The Ash Creek Papers

For as long as I can remember I have been a “morning person”. Among my chums I was the only one who tried to engineer his class schedule to get 8:30s. And it was during the spring of my sophomore year that I discovered the beauty of the dawn.

It happened this way… I was taking an introductory graphics course with Arnie Bittleman, who in a previous life, had a part time job as a butcher while finishing his Art Degree at Yale. He should have remained a butcher. With little or no encouragement from him I began my love & exploration of photography. And on an early spring morning back in New Haven, I lured my next door neighbor, David Kimberly, to the beach in Woodmont to capture the rising sun in black & white… back then I thought that black & white was “serious” photography, and colour was frivolous.

David agreed to tag along, looking at it as an opportunity for poetic inspiration. Good thought Dave… even I tried to compose a verse or two to go along with my photography.

Sadly, nothing remains of that mornings creative output save my memory of the morning; and more importantly my continuing love of the dawn.

Whether it was the early sky that I saw as the train moved thru Harlem all those years in commuting to New York… or today, the road traveled to Norwalk and my morning workout, or perhaps the detour to the Calf Pasture beach… there isn’t a day that I don’t enjoy seeing & feeling the quietness of the dawn & of life slowly coming awake. First a few stragglers… the odd deer looking for some breakfast, a car speeding to the City, an early “walker”, a dog sniffing about… a few more souls stirring to the early calls.

I have a particular fondness for breakfast places. The 24 hour Diners are natural starting places for the early risers. At my spot you can see “layers” of folks… first it is the truck guys — delivery people, utility guys, Dept of Public works. Next come the Cops. Then the contract tradesmen — painters, plumbers & electricians. And so it goes. Each layer starting their day at a slightly different hour; but all still rather early.

“Convenience Stores” are also a natural starting point. Places to pick up the morning paper, a pack of cigarettes, a lottery ticket and the like.

But it is the gas stations and their convenience stores that are the most fascinating to me… it is here that the “seasonal” workers gather to begin their day. Trucks are lined up, their backs filled with what is appropriate to the time of the year. For most of the year it is lawn stuff… mowers, trimmers and the ever present gas cans. In the fall we have leaf blowers and vacuums… and some of the trucks are fitted out with those contraptions that look like elephants’ trunks. Winter and it’s snow removal time.

The cast of characters does not change. You see the same faces. Men from “south of the border”. Talk to people who are Hispanic and they can tell you just by appearance where other Hispanics are from. I am not that good; but I am guessing that most of the folks I see are either from Central America, or maybe Peru or Ecuador. They have carmel coloured complexions peeking out below a 2 or 3 day growth of beard.

Now that we have moved to cooler weather, they wear layers of clothing… two or three shirts, a sweat shirt, a vest… dirty pants, two pair of socks and heavy work shoes.

One worker stays with the truck… filling the tank, and of course filling the gas cans, too. The others pile into the “store” to stock up. I love looking at what they consider essential for their day… coffee is a must, then a cold drink (carbonated or non-carbonated) for later, bottled water, too (I can never understand why people buy water in plastic bottles), some type of chips — corn chips, potato chips, pretzels… also gum, candy, & a cupcake of some type — twinkies, snowballs, devil dogs… rarely some will purchase a lottery ticket, or a pack of smokes.

Each worker has no less than 6 things that he is purchasing… plus someone is responsible for bringing a “goodie bag” for the guy who remained with the truck.

I think it was Zack who told me about “three across”. It seems to be emblematic of the way these workers drive around town. And sometimes it’s “four across”.

The filling of the tanks is done. The ritual purchases have been taken care of. Now it’s time to jam into the cabs of the trucks.

Three in the front, the trucks cough to life, blowers and mowers secured in the back… perhaps a fourth or fifth worker is in the back, and if so, be assured that it is a pecking order issue. And their day to begin…

The sun not quite above the tree line. A tinge to the air and I am surprised to see a lone sea gull circling over head… just as it was 34 years ago.

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I never tire of the early morning. I think that there is a kernel of hope in the start of each day. And I have come to treasure the line from Shawshank Redemption…“Hope is a good thing”.

I go to the gym just about every day & as long as my wheels are in working order I will run between 5 and 11 miles on a treadmill. A while ago I discovered it helped maintain my energy level, and maybe, more importantly… it helped with anger management and to knock out the hurts (physical or emotional) that I pick up along the way.

To help us cardio freaks out, gyms typically have a bank of TV monitors tuned to the key stations… CNN, ESPN & others that I don’t recognize. The sound is off; but some of the sets have “closed captioning” so we can follow the text of what’s being said.

This morning I caught a piece on Jim Valvano… or I think it was him. He was a basketball coach I think at NC State when they won the National Title… before then he may have been the coach at Providence… and maybe he coached for another team, too. If I am not mistaken he recently (within the last 10 years?) died… cancer? Anyway… I will have to check the facts with Zack.

Some Coaches are known for being great motivators (maybe it is what makes them great coaches, and not merely good coaches). Some are also quite well read and articulate & these latter skills prove useful on the “speech circuit”. Long after they put the play books aside, hang up the whistle & pack away their sneakers they can continue to share their insights with interested folks.

This morning I followed a speech that Valvano had made some time before his death; but after he learned that he was terminal…

He put 3 keys to life…

“Every day… laugh.”

“Every day… think. Spend some time in thought”

“Every day… experience something that will bring your emotional level to tears.”

