Up for a Binghamton visit.

Never dreaming we would be living in this house, we were up for a visit from Brooklyn, and I pitched in helping to insulate, sheetrock and plaster the back bedroom and bath here in Binghamton. I wasn't able to do that much in our short visit, but, I think what I did do, helped. This had to be in the early eighties. 
This house that Dad and Mom owned and lived in for many many years has gone through loads of changes and Al and me are continuing with the modernizing that Eileen and Brian have given an amazing head start to. We are happy here.

Yes, I am holding my hammer with the claw forward. I think Al asked me to pose, so I just grabbed the hammer.

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Screen house project.

The garage was at the rear of the property of our home in Staten Island, and since there was no driveway, at the suggestion of a friend, I turned it into a screen house. We had rented the first floor of our house, and used the second and third floors as our living space. We had a back butler staircase and some cement steps that led to the backyard, so the screen house was ideal. I eventually grew trumpet vine up the posts of the pergola, over the lattice and all across the roof. 
All in all it wasn't a really hard job. The only things I had help with were tearing down the shorter side part of the garage, which was over the cement slab I built the pergola over, and running the roll roof over the existing leaky roof. If anyone would have filmed me it must have been comical to watch me try to balance the 4" pressure treated post el's that I had to rest on the brackets I'd already installed on the side of the garage. Once I screwed my posts in the pergola was set. There was a side screen door I installed to enter the screen house and a closed in area at the rear for my mower and garden tools. 
That was just one of the projects I was able to do at our money pit of an over 100 year old house.

I forgot to say: The floor of the garage ended two feet from the barn like doors, and they rotted at the bottom. With them out, I made a form of plywood right at the front where the doors were and made a four inch wide and foot high foundation wall. Once that dried I took away my form and mixed more cement in my wheel barrow to fill in the two foot length of garage floor. Once that was done I built the front and added screening. We got allot of use out of our screen house. 

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POSTAL

After eight and a half years with Pearl Paint Company on Canal Street, in Manhattan... I went postal. I was hired as a New York City letter carrier, but, before all that I wanted to go back and explain how my work ethic came to be.

At nine years of age I would help my brother deliver his newspaper route, and for all the people he felt uneasy about approaching to collect the weekly fee, I would do it for him. 
I also would rake leaves for people in the fall, and when I was around 12 years old, besides getting my own paper route, I would shovel snow, rake leaves and even push a hand mower for a few neighbors. 
At fourteen, the local pharmacy asked if I would become a soda jerk in the afternoons. So, after school and after delivering my newspaper route, I would work the soda fountain, make egg creams, shakes and sundaes, as well as pack quarts and pints of ice cream, all for 50 cents an hour. After leaving the pharmacy, I stocked and delivered liquor for the store a few doors down from the pharmacy. I was fifteen now and applying for other jobs, never doing homework and barely getting by in school. 

At sixteen I applied for and got my working papers. I was able to snag a New York State job, work at Jones Beach State Park, for the summer of 1964 and the summer of 1965, as well as into the fall of '65. I could have had a year round job with the state, but my parents thought I would have a better career working retail. The winter of 1965 I worked for Gertz Department Store in Hicksville, NY, for the Toy Dept. and had to bring toys out to peoples cars for them. They never gave me time to grab my coat and I came down with pneumonia. 
1965 was the year I graduated High School, one year late. That year I had pneumonia and went from 130 lbs. down to 110 lbs. and missed quite a bit of school. 
I had gym twice a day in High School and was very good at gymnastics, especially good on the side horse, I just couldn't do the dismount. I did climb the ropes for testing in both classes, and even though I wasn't allowed to use my feet, made it to the top of the ropes, with only a slight burn on the way down each time. I even did a routine on the rings, including the iron cross, which was easy with the weight I was at. However, one teacher passed me and one failed me saying I missed too much of his class. Only a real prick would do that, and he did. I was allowed to graduate and received a blank diploma. There was no gym in summer school, so they let me help with the grade school children that would come for daily arts and crafts and games, at the High School. My job at Jones Beach didn't start until four in the afternoon, so, it was no problem showing up to enable me to get credit to graduate. They later mailed me my diploma.
Having to make court restitution for an event from 1962, all of my checks from working at Jones Beach were handed over and went to that. I am sure I should have had some savings come out of my pay checks, but whatever there was went to the household.
The job was tough and I was happy to be out of the house. I worked from 4:00 PM until midnight each day, picking up trash on the beach, sweeping sea walls, doing garbage runs, putting up storm fences and even painting bathrooms in the fall. The only lunch I would bring with me was a bologna or some such cold cut sandwich, which was on soggy white bread and I would throw them out. I did bring a can of frozen soda with me each day, but, they would never thaw and never were much good to me. If I could save some change by not using carfare money and walking to Wantaugh, from Massapequa, NY, I would buy a candy bar. One of my coworkers would pick me up in Wantaugh, and I could usually catch a ride home, but, I would get left on Sunrise Highway and walk from there. In any event I would walk up Hicksville Road from our house on Ontario Avenue, to Sunrise Highway each day. We were required to wear combat boots, long sleeved uniforms, and my hair would always bleach back to it's original white each summer, despite having to wear a sailor hat.  I did like the job.

