Frank in the City
9/1/15
Frank was named for his grandfather’s great-grandfather on his father’s side.
Say that three times fast!
Ha.
Say that three times fast on this cool October morning.
This cool October morning is resplendent with sunlight on multicolored falling leaves.
He thinks of the fresh spring leaves after a gentle rain. Didn’t he take a picture of those leaves on his phone? He scrolls…
Family lore had it that the old guy was brilliant. A self-taught mathematician who worked as a surveyor for the U. S. Dept. of the Interior in the late 1800’s. He was always just scraping by financially until his grandfather who had found gold near the start of the California Goldrush in 1848, left it all to him when he passed at the ripe old age of 92. The now rich grandson who had six sons and a farm the boys managed with their mother, used his mathematical skills to invest. That Frank used the proceeds to buy nearby farms, then farming machine companies, which he loved because of the mechanical innovations. Hired a bunch of engineers. Old Frank got a kick out of managing all those college-educated types because he himself never set foot in a schoolroom past eighth grade. Long story short, the sons lost almost everything in the crash of 1929, except for one. When he was a kid, he bought a kit to assemble one of the first radios. He had his dad’s cleverness. He was a community minded man who became a fireman. He also had that other dormant family gift: He saved, started buying buildings in an old mill town. His only child, a son had the family talent for growing a business. He bought mills, fell in love with a much younger beauty. They had four daughters and a son, all civic-minded, teachers, lawyers, doctors, served in poor neighborhoods. There was besides all this success, another side to that family.
Original Frank, the surveyor lost his mind. They say from too much time alone riding in the hot sun. Still, he enjoyed being who he was.
As an old man, he would go on and on about a magical Native American Beauty who showed him his own soul gone bad, sort of like a warning to not feel sorry for himself.
“Oh, poor me… I’ll never amount to anything with that self-indulgent degree in socio-linguistics.” That was our current Frank thinking semi-aware of his thoughts.
****
Current Frank would have done well to learn that lesson.
That other lesson too: he sometimes missed the joy of being who he is.
He thought about his drinking buddy, Jim.
Jim who had been thrown out of a bar for rowdy, excessively angry behavior. Jim who had harassed a trombone player. Drunk out of his skull, Jim all fists, shaking with an unnamed rage, went up to the musician starting with: “YOU”VE GOT BALLS.” That story flashed red, a warning that Frank didn’t want to give in to anger.
Jim started going to AA, where a woman introduced him to guava juice, a great improvement because he had become addicted to Coke (the soda). Jim went to a therapist who showed him ten Rorschach images. All Jim saw were volcanos. He dreamt repeatedly about the god Chaos not being pleased.
On his way to his shrink, Jim passed by a poster for a performance-art piece called
Depression, Anger and a Little Lightness- music, poetry, paintings. Something was missing. Dance?
The therapist, according to Jim, had trouble finding the right way to phrase what was Jim’s core issue. Jim found understanding through AA. He got a better job, started exercising regularly… his friendships deepened. He was determined to learn to be the man he felt he could be.
He thought of Mandy Gonzalez who says, fear, acknowledge it... and do it anyway.
Jim was a help to Frank who was newly divorced from his second marriage, underemployed, desperate to add color to his so-called life -even though he’d never been to Liberty High school in Three Rivers, Pennsylvania.
Frank was living in what he called a concrete closet...
Concrete closet Concrete overcoat
Concrete slab Tombstone
Arizona Flagstaff
The Wild West
Would he have been happier living in the 1800s?
Would he have been a success in 1848 at start of the California Gold Rush?
He never was one of the first to do anything….
Even when he had an idea first, he’d dawdle, try to perfect it before taking the next step
Back then was there child abuse, homophobia, teenage alcoholism, homelessness, adultery, school violence, drug use?
Yes to all of varying degrees. Add genocide, disease, starvation, mean-spiritedness.
But he didn’t live then. He did live now. That wasn’t so great either.
The Wild West now: In God We Trust plastered all over Arizona’s public schools- supposed to make kids more patriotic. Aren’t there any patriotic atheists?
Could you tell me with a straight face that the tweeter-in-chief is a god-fearing man, all righteous and morally upstanding, plays fair, helps the poor and downtrodden, a true Christian?
