More “fascinating” tidbits from my recently-excavated journals. This one from 1993.
I rode the elevator up with Hedy
the Old Lady from the 6th floor
who has never spoken a word
or anyone else
in the 3+ years I’ve lived here.
She’s a typical NYC octogenarian:
sloppily applied bright, red lipstick
The city beat the stuffing out of her.
It’ll get me, too.
I was showing Hedy my mail:
an appeal for a contribution
from an association that saves trees.
Robert Redford loaned his name to the cause.
It appeared in the return address.
I said to Hedy, “Look at this!
I got mail from Robert Redford!”
The small, frail mother
suddenly straightened her back.
Her eyes lighted.
She said in a loud voice:
“I MET Robert Redford when I WORKED at the HOTEL.”
I asked, “Was he nice to you?”
“Oh my, YES! VERY nice. And very HANDSOME, too.”
She was screaming.
“I MET THEM ALL.
OSCAR HAMMERSTEIN took me to his apartment
and showed me his GUN COLLECTION.”
The elevator stopped on the 5th floor.
Hedy and I got off.
Nobody reading this has ever had
a personal tour of Oscar Hammerstein’s arsenal.
And you never will.
It’s encouraging to see that
even at our nadir
we remember our apex.
Our moment of glory.