After being talked into leaving my State job in the fall of 1965, I applied for a job at J.W. Mays Department Store, in Massapequa. Before they would hire me to do stock work, they insisted I find out how long it would be before I was drafted. I reluctantly called the draft board and was told it would be at least two years. Mays hired me as a stock boy for the ladies Robe Department. I eventually became Department Manager for the Blouse Department. I did well in that position and they moved me to the Levittown, Long Island store. I was driving then, so, it was an easy commute. 
Mays was a dead end job and would never be anything more than an 50 hour a week ass breaking pain of a job. 
Since my family was ready to make a move to upstate Conklin, New York, it gave me an out from a dead end poorly paying job. 
Looking for work in the Binghamton, NY area was not easy. I tried transitioning to work that I knew and applied at a local Department Store and a few other bargain stores. Having no luck there I relied on the job bank at the unemployment office. I got a job with a shoe store, something I really didn't want to do. I left one shoe store in Endicott, NY, for one closer to home in Binghamton. It was not a good fit for me and the owner of that second shoe store had his wife call me on my day off to say it "wasn't working out". Because of being laid off, I was able to collect unemployment, but soon found work at a carnival supply warehouse. The boss there was very obnoxious and I ended up quitting that job and working a few years in the receiving department for W.T. Grants. I liked it there, and became manager of the receiving department, but, was having allot of personal problems and ended up having to leave. 
After some therapy and deciding to apply for a job doing what I really wanted to do, I was able to get a job in the display department of a local department store. I loved that job, it didn't pay well, but, I learned quite a bit from the older well schooled men that were working there. 
While working there, one early icy winter morning, I headed toward Airport Road, but, had to use Lewis Road to get there.
Lewis road curved, tilted to the side and sloped down in the spot where I sailed through the air and landed head on into a tree. If I hadn't been driving my used Crysler Imperial, I would have been dead. I broke the key off with my shin, hit my mouth on the steering wheel, broke the windshield with my head and had a very large knot on my head for months from hitting the frame around the windshield. The emergency room doctor took an x-ray and told me everything was fine, except for my smashed up mouth and that I should see a dentist. He said my x-ray was fine and that I could go. I said 'What about the glass in my head'? He answered " When you get home, take a shower but wash out the tub when you are done". I literally had to pick the glass out of my head. I had to sleep with five pillows behind me, because when I tried to put my head down, I would feel like I was passing out. I think I had a concussion, but apparently I was a throw away patient not worth fussing over. At least that's what I felt like. The dentist wouldn't start work until he got the approval from my auto insurance stating that his work was covered and would be paid for. 
I went back to work at Fowler's Department Store and did really like it there, but, I didn't feel I could spend another winter in Binghamton.
My brother lived on 21st Street, in a studio apartment and graciously allowed me to move in and share his leather sofa bed. I went out and applied all over town for display jobs, but, since I had no college background they wouldn't hire me. I couldn't afford an expensive new wardrobe and that was probably my downfall. Since I had worked for J.W. Mays from 1965 through 1972, and new a couple of people there, I applied for a job in the display department. They wanted to hire me, but, there wasn't an opening yet in that department, so, they hired me for the platform and receiving department. They wouldn't hire me as a department manager because I had a beard. The owners son frowned on beards. That was fine with me, I'd rather work in the receiving department anyway. Eventually I was able to get into the display department, I think they wanted to see what kind of worker I was. Guess I passed the test. 
I ended up being in charge of all interior displays for five of Mays stores and would work out of the Brooklyn store, but travel around to the other stores. When I started I worked at the 14th Street store and could easily walk there from 21st street, and from my apartment share on 14th Street. When I worked out of the Brooklyn store, I had already moved to a roommate shared apartment at Grand Army Plaza, and then to a shared apartment on Hicks Street in Brooklyn Heights, where I met Al. After quitting Mays after a dispute in pay, Al encouraged me to apply for Pearl Paint Company, which I did. I thought I would surely loose that job when shortly after starting work there, I came down with hepatitis and had to tell my coworkers they had to get gamma globulin shots, which they did. It was rough but I got back to work in just a couple of weeks. Al's chicken soup helped but I remember walking down the street and having to stop and rest and I also remember standing in line at the bank to cash my check and getting that pain in my side and feeling the yellow creeping into my eyes. It took a long time, but, I eventually got my energy back.
I had become the manager of the fifth floor craft department at Pearl Paint Company, but, because of the woman that did the buying for that department and worked out of a Long Island store, snubbed me every time she showed up. She wanted me out. She only hired women for that L.I. store and except for her very nice but henpecked husband that did carpentry work for Pearl, she wanted no men working in the craft department. The last straw was when Jodie appeared with a team of young women and began putting merchandise out and rearranging some shelves. I was very busy answering questions and overseeing the register, as well as filling in and putting out wood supplies used in making architectural models.
Jodie came up to me and said "How about picking up some of the trash that's everywhere". I looked around the whole store and there was no trash other than what was thrown down on the floor by her and her Long Island girls. 
I went to the store manager and was allowed to leave that day, and then the following day I was offered a job in the order department, which I gladly accepted. I became the assistant manager of that department and worked at Pearl, on Canal Street, for a total of eight and a half years. 

