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30 Days with George Part 1
America
July, 2003
30 Days with George
Our Adventures in the USA and Canada
June-July 2003 - Part 1
By Ron Bauer
Sorry, this online version contains np Photos
In April 2003, George Whitman and I purchased round trip tickets from Paris to Boston. George hadnit been to America since 1976 and wanted to return one more time, to see how things have changed. I was going to the states to spend the summer with my grandmother at the Jersey Shore so I offered to take him. But there were problems. George had recently lost all of his forms of identification including his passport. There were also debates about the date of departure. George kept on saying he wanted to leave on the 5th of June. This was crazy because we were having a big week long literary festival at the bookstore store that didnit end until Bloomsday, June 16th. Sylvia, George's daughter, had been working on the event for over a year and we had to be there. So suggest we leave on the 18th so we can have one day of rest after the festival.
"Rest!i he yelled, iWhy the hell do we need rest, lets leave on the 17th.i
"But George, were going to be working hard all week, so many authors are coming, an event every night, don't you think we could take one day."
He cuts me off, "The 17th."
Later, on Bloomsday, the last day of the long festival, George said to me, iYou were crazy to get our tickets for tomorrow; it will take us at least two days to clean this place up! What were you thinking?i I just looked at him and shook my head.
We decided to fly to Boston since that is what he considers his home town. We would stay our first few days with friends from the bookstore, then rent a car and tour the Northeast and Canada. George wanted to take the train, but I assured him that we could see much more in a car. This was a fun and crazy trip filled with the wild eccentricities of man who has seen and done everything. Before we get into the story, let me tell you about when I first arrived at the Bookstore and how I met George.
It was a cold rainy night in April 2001 when I first arrived at the bookstore. I had spent the last two months in Morocco and it was my first time in France. My friend iThe Captaini Chris Gilmore had been telling me about the bookstore since I was 15. Chris graduated from Atlantic City High School with my mother, and when I got old enough, she told me to lookup her old eccentric friend. We became good friends surfing and sailing on Quincy Avenue Beach. Eventually, after quitting my job and life, I decided to live my dream and travel to Morocco and crew on Chris's boat Rubaiyat. After that we would meet in France. What great stories he told of this little bookstore in Paris whose owner lets people live there for free. He had even met his current girlfriend there. And he was great friends with the owner!
I get this great lifelong build-up, but the day I'm leaving Morocco (I was leaving to Paris a day before him) he says "Here is a list of some cheap hotels in the area of Shakespeare because George may not let you stay there."
I say "But isn't he your good friend. Can't I just say I know you?"
He then states that it may work, but if George doesn't like you, or is in a bad mood, he may refuse you. I was really blown away and a bit angry.
So there I am standing in front the desk at Shakespeare and Company with backpack and guitar. I'm wet, cold and tired and the guy working the desk is ignoring me. After a few minutes I speak up in my most polite fashion "Hello, my name is Ron and I'm friends with Chris Gilmore, is George around I would like to ask him if I could stay here tonight."
The guy at the desk begins to confer with his friend sitting near by, "Well, what do you think, George is in Bed."
"Yeah, and he will get really mad if he finds him here in the morning."
Then he looks at me and asks if there is anywhere else I could stay. I said I really had no idea where I was and that I had got lost 5 times on the way from the metro to the shop. I was lost. The two guys confer again and finally one of the fellows, Tim, says I can stay, but George, the guy who owns the shop, may yell at me when he sees me in the morning. We go outside and he shows me up the main stairway. It was dark when we reached the top of the stairs. Suddenly, like a ghost in the night, a thin man with white hair bursts out of a grey metal door and yells "Who's this!"
We are both startled and jump back a couple feet. Tim calmly states in a quivering voice that I'm a friend of Chris Gilmore's and need a place for the night. The shadow of a figure says, in a gentle tone, "Well OK then" and goes back in his room and slams his door. Wow, this was a real trip.
I ended up staying for three months. I fell in love with the bookstore and the man. During those first three months George did everything possible to test my character, physically and psychologically. No matter what he did or said I held my head high and we became great friends. Shakespeare and Company became my new home and George my lost Grandfather. Over the years I came to love him dearly and I know that he liked me too. That is why, when the opportunity called, we decided to take a wonderful voyage together, one that brings me the fondest of memories.
