluse.

I introduced him to the New York Times crossword puzzle, and we sometimes did them together. Although he was not a native English speaker, he did well. It became very clear to me over time that this man was very intelligent and well-read. I just had a gut feeling that there was much more to this man than met the eye.

Over time I began to learn a few details of his life. He was a Russian Jew and had served in the Israeli army. On another occasion, while discussing classical music, he told me that he had studied music formally for seven years. Discussing specific pieces such as the Chopin Etudes, e.g., it was clear that these claims were not likely to be fabrications, and I hoped to hear him play some time.

One day, we learned that he had a stroke. He was never to be the same again. Speaking to him on the phone was quite upsetting, as he was barely able to converse at all. Soon after, we were told that he had a brain tumor. Our belief was that he had known about this for some time yet carried the burden silently.

A friend told us that he had learned the most astounding thing. While visiting Dave in the hospital, he met two of his coworkers, who informed him that Dave was much more than a clerical worker. In fact, Dave was a research scientist with two PhDs in Pharmacology. The last time I saw him was in his room at Mt. Sinai, when I went to visit him with a friend. It was particularly sad seeing him with a shaved head and surgical scars everywhere. He was unable to say anything other than yes or no to questions asked. I asked him if it was true that he had two doctoral degrees. He said yes.

Dave died on November 4, 2009. I attended his memorial service. One story followed another from his coworkers about his selflessness and humility. I also learned that in addition to his research work, his interest in music was not casual at all – he performed as a concert pianist. He may have had no family or close personal friends here, but he is missed and loved by all whose lives he touched…

Note about the photo: Mount Sinai Hospital was founded in 1852 and is one of the oldest and largest teaching hospitals in the United States. In 2009, it was ranked as one of the best hospitals in the United States by U.S. News & World Report in 11 specialties.

At one time, nearly all my photos were scenics of some sort. Landscapes or buildings. Streets with no people. I typically waited for people to leave before shooting. The feeling I had was that people would somehow mar the image. Telling this to a friend (an architect), she commented that perhaps I had the soul of an architect – that it has been said that architects love buildings more than people.
This bothered me, because there was truth to what she said. However, I actually love people and am very social. Since that time, her comment has nagged at me, and I have come to see the value of people in my photography. I have become interested in people and their stories. What are buildings except structures built by people for people?

I have met many people who are so political that they appear to see everything through glasses colored by their politics. A conversation about bad weather, and they will blame a political party. And, ironically, sometimes the causes take on a life of their own, and activists appear to love the cause more than the people. What are causes except efforts by people for the betterment of people?

Political and community activism are good things. Many potentially destructive projects have been thwarted by activists, and much that is hideous perhaps could have been averted with more involvement. However, being personally involved with people whose politics dominate their being becomes tedious. Many have no sense of humor whatsoever. I often feel that they worry that laughter will somehow undermine the importance of the lives.

Not Susan Goren. My first encounter with Susan was her yelling at me over my conversation with a park official about a group of street performers. On my second encounter (at a community board meeting), she approached me and apologized, excusing our original encounter as a product of her political passion for things she had worked on for a lifetime. One thing became extremely clear – this woman valued human relationships.
And squirrels.

Susan has been actively involved in rehabbing squirrels – injured or orphaned. I visited her home last night, where she is currently caring for a group of four. Her home is a shrine to her interests in art, reading, and squirrels. She toured me through her home, going over her collection of fine art, photography, squirrel collectibles, and a photo archives on her PC of the various squirrels she has cared for. The Villager recently wrote a front page feature article on Susan – you can find it here.

Susan is a New Yorker. Born and raised in Manhattan, she is a graduate of New York University with majors in literature and art history. Like myself, Susan has been a Village resident her entire adult life. She worked for NYU for 17 years and has lived a block from Washington Square Park for the last 36 years since her graduation. She is a habitué of Washington Square Park, where I met her a few years ago and where she mothers over the squirrel population. She can identify most of them and has named many. She is often referred to as Susan Squirrel to differentiate her from a number of other Susans who are park regulars.

Susan is a community activist. A lover of the arts, a lover of squirrels, a lover of people. And she has a sense of humor. You can find her easily – look for the woman with a squirrel, people, red lipstick, and a smile 🙂

(see Part 1 here)
Jim Murnak is originally from Pittsburgh, PA. His interest in leather goes back to when he was 13, working with Tandy leather kits. Some university, including studies in advertising at SVA, led to his work as an art director at Ogilvy and Mather. After a large employee layoff, Jim began his career as a leather craftsman. A retail shop on Sullivan Street was followed by a number of loft spaces, where he manufactured and sold to the trade.