Maybe he’s not only above the law of men and women, but above the laws of religions? Maybe he’s really a scion of god.
Las cosas que le ocurren a un hombre les ocurren a todos.
The things which happen to one man, happen to everyone, so said Jorge Luis Borges, who despite his apparent anti-Semitism was a pretty smart guy. Maybe I misunderstood his racism.
May he burn in all four of Arizona’s deserts – the one who’s above the law, that is.
No, not Borges or Frank… besides. (Hint: who’s the biggest business loser/con artist of all time? Need another hint? He helps destroy the environment in order to enrich his friends.)
Anger never helps.
Spinoza said, “Instead, understand.”
Despite Frank’s often hopelessness and rage, there was sometimes a sweetness to him, an innocence, even moments of light, clarity, a flicker of brilliance when he got passed his negativity. A few women, but not his wives, found him charming… once in a while, usually when he was speaking in a foreign language or doing something in which his ego wasn’t invested. A yoga teacher once gave him a hug saying he was full of love, lots of love. He understood she was not coming on to him. Women, he reminded himself can hug men socially, asexually. Her words did help him though - especially when he felt unlovable.
Like some of his great uncles, Frank lost most of his money in the stock market. The rest he paid in child support. When he wasn’t making much money he found it difficult to keep his self-esteem from crashing like it was 1929. Envy was a big problem.
His colleagues seemed to know how to have a good time- how to love without getting in their own way.
His negativity cleared, like so many clouds in the sky. Maybe it was the combination of giving up coffee and booze - well, less booze. Maybe it was his increasingly vegetarian diet – or the few additional miles he jogged each week. Maybe it was inspiration from seeing Jim put one foot in front of the other-- like that blade of grass, breaking through the concrete.
Concrete: slabs, overcoat, tombstone, Arizona.
He had a dream: hot as hell in Arizona. He was working in a saloon, about 1880. He was the cook- can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen- all that crap… Next scene also about a job he had as a part-time cook- this was maybe day-residue- he had seen an old buddy the day before from when he was working his way through school at a diner. The heat broke. He awoke thinking lovingly of his kids.
Working two jobs wasn't as bad as he thought it would be. He got to meet more people. Surprised Frank how much he enjoyed people.
For the first time in his life, Frank focused on money. Crime was not appealing - he did not want to hurt anyone- blue collar crime? He felt any crime would hurt someone. Was there a legal way to make enough money to get free?
At least he had no debt. Money, money beyond his wildest dreams… wild, wild..west.
Old West… horses… Horse and buggy. Yeah, drive a carriage in Central Park.
Was there racism in the Wild West? What?! How do you get from Central Park to racism?
A racing mind?
Of course- a race course. No it’s called a racetrack.
He sometimes wished he had a one-track mind. But no, his was a multi-track tape player, a little out of date.
What oppressed Frank more than anything- more than money? Was it his racing mind?
Was it racism?
Could this country he loved ever be healed, cured of its hatred?
Then it occurred to him.
Frank went back to school at night at a public university.
Studied law, volunteered on weekends for a candidate for councilmember.
A year later, a paralegal working at city hall, four years later, a low-level lawyer for homeless vets. The path eliminated his envy and anger. His first wife wanted him back.
He wasn’t so sure.
Their offense had been mutual.
Many shouts, tears and laughter later, they parted as friends.
He did miss their early days of courtship: Beers with friends, …then home for loving nights.
Some women put men down. It wasn’t clear to him if his first ex did that or whether he invited it or whether he was just consistently misunderstood. He decided to work on his communication skills… maybe they were OK underneath… if he could just tone down his anger. After all, people don’t like listening to that tone.
***
It was his son’s, by his first marriage, 20th birthday. The kid was a good listener, but Frank didn’t feel it was right to burden him with his stuff. He called- said he’d like to take him out to celebrate. They chose a restaurant.
They had a good time. He really had learned to be a better father.
***
A few days later, after a solo late dinner (hummus, carrots, green apple, peanuts) stroll around a couple of community gardens, Frank gives a few dollars to a wheel chair-bound singer he had befriended. The singer tells a story
An aging musician can no longer play his string instruments. His heart aches until he learns to sing, his raspy words a joy to all who hear. One day, he can no longer sing.