Tuesday, June 17th
What an insanely long day. First we leave the bookstore late because George is busy taking care of a multitude of last minute details. George was wearing his classic Green suit but unfortunately the zipper was broken. Rebbeca, George's protEgEe at the time, and I both tried to fix it but there was no way. It needed a new zipper. We looked around for another suit but it was impossible. Either not matched, too small, dirty or wrinkled. George didn't care about the zipper.
"Give me my suit back! Why are you always wasting time?" he said as he grabbed back the green suit and put it back on.
"Nobody will notice." I said. I grabbed a safety pin and closed up the bottom half.
He was also wearing his silk green shirt with his red Chinese tie, so he looked great. George continued to stall, rearranging the pile of papers on his desk. Finally, after lots of persuasion, he is ready.
George barely brought anything with him. He had only a small black shoulder bag that included one extra pair of socks, one extra shirt (his favourite pink short sleeve he found in the trash) and a book that Sylvia gave him. A truly bohemian traveller.
Before we leave we take the big departure photo in front of the bookstore. It was monumental. Everyone at the bookstore was out front to bid us farewell. George handnit been to America for over 25 years and we were really on our way. In my eyes the ticker tape was blowing and we were covered with tassels. I was excited, nervous, ecstatic and crazy. George would test me on this trip. See what I'm made of. No Problem. I was getting the chance to spend a month with one of the most fascinating men alive.
As I was walking over to say goodbye to Silvia and David Amram who are talking on the bench, I notice George galloping off down the Rue de la Bucherie toward the Metro. I scream my goodbyes and run off after George. It took us no time to get on the RER. I check my watch. We have two and a half hours before departure and we should make it easy. When we arrive at Charles de Gaulle, the bus terminal is packed so we know something is wrong. Ten minutes go by and no busses.
George says "Were not going to make it. There are no busses!"
Finally the bus for our terminal arrives and we squeeze our way on. As we approach our terminal I notice a manifestation arriving at the same time. Crap, airport strikers. Only about 100 of them with a few banners, but we are too late, the cops have already blocked off the entrance. Some people start getting off to walk. Iim not sure, itis pretty far, and I make the wrong decision to stay on the bus. We go around the terminal again and I figure we are fine with two hours to go before departure. The bus then proceeds to go around all the terminals for about 15 minutes, with out stopping, and at the end we find ourselves back behind the manifestation. The bus driver is obviously with the strikers. The strikers were not moving and we were going nowhere. To top it off, were nowhere near our terminal.
George looks at me and says, iWell, we might as well go back to the RER, were not going to make it!i
Iim stressing out, damn; we should have gotten off when we had the chance. We wait for 15 minutes and we donit move. The cops are all around us. We now have 1:15 minutes. Everyone on the bus is now panicking. A guy flags a cop over and asks him if we can get off. The cop lets us off but I have no idea where we are or how long we have to walk.
George is travelling with a little side bag but I have a ton of stuff, big backpack, small backpack and my guitar. As we are walking towards the closest Terminal, George looks over to me, smiles, and says, iWere not going to make it.i
When we arrive at the closest Terminal, Terminal C, I find out that strange enough, Terminal A is next to C and we are only another 15 minutes away. George may be 90, but he handled the big walk with no problems. Soon enough were at the counter but we have a minor problem.
Since our tickets are return the lady asks if we are Residents. I say I wonit use my return and George says, iOf course Iim a Resident.i
She then asks him for his French Identity Card and he doesnit have it. We never found it. I forgot about this detail. So I smile and say, iThis is one of the most famous people in Paris! He owns the bookstore iShakespeare and Company.i
As I say this, Iim pulling Georgeis Shakespeare and Company brochure out of my backpack. iLook here is his picture,i I say unfolding the brochure. She asks if there is an address in the brochure and I show her the location. She says iOK,i and goes over to talk to the manager with the Brochure and Georgeis Passport. A few minutes later she returns and says iNo problem.i
I wonder how many times a laminated brochure has passed for an Identity Card!
Next we deal with the security questions. The lady starts asking us, "Did you pack your bags," etc. Sheis not talking very loud and George is looking over at me like, iI have no idea what she is talking about.i
iSir, did you pack your own bags,i she says again.
