Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Facebook. Show all posts

Sunday, March 29, 2009

Merry Christmas in Rockaway Park!

"Boarding House Garbage Cans",
Rockaway Park, NYC, Christmas, 1995?


Was it Winter 2005? I was offered to spend the holidays with several of my friends around NYC. I declined and instead went to go down to Rockaway Park for Christmas. I have an objective, find my buddy Butch. I haven't seen in at least over a year. I miss the man with the scratchy drunken voice covering up a heart, so innocent and kind.

Butch was out of sight. No one seemed to know where he had been.

The last winter, he was staying in a smaller than small studio in a boarding house. They like to call this particular house, a crack house. I've seen a lot going on there from booze to heroin, but crack never passed my way. I wouldn't be surprised. Often, I walk through fire and don't feel flames scorching my flesh.

Back then Butchie's friend had bought him a new vinyl lazy boy, dark shiny brown with swerves of black almost like some mutant pit bull. He sat on that chaired and flipped through the basic channels. She had bought him a new bed since the last one he had stained in feces after a long binge alone behind the padlock on his door. She had made sure that "Meals on Wheels" came to his place seven days a week to feed him twice a day on the weekdays and once on each weekend day. I can't forget when he showed me the platter of food stored in Styrofoam. He removed it from the refrigerator and opened the lid and told me with pride ever item in the container.

This friend, this very kind woman--I never met--she died of walking pneumonia at, I believe, no more than 50 years old.

The evening, Butchie found out, he had vodka dripping from his mouth like a fountain. There was nothing, but a quart of Smirnoff that could make any sense to him. Between deep guttural moans of mourning and spewed anger to those around him--he was out of his mind.


Butchie Under Covers, Rockaway Park, NYC, 1995?



That night I came to visit , he was surrounded by the fly-by-nighters, the ones that came when they needed a bit of cash from Butch who would give them money from his disability and VA checks hidden in cash somewhere who knew expect the ones who stole it.

A circle of friends attempted to comfort him, as he flayed his body around, while legs shook unsteady beneath him. He is beginning to show the signs of some neurological disorder...years of drinking surely had made things easier to tolerate, but soon enough would make him bound to a wheel chair. The last gasps of unjust anger faded away and off, he fell asleep, an inebriated calm baby under a half made bed.

So, Christmas...2005. One of the regulars at the Kerry Hill Garden's told me that he was staying at the Peninsula Hospital. It was a frigid day, I walked under the A tracks towards the water and found the Peninsula. Charlie was going to meet me there outside of the building. My cell phone rang and it was my girlfriend's nieces wishing me a Merry Christmas.

"Why aren't you here?", they screamed in unison. "Where are you? We wish you were here!"

"I'm fine," I said. I'm photographing for my project."

..as I imagined them sitting in front of a fire in Narragansett, Rhode Island. They probably were wearing fleece tops, bottoms and footsies to keep warm. I kept a keen eye on any gang life. I held tightly onto two wrapped presents, one for Charlie and one for Butchie.

"Don't go down there!", they said to me before I left the pub. There are a lot of gangs down there. I walked swiftly looking into the interiors of busted car windows and walked quickly over chard's of glass.

Charlie was waiting outside of the Peninsula, smoking a cigarette. I had never seen him dressed so fine. A sports coat, covered with a wool winter coat past his knees. His hair was brushed to the side and brilliantined. He appeared as a ghost vision of my father, quiet, reserved and respectful.


Charlie at His Finest, Peninsula Hospital, Rockaways, NYC, 1995?


We went inside to the reception desk....

"Hello! We are looking for Edward McBride.", I ask. Charlie stands beside me.

Continued next week.

And for now, let me introduce you to a local Rockaway's Organization called "The Rockaway Jetty"

You can learn more about there group on Facebook. Her are some of the things they do:

SINCE ITS INCEPTION, THE ROCKAWAY JETTY'S MISSION HAS BEEN TO IMPROVE THE QUALITY OF LIVES OF CHILDREN IN THE ROCKAWAY COMMUNITY.

WE DO SO BY PROVIDING:

FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE FOR MEDICAL OR EDUCATIONAL NEEDS.

TUTORING

SCHOOL SUPPLIES

BOOKS

CLOTHING

VACATIONS/CAMPS/DAY TRIPS

TOYS.

ETC.

THE ROCKAWAY JETTY RELIES ON THE INVOLVEMENT AND DEDICATION OF ITS MEMBERS AS WELL AS THE KINDNESS AND GENEROSITY OF THE COMMUNITY AND OTHER LOCAL ORGANIZATIONS.

THE ROCKAWAY JETTY IS A TAX EXEMPT, NOT-FOR-PROFIT LOCALLY BASED ORGANIZATION THAT IS DEDICATED TO HELPING PEOPLE "ONE NEED AT A TIME."