People come from far and wide to just be with him.
He couldn’t remember where, but Frank had heard a version of this story.
He gave the street singer a larger than usual amount of bills. He continued his walk- his Tour of the Gardens as he called it would not feel complete without a trip down East Broadway. He heard a street vendor calling. It could have been pickles. He stopped to admire the rooftop circa 1880. He recalled a line from an old poem:
All bricks are central in the sense that all are needed to make a wall complete.
A few hundred feet later, while staring into a tiny fountain someone had made on top of a discarded little sculpture it dawned on Frank—really a pulling at his heart strings.
Make it stand out.
Charlotte LiebersonClay ca. 2000Gift from author to Pedro, Junior 7/27/19He said it reminds him of the loving care you need to give a bonsai tree. He plans to add a tiny hose and fountain. I told him this was one of my mother’s many artworks. I asked him to tell his daughter my mother’s name.
Darlene was the answer. She reminded him of his mother’s Zen-like attitude.If you look closely enough, there are no ordinary people.Darlene, his and Debra’s daughter, he wanted her to enjoy life – in moderation, how to be responsible, how to put high standards into action. The little family went for a carriage ride in Central Park.Darlene hummed happily. He heard a cheerfulness in Debra’s voice. Was it something new? Maybe he had just forgotten her naturalness, her joy of just being alive. Maybe it was that their little family was together. ***There was a right and a wrong time to do things.There was a right and a wrong way to do things. There was right and wrong. Maybe he had learned something in the years since as a young teenager, he started feeling he couldn’t think straight. He sometimes was even able- as he had read in all those self-help books- to keep the mind of the beginner. Leaving the park at its north-east end at sunset, before they got on the subway back to Brooklyn, they passed an old, dirty, narrow street where the sidewalks were cracked with age and neglect. Darlene texted Jim’s daughter saying she liked Charlotte’s drawing of a frog. She wished Charlotte were here, then she saw a girl jumping rope who shared a smile with Darlene. Debra lightly touched Frank’s face. There was so much caring, so much gentleness, love in that spontaneous fleeting caress… It was no longer necessary to walk on eggshells.The monsters of his hallucination were vanquished.That goal, so vital, never fully articulated, had been reached. Frank gave himself a little bit of credit for his resilience, for hanging in there, for being able to make his life, his daughter’s life, Debra’s life just a little bit better, a little bit happier… 10%... Dan-what’s-his name would be proud – or sue him for plagiarism. ***Debra was dark, beautiful, intelligent. She had been the captain of her high school debate team. For an instant Frank saw the Debra he had fallen in love with when they were high school sweethearts. He kicked himself for not having married Debra instead of his first wife. He kicked himself for having divorced Debra. Darlene’s humming brought him back. Frank redoubled his efforts to be here now: He was here with Debra and Darlene. He saw Debra at many ages. He loved them all. Remembering the joy, he saw his best self. Feeling like the story of his ancestors – even though the word struck him as odd, pretentious – was a parable -Aesop could have done something with… He texted Jim, asking if he and his girlfriend wanted to meet. His daughter, Charlotte was with her mother at a lake where the girl liked to draw frogs. Jim said, “Why don’t you come over to our place. We’re having a Halloween party tonight. ***The girl under the piano is dressed as Shirley Temple. Darlene waves to her. She goes to sit in the purple velvet chair with the gold Moroccan sash -to-believeand pillows next to where Darlene has made herself at home. A guy dressed in a gorilla suit sits ahead and to her left on the edge of a three-piece couch. He is observant. A knight in shining armor stands with rubber chain links, a foam rubber spiked ball, very stiff. The barest hint of movement flickers from his dark eyes. Two women dressed as policemen in black shirt sleeve stand silently near the Knight. They hold Billy clubs made of cake. Periodically they take a nibble. Next to them, a firefighter in full gear, face covered by his mask. He slowly does a mock strip tease… as his uniform comes off, we see he is Superman. Jim, dressed as a Wall Street Executive, manages everything with enviable ease. He warmly greats his guests. Frank suddenly sees the hard-to-believe transformation. For a second, he sees