I butt in, iYes, He did, I was there.i
She asks another, I answer again. Soon George is boarded and wanders away from the counter.
iSir! This is very important, you must stay here and answer the questions.i she states sternly.
I grab his arm and pull him back over to the counter and he looks at me and shrugs his shoulders. She then asks him another question and I answer. George isnit even listening to her. It was very comical, but soon it was over and we were through security and on our way to the gate.
As we walked George complained, iWhat was that all about, all those senseless questions, what a waste of time!i
I just smiled and laughed. After that mess, I was happy that we were near the gate. When we arrived the flight was already boarding so we got right on the plane. We had good seats, the center asile with a vacant seat between us.
Next problem. As were sitting down, a storm rolls in and it starts pouring rain and we can hear lightning. What else could go wrong? George scoffs and says, iWere not going anywhere in this weather.i
A moment later the captain came on the PA and said we would have to wait for the storm to clear. George looks at me smiles and shakes his head. After about an hour the storm had assed, but we still didnit have clearance. George looks at me and says, iThis is crooked! No drinks, no food, no music, whatis wrong with these people, are they trying to torture us?i
I had to agree, we got no service. George was ready for this emergency. He had packed one of his Medicine tubes filled with coffee. He took a sip and handed to me, "Not too much, we have to conserve." he whispered.
After another half hour we back up from the gate and before we even move forward, the Captain comes on and says we have a mechanical problem and will have to return to the gate. Can you believe it! This delay only took 15 minutes and then, finally, we were in the air.
This was not a fun flight. We had already been on the plane for two hours, the flight to Boston takes 8 hours and George was not comfortable. At one point I took another seat so he could lie down but after an hour we had some turbulence and then, because of the seat belt rules, he didnit want to lie down anymore. The movies were horrible. One was Jennifer Lopez in this really bad version of iPretty Womeni but instead of a hooker, she was a maid. George watched for 15 minutes, said, iTerrible,i and went back to reading the Times of London. The food was terrible and to top it all off, when we finally arrived in Boston, there was no one there to connect to gate to the plane. We waited there for a half hour!
Everything was great as soon as we were off the airplane. Customs was quick, Jenny and Brett were there to meet us and they took us directly to Brettis sisteris house near Boston University where we would spend the next two nights. I met both Jenny and Brett at the bookstore and I knew George would recognise them. George was really happy to see familiar faces after such a long day. When we got to Brettis sisters apartment, they showed us around and left to Brettis Parents with his sister. We had the place to ourselves. We were both really tired so we crashed pretty quickly, George on the bed and me on the couch.
Wednesday, the 18th - Big Day Around Boston and Salem
iYou know I got Vertigo the day we left! Yep, I got out of bed, lost my balance, almost fell and havenit been the same since,i George stated as he got out of bed. As he stood up he wobbled out of balance and grabbed for the desk next to him and used the desk to prop himself up. George would complain about his vertigo on and off during the whole trip, mostly in the morning. There probably was some truth to it, but I also think over acting a bit. . He is well read on all type of geriatric disorders and I figured that it was something he covered before we left. Once, when he was doing an extra dramatic wobble, I smiled and imitated the maxi wobble back to him and he couldn't help from laughing.
Brett and Jenny were coming to get us around noon so I went off and got Bagels, juice and a newspaper. The bagel was a mistake for George. iI will take me an hour to eat this. I got no teeth!i he said.
After breakfast we surfed the internet for information and articles on the bookstore. George is a really quick learner, after a while he was even doing some clicking. We didnit find too much that was interesting or new and George was very quick to point out lots of errors, especially with dates. George really enjoyed seeing what was out there, we even found an article about him in iBooks Magazinei that he had never seen.
At noon Brett and Jenny showed up and we were off to explore Boston and the surrounding areas. First we went to Harvard to check out the different bookstores. On the way we saw one of Bostonis street cars, really run down, and George said, iTypical America! Look at that old trolley car, what, are we in Yugoslavia? I think they look better there!i
We all chuckled at Georgeis witty sarcasm. We also passed lots of Boston University campus buildings, but these were not part of the university when George attended, so he quickly dismissed every one. When we arrived at Harvard we took a quick tour of the grounds, George said that everything had changed except for the statue of Harvard himself.