I had taken the test for the Postal Service but, didn't expect to get the job. I hated the test and half guessed my anwers, I only got a 75 on the test, but since they were hiring by lottery, I got the job. At first they said that if you wanted to be a clerk that it would be several years before there would be an opening. They also said that if you had a clean valid drivers licence you could become a letter carrier. 
I started at Church Street Station, on the collection tour. When we came in to work in the later morning, we would deliver express mail or sometimes help people box their mail or do a second delivery for one carrier or another. If we did an end of anyone's route, it was with an overstuffed shoulder bag. Later in the afternoon we might be sent to be a "watcher loader" (bags brought to the street, mail from offices in one building or another that needed to be watched and that you would load onto the collection truck when it came). We might be given a truck and asked to do one collection or another. For quite a few months I filled in for a carrier that was on light duty. It was usually ideal to stick to one job for more than a day or week, but, in this case it was not really great. The collection was on the Bowery and in Little Italy and Chinatown at rush hour. In spite of that rough collection, I really liked the job. 

I made regular  carrier and moved on to Cooper Station where I would have to clock in at FDR Station to pick up a truck to do a Cooper Station collection, every day, the advantage was that I didn't have to return the truck and could leave it docked at Cooper. After the collection I had to box up mail and deliver a route. They were very large routes at Cooper and if I did have a lunch, it was a sandwich eaten as I stood to box mail in one building or another. As soon as I could I bid out of Cooper I moved on to Trinity division of Bowling Green Station (since closed and moved to Church St. Station). I mostly worked night shift at Trinity, boxed mail all night and at six every morning did the collection there. The two ton trucks would not clear the overhead to park in the bays at Bowling Green and I had to either drive the one ton or two and half ton trucks. 
After the collection each day, I would have to help routes tie down and was required to fill a truck and drop off mail at buildings. Since the trucks did not have lifts and most of the guys threw their large bags of mail into gurneys, I had to bounce the gurneys off of the rear bumper (not at all easy on the upper body or back). 
After a time I felt zombie like and bid for Canal Street Station, an area I was already familiar with. I learned to fill in for at least 25 different routes at Canal St. Station and ended up with 2 different routes of my own. I literally worked my ass off and ended up bent over in pain by the end of each day. I went on light duty, was unceasingly harassed by management and since I was 55 years old and had 14 1/2 years of service, I simply retired. 