Jim from their old drinking days. He puts his hand warmly on Jim’s shoulder, thinking “Will it sound condescending to say ‘I’m so proud of you?’” He says instead, “Jim, you are such a great inspiration to me.” Jim smiles saying, “And you to me. You helped me learn to take good care of myself so I can tap into that seemingly infinite stream of creativity.” It is an effort, but Frank lets go of his judgment that this sounds all too woo-woo. Jim smiles, sort of reading Frank’s mind, “Yeah, I can just see the crowds laughing as I tell them I can dip my toe into the waters of the infinite. Ha. You know, in all seriousness, I can see, have a little mental image of my toe touching that silver, self-renewing, gentle current.” Frank responds to the warm gentle smile while has just lighted and lightened Jim’s face. “Jim, but why silver?” Jim laughs saying, “I’m not up to gold yet.” More guests arrive. Everyone smiles delightedly with each new arrival, each unexpected burst of originality. In terrific costumes, are friends made up to be Jack Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, W. The outfits get better: An ancient Mahatma Gandhi arrives. He is gently supported at the elbow by Abe Lincoln. Moses, Jesus and Mohamed slowly pass back and forth tablets of the Ten Commandments. A Buddha Child sits in the middle of the room, all curious, happy. His seven-year-old brother sits down at the newly arrived – deus ex machina -- upright blonde piano. Honest Abe clinks his glass with a tea spoon. There is a story Mahatma is going to tell: In the process of transformation, a sorcerer in the guise of an eagle is spreading, shedding extra wings. He has the wisdom, the eyes of an ancient owl. There is evil magic. The creature is dressed in a gray robe almost white indicating his malevolence is abating replaced by freedom of thought and motion. He is less encumbered by extra parts which others thought powerful but for him were constraining in what was a vain, exhausting, no longer needed charade. That his hands are small initially seemed a weakness. They are raised in an incantation. His wings are becoming hands. It is a sign of his growing humanity. He has a brilliant white buckle on his gray belt indicating that although he is well on his way to mastery, he keeps the mind of the beginner. They all smile at the innocent, magical tones of Gandhi’s recitation.“Daddy,” Darlene says, “it reminds me of mommy’s favorite movie, Field of Dreams.” But it makes me think of a silver stream, a river of jumping fish. Frank, dumbfounded gave Jim a look. He took it in stride. In slow motion, a silver line of confetti shoots from The Knight’s sword. Its reflection of the moon’s luminosity makes it look electric. An electric look from the previously dark-eyed Knight connects with Abe, Mahatma, soon it connects everyone in a neon pinball luminosity. What was in that punch?They party through till dawn.Golden rays accompany the last guests home.Silver moonlight transformed. ***Frank smiles remembering a line from another story, “what doesn't kill you makes you... sing.” A bemused smile as he wondered: “In all the generations of my ancestors, in the thirty-three thousand tumbles around the sun, had any had the thoughts, the happiness I have now?’ Darlene hummed, then made up a song about beautifully free butterflies. Of all her abundantly varied talents, Frank loved her spontaneity the most.All children had inner beauty.All people had that child somewhere waiting to be beautifully free. Frank knew what he wanted.He was making it happen.And that was enough. Debra had been thinking about a book she was writing, “How Children Avoid Hurt and Catastrophe, Becoming Champion Artists.” She came back to the moment, taking a good, delighted look at Frank. She would have sworn he looked years younger. Frank looked at her having the exact same thought. Then another thought, from another story:Not too many people know this: For an instant there was the usual fear, immobilizing. Then he took a step, then fourteen more. With each step he grew a year wiser. Frank’s wisest Self was in charge. He was doing better now. There was even a twinkle in his mind’s eye: could he help others do better? No longer isolated in his own psyche, his heart sang. Just then, a late Halloween guest arrived. It was Sal, dressed as a slide rule.Debra gave him a hug. They hadn’t seen each other in years. She said, “You know, as a journalist, I’ve seen some pretty out-there stuff. At least this is a Halloween party.” Abe, Mahatma, Sal, Jim, Frank and Darlene were all smiles. The party lasted through the night. Darlene dreamt of silver rivers.Through the panoramic view, sunlight gently illuminated Debra, Frank, Jim and all the guests.