After a quick bowl of soup from a local cafE we were off to the bookstores. The first was The Harvard Bookstore. George really liked the store. He wandered around saying things like, iHighly professional, great stock, I wish we had these books, etc.i And, of course, he got out a scrap piece of paper and wrote down lots of ISBN numbers of the books in which he was interested. Unfortunately, he always writes them on a newspaper or some other scrap which he often loses by the end of the day.
Next we went to the Grolier Poetry Bookshop Shop which was run by a lady who was familiar with Shakespeare and Company. We knew this because a girl who once worked at the shop first told Brett about Shakespeare and Company. He was fascinated, and when he came to Paris he ended up spending a few months living at the store. Anyway, we expected a warm reception. When we walked into the store, George walked past the desk where the owner was sitting and began to browse the books. Quickly, the owner stood up and rigidly said, iIim sorry Sir, this bookstore is not self service.i
George said, iOKi and walked back out the door. As he was leaving I said, iThatis George Whitman, the owner of Shakespeare and Company, Parisi and she rebutted, almost yelling to George, iAnd I donit let people sleep in my bookstore either!i
What a bitch! Brett and I laughed at her and left the store right behind George.
Next we went to Revolution Books, the communist bookstore at Harvard. George really liked the stock. I gave the guy at the counter one of Georgeis Brochures and said, iThis guy owns Shakespeare and Company in Paris, greatest socialist bookstore!i The guy looked at me indifferently, took the brochure, and then put it on a shelf behind the counter without looking at it. Another warm reception! But the store was great and we spent about a half hour going through the stacks.
That was the last bookstore, so we decided to go out to Glouchester for lunch On the way back we would stop by Salem, Georgeis other hometown.
George had been talking about having fried clams for months so we finally had our first opportunity. Per Brett's recommendation, we stopped at a great seafood restaurant right on the water behind a bunch of docks. When we sat down George noticed some fishing trawlers and said, iI used to work on trawlers like that.i
George once took a job on a fishing trawler that fished in the north Atlantic. He did it for the experience but he didn't like it. "The ocean was too rough up there in such a small boat," He Said. After that he worked on big tankers but never again little trawlers.
When the waiter arrives at our table with the menus George looks at him and says, iFried Clams.i
The waiter looks at him with a big question mark and George repeats, iFried Clams.i The waiter was confused, but puts down the menus and says, iDo you all want fried clams?i
We laugh, say no, please come back to take our order. The waiter leaves and George says to us, iItis not much of a meal for me, I like them for the flavour but I canit eat them. I got no teeth!i
We werenit really sure what he meant. When our food came, we understood. George takes the clams and chews them up and then spits them out. This is the same for clam chowder too, there and never enough clams but the ones there are he often spits out. What can he do, he loves the flavour but canit chew them up. This is no big deal for us, we are all used to Georgeis eccentricities.
George was in an extra fine mood. We had a couple beers and he told us some good stories.
George has ridden motorcycles his whole life. His first cycle he found when he was 12. It was broken down on the side of the road near his home in Salem. He fixed it up and did lots of touring around Mass. He later owned and Indian and a Harley before moving to Paris and purchasing a bike there.
On really hot day, he and a girlfriend were taking a ride outside Paris for a Picnic when he had a blow-out. The road was so hot that his tire expanded and exploded. He said his girlfriend was big and when he lost control and wiped out she landed right on top of him. He broke his right leg and his collar bone. She was fine with a few scrapes. He had to spend a week in the hospital and even though it was a long ride from her home in Paris, his girlfriend visited him every day.
George rode his cycle in Paris until he was 82 and the only reason he stopped was because his cycle was stolen in front of the shop.
George was constantly running away from home. When he was 14 he hitched to the Canadian border thinking things were definatly much better in Canada. He was turned back because of his age and he was not accompanied by an adult.
After lunch we went to see Brettis house and to meet his parents. His parents have a beautiful house just outside Glouchester right on the water. When we went inside and George met Brettis father he immediately said, iYouire a Lawyer.i
His father repliedi iYes, how did you know?i
George smiled and said, iThe house, your books, I have known many lawyers like you.i
They were both were smiling and began to chat which George doesnit do very often. iSo you drive to Boston everyday?i
iNo, I do most of my work from home on the internet.i
iHow nice, you have a very beautiful home.i
iThank you, please sit down and make yourself at home.i Really nice banter.