I was eligible and able to collect Social Security Disability, but most of my Thrift Savings Plan Benefit (IRA) checks went into our money pit of a Staten Island home, but, that's the next chapter, in the continuing story of Imperfect Eye.

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IMPERFECT EYE (continued)

NEVER HAVING EXPERIENCED "HIGHER" EDUCATION I TAUGHT MYSELF FROM BOOKS AND WHAT I REMEMBERED FROM HIGH SCHOOL. I ALSO WORKED WITH MANY SEASONED PRO'S DOING DISPLAY WORK, AND THEN AGAIN BY RUBBING ELBOWS WITH EMERGING ARTISTS AT PEARL PAINT COMPANY IN MANHATTAN. 

I LEARNED THE CRAFT OF KNOT TYING FROM AN OLD BOOK OF KNOTS THAT MY FATHER HAD WHEN HE WAS IN THE NAVY DURING WWII. I NEVER WANTED TO MAKE PLANT HANGERS THAT WERE VERY POPULAR AT THE TIME. I DID MAKE BELTS AND CHOKERS AND VESTS AND WRIST BANDS USING HALF HITCHES AND SQUARE KNOTS SOMETIMES COMBINING MY KNOT TYING SKILL WITH LEATHER AND BEADS. BUT, I WANTED MY SELF STANDING VASE FORMS TO BE SEEN AS ART. 
THE GREATEST COMPLIMENT I EVER RECEIVED ABOUT MY WORK WAS WHEN I HAD SET UP A DISPLAY TABLE IN THE HARPER COLLEGE GYM LOCATED ON THE S.U.N.Y. BINGHAMTON, NEW YORK CAMPUS, BACK IN THE 1970'S. 
ANOTHER CRAFTSMAN FROM ACROSS THE OTHER SIDE OF THE VERY LARGE GYMNASIUM CAME RUNNING OVER TO CHECK OUT MY WORK. IT TURNED OUT THAT HE WAS A GLASS BLOWER FROM CANADA. FROM ACROSS THE ROOM HE THOUGHT MY WORK WAS GLASS. HIS WORK WAS EXCELLENT AND I WAS VERY TAKEN WITH THIS GREAT COMPLIMENT AND INTEREST IN MY WORK. OVER THE YEARS I DID MAKE MORE KNOTTED VASE FORMS AND GAVE MOST AWAY AS GIFTS. 
I LOVED WORKING AT PEARL PAINT COMPANY, IT DIDN'T PAY MUCH, BUT THEY DID GIVE ME A REALLY GOOD DISCOUNT WHICH ALLOWED ME TO INDULGE IN AND WORK WITH NEW MATERIALS. THE THING IS, I ALWAYS REVERT TO USING WHAT IS AROUND ME, AND IF THAT MEANS USING BUILDING MATERIALS, TEA STAINING AND RUSTY NAILS, IT'S FINE WITH ME. WORKING FIRST IN THE CRAFT DEPARTMENT AS THE MANAGER AND AGAIN AS THE ASST. MANAGER IN THE ORDER DEPARTMENT, IF I HADN'T ALREADY KNOWN WHAT AN ART SUPPLY WAS OR WAS USED FOR, I SOON LEARNED. MY RALPH MAYER, ARTIST'S HANDBOOK OF MATERIALS AND TECHNIQUES WAS AN ESSENTIAL TOOL FOR ME AND STILL IS. 