And then he concluded… “Don’t Give Up”.

What could have plagued them? What could have been so pressing to a 21 year old?

I have been to several campuses… when I was looking for schools myself, when I was attending College & then again in looking for schools for the kids. And of course I grew up in New Haven where the Yale Campus was in my “back yard”.

I loved Yale’s Gothic Buildings… its detailed architecture… a stately Payne-Whitney Gymnasium, Woolsey Hall for concerts & lectures and a magnificent Library… the main Library, not Beinecke Rare Book (too modern for my taste).

And I suppose I am drawn to Libraries on College Campuses… I mean that’s what it’s supposed to be about isn’t it? Yes, the campus is wonderful… show me the Library.

My Brother-in-Law Will and I went to Union together… but both he and his wife Wilma got their Masters and PhD’s from Cornell. Beautiful Campus that… tremendous Library, too. But the feature that is mostly identified with Cornell is the massive gorges that slice through the Campus… narrow apertures that open to rocky and treacherous defiles. Troubled students have been known to jump from the edge to their deaths in the jagged rocks far below. This was referred to as “gorging out”. A grim sport that you don’t want to letter in. Folks say that Ithaca can be a depressing place during the winter months.

New York City is never depressing. And Zack simply adored NYU. Campus? No… nothing much really. Washington Square in the Village has its charm… but any citizen can enjoy its charm… it’s not distinct to NYU… but what is definitely NYU is a tall concrete & brick edifice that rises from the South East corner of the Square…it is the Bobst Library… and by all accounts it is the most impressive College Library that I have seen.

It is a 12 story building that is built around an atrium… the stacks and rooms surround the atrium. The ground floor of the Library has a marvelous marble floor in a fascinating geometric pattern… from above the pattern creates an incredible optical illusion… from the 12th floor it looks like huge sharply cut slabs emerging from the ground. If you fear heights it can be scary stuff looking down from the 12th floor… Ellen was terrified and couldn’t be pried from the inner wall of the gallery.

What were those two students thinking (some 6 months apart, the most recent this past week) when they leapt to their deaths?

Oh the pain they must have endured to have come to such a decision.

I watched her as she approached the convenience store… and she was crying. What was making her cry?

It’s a lonely part of the street at that early hour. The sky was lightening; but the sun had not cleared the tree line. It’s a “semi-commercial” part of Norwalk… a mixture of small businesses and homes. The houses are multi-family structures… many of the residents are Latino, mostly from Peru or Ecuador… and some of the store fronts boast multi-lingual signs… check cashing services, legal services… that sort of thing.

My breakfast hang out is there, too. The Family Diner… it’s Greek owned; but unlike the other Greek Diners in our neck of the woods, which typically remain open 24 hours (and menus that have pages upon pages of entries & have every cuisine imaginable except Chinese), the Family Diner is open just for breakfast and lunch. I go there for my fix of eggs over easy, whole wheat toast & homefries… it’s a place where you sit down at the counter, and without being asked your coffee is there, newspaper, too & in 3 minutes your breakfast is hot before you. And it is where I took Suzy for lunch one day to say that I was moving out of the house.

In the early hours that I am there I usually see the guys who drive the trucks… delivery trucks, utility trucks, city trucks, repair trucks… and they come in for their breakfast fixes, too. Or they head across the street to the “convenience” store.

I don’t remember “convenience” stores being around when I was a kid. Or maybe they were there; but we didn’t call them that. Or maybe they were there; but the product mix was different. I guess that must be it. And although I have never been in this particular convenience store across from the Family Diner… I can tell you what’s inside… tobacco products, candy, packaged cookies, chips and assorted other “junk food”, phone cards (real big deal for the South Americans in the neighborhood), wire services for money — also big with the Latinos who have to send half their pay away to family south of the border, cold drinks, ice cream, newspapers and magazines (some in Spanish), bread, peanut butter, pickles, ketchup, toothpaste, deodorant, tampons, condoms & lottery tickets.

Lottery tickets. Oh my… not just our State Lottery, not just Power Ball; but countless “instant” lottery scratch-off “games”… and the machines to handle the daily numbers. Stand in back of folks trying to pay for the newspaper & listen to someone rattle off which tickets they want & what number they want to play… $20 – $30 is put on the counter as they turn to walk away. It looks like they can barely take care of their basic needs (do you think that bread and peanut butter would have been a better way to spend your money?) & yet they spend $20 or so on lottery tickets the way you would spend a dime to make a phone call.

Unreal.

And here she comes walking down the street. I notice her. Here gait shows some urgency, hands thrust into the pockets of those long oversized sweaters… she has on jeans, and from her stride I can see that she is slender. Her sandy brown hair is mussy & pulled up in a bun… in a way that I have always found sexy; because to me it has the look of “I’ve just gotten out of bed”– and in this case she probably had. Her head is down, and then she takes one of her hands out of her pocket… a tissue there — to wipe her runny nose from the cool morning air? No… a tissue to hide a cry, to relieve the stuffy nose that came from a good cry & something that hadn’t stopped yet.

What does she need at this early hour? What can be so important that would bring her to the convenience store at this time of day? What is her addiction? Does she need smokes? A scratch off game? Maybe it will bail her out of a money jam if she wins? And the tears? Who has mistreated her? What makes her hurt? Where is someone to help her… to give her support… to make her whole?

Why is she crying?