I was smiling and shaking my head. Not so typical for George.
The house was really nice, right on a little bay with a Boston Whaler parked just off shore. It had a large kitchen and living room with lots of bookshelves. We stayed there about 45 minutes, in which George spent the entire time in the family room browsing the bookshelves and I talked to Brettis dad about surfing. He used to live in La Jolla and was an old surf dog so we discussed the various San Diego breaks.
On the way back to Boston we stopped by Salem. This was really nostalgic. He has lots of fond memories of his house on Naples Road and the little park down the street on the water. We first went to his old house and it was looking great, new paint, nice lawn, etc. Brett asked George, iWhy donit we go up and say hello?i
George quickly replied, iLetis go up and say, is there any mail for Whitman?i
We all laughed. Then we went to the end of the block to see the park he had been telling me about for years. iWe would build a raft with trees and wood. Then we would construct a diving board on the raft. It was a private park only for the people who lived on our block, a private beach.i
He really loved that old park. It wasnit very large, about the size of two house lots. All grass, a small playground and a little beach that went right into the water. It was really cool to see Georgeis old neighbourhood.
On the way out of town we passed a power plant and George told us the story that when he was 17 we worked there for the summer for money for College. He replaced the chemist and it was his job to test the percentages of chemicals in the gas.
After Salem, Brett drove us back to his Sisteris and we didnit arrive until after 8:00PM. What a whirlwind day. George later complained that he should have rested for a couple days instead of doing so much. That night George started to cough but it wasnit so bad.
Thursday the 19th n The drive to Margate, NJ
In the morning Brett and Jenny were a couple hours later than we expected. We wanted to miss the rush hour traffic in NYC, but it was really nice of them to put us up and give us a ride to the airport to get our rental car. George kept on saying, iLets get a taxi, I donit think theyire coming,i and then he would laugh.
The drive was uneventful until we reached NYC where, as expected, we spent a few hours in traffic. We spent two hours travelling from the Bronx to the George Washington bridge and the traffic remained slow for awhile on the Garden State Parkway. While we sat there George continued his iTypical Americai rants.
iJust road, trees and cars. This is Terrible! Look at everyone boxed in their cars. Typical America! They just go from one box to the next. No one uses public transportation. Typical! Look how dirty everything is (when we were in the Bronx). Itis one big slum. Look at all the people, no one is smiling. Caged in like rats. Typical America!i
I replied, iIt would be the same if we travelled by the train, just trees and tracks.i
iYes, but there are other people on the train, humanity, faces to see, people to meet, not boxed in like the lowest form of rodent!i
George really sees it like it is.
Finally we made it through the traffic and our first stop in Margate was Chris Gilmore's house. Chris has been a friend of Georgeis since the early seventies and spends a few months a year living at Shakespeare and Company as the writer in residence.
I ran up to his door, knocked and he answered. After a warm embrace he asked where George was and I said he was out in the car. iPerfect,i he said. iAnita is waiting for us at Johnnyis and she has dinner ready."
Anita is Chrisis girl friend whom he met at Shakespeare and Company, and Johnny is a really cool Margate guy who was putting us up for the week.
This was a great start for the Jersey Shore. George really likes Chris but he never shows it. They have an odd relationship, kind of like two overgrown jealous children. They never say anything nice to one another, egg each other on and only have a kind word when the other isnit present. Pretty amusing.
George always glows at the sight of a pretty girl so he always has a big smile and hug for Anita. Chris had made Sheppardis Pie and this was Georgeis favourite.
We had a nice dinner discussing our adventures in Boston and Chris told us a little more about the book he is writing about Shakespeare and Company. George was getting fidgety, wanting to go to bed, but Johnny hadn't arrived and I wasn't sure where we were going to sleep. Finally, around 10:30PM, Johnny showed up from work and showed us the situation. It was perfect. George had his own room and I had a big couch.