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IMPERFECT EYE

WHEN I'M WITH PEOPLE AND RELATING A STORY ABOUT AN INCIDENT OR INSTANCE IN MY DAY TO DAY LIFE, I FREQUENTLY JUMP THE TRACK AND END UP SOMEWHERE IN THE BUSHES. THEN I USUALLY HAVE TO ASK SOME VERY ANNOYED LISTENERS WHAT THE HELL I STARTED TALKING ABOUT IN THE FIRST PLACE. IF IN WRITING I DO THAT I CAN ALWAYS LOOK BACK AND FIGURE IT OUT.

WHEN I GRAB SOME INDEX CARDS OR I SIT IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER I WANT TO SLIP INTO PROSE OR BE 'POETICALLY CORRECT' (if there is such a thing). BUT FOR ONCE I THOUGHT I WOULD STICK TO A STORY ABOUT MY ART. 

IN HIGH SCHOOL I ALWAYS SAT IN THE BACK OF THE ROOM IN EVERY CLASS. I WOULD PICK A GIRL IN EACH CLASS AND DRAW THEM FROM BEHIND.  ONE OF THE GUYS SITTING NEAR ME ASKED TO SEE WHAT I WAS DOING AND SUGGESTED I GIVE MY DRAWING TO THAT GIRL. FROM THEN ON I WOULD MAKE MY DRAWINGS AND GIVE THEM AWAY TO MY SUBJECTS WHO WERE WITHOUT EXCEPTION, ALWAYS THRILLED. 
THERE IS AS MUCH CHARACTER IN THE WAY SOMEONE WALKS OR SITS  OR HOLDS THEIR HEAD OR HOW THEY COMB THEIR HAIR, THAN THERE IS IN THEIR FACE. I SUPPOSE THEN WAS WHEN THE BALLPOINT PEN BECAME MY FAVORITE TOOL OF ARTISTIC EXPRESSION. ALTHOUGH, I DID VERY MUCH LIKE THE VERSATILITY OF USING CHARCOAL AND PASTEL, AND HAVE USED COLORED INKS AND WATERCOLOR AND ACRYLIC PAINTS. THE GOOD OLD NUMBER 2 PENCIL AND MY TRUSTY BALLPOINT PEN WERE STILL MY FAVORITES. I HAVE ALSO TRIED OIL PAINTING, AND DID WELL WITH SKIES AND WATER, BUT, IT NEVER DID ENTICE ME INTO INVESTING IN IT. 
TO ATTAIN DEPTH AND DIMENSIONALITY I HAVE INSTEAD RELIED ON BUILDING MATERIALS, INCLUDING GROUT, CEMENT, WOOD, NAILS, FOUND MATERIALS OR WHATEVER HAPPENED TO BE AVAILABLE. I HAVE ALWAYS SAID THAT IF YOU ARE AN ARTIST AND ALL YOU HAVE IS MUD OR SAND OR SCRAPS OF METAL OR PAPER OR JUNK, YOU WILL FIND A WAY TO MAKE ART. 
MY BIGGEST PROBLEM HAS ALWAYS BEEN TRYING TO BE PERFECT WITH MY ART, BUT WHEN I FINALLY FOUND SOME SMALL SUCCESS IT WAS BECAUSE I HAD LEFT SOME THINGS TO CHANCE. I STOPPED PUTTING RESTRICTIONS ON HOW I THOUGHT ABOUT WHAT I WANTED TO EXPRESS OR HOW I WANTED TO EXPRESS IT. 


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KNOTS

The top two knotted vase forms are from the 70's, in fact the second is over 45 years old, and still in my possession. The bottom piece is my attempt to update my art of the knot in the late 90's, and was given as a gift to my postal friend Liz. 

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These were all done with half hitches and square knots, with no other support other than the strength of the knot. 