I occasionally dropped in on Jim in the 1970s at a number of his Manhattan locations. On one visit, I was stunned at the level to which he had advanced, taking on products which were really unheard of for a self-taught artisan. I watched him build leather-covered wood attache cases – Jim was constructing the wood frames, covering them with leather, and installing brass hardware and locks.

At the time, there were a small number of leather artisans in New York City. Most knew each other, and it was clear to all of us that Jim had reached the pinnacle of success, selling to the top retailers in the city – Bloomingdales, Crouch and Fitzgerald, and Abercrombie and Fitch – at the time, the most expensive retailer of goods in the city (Jim told me that Chinese imports essentially killed this business for USA manufacturers).

On another occasion, I found him lining handbags – standard for high-quality finished goods, but an unthinkable “waste” of leather for those of us making leather products by hand. When I questioned him about what appeared to me to be rather indulgent, he said that he was not making hippie stuff and that his clients demanded this type of product finish.

Tracking him down was a simple find online. He has since settled in the Dumbo neighborhood of Brooklyn, where he has been for many years and where I caught with him recently. He was congenial and welcoming as always and permitted photos and a follow-up phone interview.

I was not surprised to see that he had found a few new high-end niche markets: custom manufacturing gun holsters, pool cue cases, and archery quivers. A passion and experience in an activity will always give an equipment manufacturer the inside knowledge and edge needed – Jim’s father was a professional pool player, and Jim has had serious interests in pool and in target archery.

Unfortunately, Jim also acquired an insider’s guide to handguns after being held up at gunpoint in the subway in the 1990s. After obtaining a gun and permit, Jim found the quality of holsters to be sub-par and began to make them. He can custom craft a holster for nearly any handgun using one of his forms. He has also worked in Cordura nylon for some years making police training suits. Jim does business as Fist, Inc. – see his website here.

In the 1970s, there were a handful of suppliers to the leather craft trade in Manhattan, including Great Jones Leather. It is here that one day I ran across Jim, who had come in for a pack of industrial razor blades. The salesman, who was also a leather craftsman, appeared to be stunned that someone else knew his secret for precision cutting. “Wow,” he said, “I use razor blades too. Why do you?”
To which Jim replied, quite confidently and as a statement of fact, “Because I’m the best.”

Meet Benjamen Denham, conductor. This man has, for 11 years, shown up in Washington Square Park and silently conducted many planned and unplanned musical gatherings. However, he is, in fact, conducting no one. Because Mr. Denham, armed with two drinking straws with paper intact, conducts for his own enjoyment.

This man has been an enigma for as long as he has been frequenting the park. Seen as extremely eccentric but quite benign, he is largely ignored, as are many other unusual characters in this city. He, like others, just becomes part of the tapestry of New York City, woven from some individuals from every walk of life imaginable.
Upon meeting and conversing with people over the years, I have found that many are extremely remarkable, and I have been pleasantly shocked more often than I have had any misgivings confirmed.

I have met so many individuals in this city with extraordinary backgrounds and histories, both past and present, disguised as ordinary mortals – editors of prestigious magazines, internationally known musicians, academics with degrees from Ivy League schools, engineers with multiple degrees, attorneys (one who  argued a case in the U.S. Supreme Court), grads from Wharton School, scientists, politicians in NYC government, prominent real estate developers, actors, and former corporate execs.
In the 1970s, I met a man who had left a position as mechanical engineer for Farberware to work in a leather shop on Bleecker Street. Why? To escape the rat race and “let his hair down.” Although less true now that the Village has severely gentrified, this was, at one time, the reason why many ended up in Greenwich Village after a productive career.

Rumor had it that any attempts to engage our conductor Benjamen in conversation was met with indifference; apparently no one had ever had any substantial conversation with him in all the years he frequented the park. When I decided to approach him, for some inexplicable reason, he was quite forthcoming. We spoke for some time – he seemed eager to share details of his life.

I learned that he loved music and that he felt he could learn any instrument easily. He said he wanted to author 100 books and showed me a notebook filled with coupons and rebate offers – his current project is a book on the subject. When asked if he had ever had a story done about him, he answered affirmatively and showed me an old article from the New Haven Register, which I did not have the opportunity to read. Regarding his livelihood, he told me that he had operated 13 shops in his lifetime, each one ending in bankruptcy – he attributed his 13 failures to various cyclical recessions. He currently lives in Brooklyn, New York. Upon returning to my seat, I was greeted with excitement by others who saw the conversation as a watershed event.

Our little girl in the photo was accompanying a group of musicians that Ben was conducting. When on a break, she at times looked at her mother for approval and at other times shared our wonderment with The Conductor 🙂