George and Johnny got along great from the start. Our whole time there Johnny was great, putting up with all of Georgeis idiosyncrasies (half eaten food and snot rags everywhere, hurricane in the kitchen, etc.) but I did my best to clean up ASAP so nothing got out of hand. After our great dinner and a few beers we crashed out. We were meeting Chris in the AM and planned to go to Camden, NJ.
Friday the 20th - Crack in Camden and the Walt Whitman House
Another wild day. We had been going non-stop for 4 days and George complained a little, but he was very excited about seeing the Walt Whitman House. Walt is George's absolute favorite poet.
He started the day with a little Vertigo. He came in the kitchen grabbing from table to table until he reached the fridge. iWhoaaa, out of the way,i he said as he wobbled by.
iI hope your all right, do you still want to go to the Walt Whitman House?i
iOf course I do,i he replied. iIts just vertigo, Iill be fine in a little while, just let me get my coffee.i
We picked up Chris at about 11:00AM and began our trip up the Atlantic City Expressway. On the way out of Atlantic City there is a big Billboard with two fully geared up Soldiers on each end with, iGod Bless Our Militaryi in the center. George couldnit believe his eyes. iWho paid for that sign? The Government? God bless the military? Thatis crazy. Typical America!i he ranted. This was also the first time I had seen the sign. Again, I had to agree.
When we arrived in Camden we drove down to the waterfront and took look at the Battleship New Jersey. It was large, pretty impressive, but George just scoffed at it and didnit comment. The Walt Whitman house was just down the street and we arrived at 12:30PM and the next tour wasnit until 1:00 PM so we had half an hour to kill.
On the way up to Camden, George told us a couple cool W. Whitman stories. When Walt was bed ridden he had lots of famous visitors. One was Sylvia Beach. At the time she visited, Walt was throwing lots of his poetry in the trash. When she was there she dug a poem out and kept it. This was one of her most prised possessions and it is currently in one of her collections either in Buffalo, NY or Princeton with lots of her other books, etc. When he finished this story I asked, iGeorge, why donit we go by and look at her collections? We will be near both places!i
iNooo,i he said. iI have no interest that.i Go figure.
The other story he told us was about how Walt was pretty much bed ridden for the last three years of his life. Lots of famous people visited him like Oscar Wilde and George Orwell. He really dwelled on this, like that is where his destiny may lie. iThatis probably how Iill end up,i he said.
I laughed and said, iBut George, look at you, youire as strong as an ox!i
He just shook his head rumbling, iOld man, nope, an old man...i
So we had half an hour to kill and our mission was to find a place where Chris could tale a leak. We drove all around trying to find a fast food joint but no luck. The town was one big slum.
iTypical America!i George exclaimed. iLook at this place. It looks as bad as the slums of Mexico City. Right in the heart of America!i He was right, it was really bad. Finally Chris saw a Bar across the street from a doughnut shop, so we parked in the lot besides the shop and Chris ran across the street to use the toilet. He returns five minutes later and says, iThe place is really nice and warm, nice people, I donit want to sit in this cold car for 20 minutes, letis go inside.i
George says, iI know, you guys want to drink beer, go ahead, Iill wait here.i
I wasnit about to leave George alone in the car in that neighbourhood but Chris says, iOK, Ron. Letis go!i
I say, iForget it, we canit leave George here.i
George says, iNo, go ahead, Iill be OK, just go.i
I say, iNo way,i and then Chris gets out of the car and says, iWell Iim going back in,i and walks back across the street to the bar.
Seconds later I notice a car pull up next to ours, about 5 feet from George and a crack deal goes down. A black guy runs over to the car from the doughnut shop and I see the two fives and the rock of crack change hands. Then a dealer comes over to our car and glares in to see if we want something and I ignore him. Thank god we donit look like cops. Then another car pulls up and another deal. Crap! I canit believe that Chris left us in the middle of a gang of crack dealers! We have got to get the hell out of there.
George is relaxing reading the paper and notices nothing. I look at him and say, iMan, did you just see those crack deals go down?i
He says, iNo, you are very observant,i and goes on reading his paper. This is a really bad. I look in my rear-view mirror and see a parking spot on the street open up. I figure it must be safer there so I back out and take the spot.