CREATIVITY

This rock garden I made by placing one rock at a time onto an unused slope at the rear of our rap around deck, was a creative labor of love. 
I realized many years ago that if I'm not creative I become easily depressed. Maybe there are others like me out there that know they are sad but can't imagine why? Maybe this can help...
There was a time when I was in such a deep dark place that I never thought I could ever climb back up and out into the light.They gave me ups and when I told "them" I was always on edge, "they" gave me downs. I remember more than once driving off the road and onto the grass along the highway. I'm not sure how but I willed myself to keep my head up and get back home so I could just lay my head on a pillow and sleep. 

Then in talking it over with what might as well have been a concrete wall it slowly dawned on me that it really was all up to me and within me to heal myself. I threw that shit away and finally realized that I didn't need pills to function in this world.

What I also realized is that being creative doesn't mean I have to always draw or paint or write or craft, although I do find pleasure in conjuring. If I paint the kitchen cabinets or clean and rearrange the basement or bedroom or clip the bushes, that in itself is being creative and it's enough to get through another day.                                                                     

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AL

Until someone came in through the window and walked off drinkin' from a pitcher of our iced tea... 
Having much of nothing never mattered to us ~ never mattered to me.
We think we know who did the deed ~ the one above with the endless need or Max's nephew that was hooked on speed.
Either one, the deed was done and well... 
Having much of nothing never mattered to you, never mattered to me.
A souvenir from a favorite bar ~ the impala emblem from my first used car, besides our brand new VCR ~ not yet paid for, shoved in a suitcase ~ and out the door. 
Your black pearl pinkie ring and my worn out High School ring ~  the only things worth anything. 
It's having to pay back was the burdensome thing. Back then a rented movie that was not returned cost eighty bucks that we'd not yet earned.  
We took off to see the local shark. He was tough but had no bark. To faithfully pay is all he'd ask and that was not an easy task, but pay we did and bought a gate.  For the little things it was too late. 
For you and me, we'd just begun and this portrait of you is from that time when you and me ~ we had a dime... and that was enough.

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WILTED BEAUTY

RED - YELLOW - BLUE 22 X 30 pencil drawing on w/c paper in a private collection. One of my favorites.

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NUMBER NINE

AND I RAISED MY HAND WAY UP HIGH BUT YOU SAID SIT BACK DOWN 
SO I DROPPED MY ARM AND STEPPED ON BOARD AND I ROAD THAT TRAIN BACK HOME

I HAD NO RIGHT TO MAKE YOU FEEL I THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS MORE THAN JUST A ONE NIGHT DEAL
SO I LET YOU GO ~ AND NOW I KNOW I NEVER SHOULD HAVE STAYED BEHIND

OF ALL OF THE STAINS LEFT ON THE NINE YOUR LEAVING AFFECTS ME THE MOST
AND WHEN I'M RIDING THE RAIL JUST GOING DOWN I'M GOING DOWN WITH YOU

EVEN IF NOW YOU'RE NOT REALLY THERE IT'S BETTER TO IMAGINE THAN JUST BE GOING ANYWHERE
'CAUSE OF ALL OF THE STAINS LEFT ON THE NINE YOUR LEAVING AFFECTS ME THE MOST
AND WHEN I'M RIDING THE RAIL JUST GOING DOWN I'M JUST GOING DOWN WITH YOU

AND I RAISED MY HAND WAY UP HIGH BUT YOU SAID SIT BACK DOWN
SO I DROPPED MY ARM AND STEPPED ON BOARD AND ROAD THAT TRAIN BACK HOME  



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WATCHING WITHOUT SEEING

Charcoal on d'arches 250 lb w/c paper 22 x 30 in a private collection.                                                                                 

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WHEN MARY DANCED

MANIPULATED TULIP

A new technique I am trying out, looking more like molded felt, this is a worked over photo.

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DRYING DYING FLOWER III

THIS IS ANOTHER BALLPOINT PEN DRAWING OF A DRYING DYING FLOWER. It is in a private collection.
Not the third from my gallery showing. I remember wanting 
to prove to myself that I could still draw and this 22 x 30 w/c paper was my favorite. It is from 2003.  

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DRYING DYING FLOWER II

This BALLPOINT PEN PAINTING is in a private collection.    I had done a series of drying dying flowers, this was another from my "Stages Of Life" gallery showing. 

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