Now I have full view of the situation. There are about 6 black guys standing in the doorway of the doughnut shop. They are all wearing extra bright white tee-shirts and baggy jeans. Obviously a gang and they are doing really good business. Cars are pulling up everywhere scoring drugs, some right in the middle of the street next to us. I canit believe that such blatantly obvious drug dealing is happening, the cops must be paid off. Our situation is now worse. We are in the full view of the gang and they are eyeing us.
I tell George, iIim going in to get Chris, we canit sit here anymore, itis too dangerous.i
iDonit be ridiculous, itis the middle of the day, there not going to just come over and shoot us for no reason.i
iI donit know, look at those guys.i He ignores me and goes on reading.
We sit there for 5 more minutes watching the deals. Another guy comes by our car and comes up real close and stares in Georgeis window before returning to the doughnut shop. George is oblivious. I canit take it anymore and decide to go in and get Chris.
I was nervous leaving George even for the two minutes it would take to run to the bar. I get out, lock the door and run. In the bar I find Chris casually sipping a coke reading the paper oblivious to what is going on outside. iDude, were out there in the middle of a crack dealing zone. Letis go now!i
He looks at me and says, iOk man, let me pay.i
I run back out to the car and all is cool. A few minutes later Chris comes out and we get the hell out of there. That was insane. iMy god,i I thought, iFive feet from a crack deal in Camden, NJ with George Whitman! What else could happen?i
Soon we are back at the Walt Whitman house. It is a modest little house with a small living room, a dining room connected to the kitchen and three bedrooms upstairs. As we pulled up, the caretaker, a park ranger, ran up to our car to help George out. Later George said, iHe must be lonely, not many people probably come and visit.i
The ranger was heavy set, around 50 and wore a uniform and spectacles. He was really eager to tell us the whole Walt Whitman story. We started in the living room and he began by telling us about WWis childhood and the history of the house (Walt was never rich and it was purchased for him by some wealthy supporters). Then he talked about dinner parties, famous visitors, quotes by Whitman, etc. When the ranger was about half way through, George blurted out, iCan we see the bedroom now?i
This threw the ranger off and he dejectedly said, iAh, Oh, donit you want to know the rest of the history, um, I guess we can go up...i
Chris saved him and said, iNo, please continue."
George rolled his eyes, gave me that iLooki and continued to listen. George was bored because he already knew the history and occasionally would lookup and shake his head when he heard an inaccuracy. When the ranger was done, Chris asked some questions to be nice all to which George raised his eyebrows. Then, finally, went up to the bedroom. George listened more attentively as the ranger described everything in the room, the bed, the furniture, the fake fireplace, etc. George kept leaning on the bed and tried to sit down but the Ranger would quickly say, iSorry sir, you canit sit or lean on the bed.i
The rest of the tour was quick, just the kitchen and the back room. The ranger kept on making the point of how humble a place it was for such a great writer while all of his other contemporaries were living in mansions. George agreed with this, but after a five times he started looking at me, rolling his eyes saying, iEnough already.i
I really enjoyed the tour especially because I was with George and got to see his reactions. He is such a great judge of humanity and WW is one of his favorite people. I could tell George felt a bit sad during the visit but tried his best not to show it.
Next we were off to Philadelphia. If Chris wasnit with us, I would have just gone back to Margate because it was raining really hard and it was no day to go strolling around Independence Mall, the only real attraction in Philly. But Chris had an appointment in a fancy store to see a cashmere overcoat so we drove in anyway. It really sucks driving around in the traffic in the rain. After awhile we found a garage near the store and while Chris went to try on the jacket, George and I waited in a nearby cafE. After, we drove straight out of town. Not a very memorable trip to Philly.
We drove back to the shore, to Johnnyis, and George immediately went to bed. That night I went over to see my Grandma for the first time in almost a year. I didnit call, no warning, and she was so shocked she almost started to cry. She was really glad to see me. Then gave me the low-down of what was going on in the house. The bitter drunk uncle upstairs and with his bitter girlfriend. Not nice for Grandma. Really bad, but that is not part of this story.
Saturday the 21st - Lunch with Gma and the Big Gilmore Party
Man, we had been going non-stop for 6 days, but George was still up for going out for an early lunch with my grandmother. When we picked up Gma, I got a great picture of them in front of the family hearth.
Then we were off to Gmais favorite restaurant, The Crab Trap. It is the most popular restaurant in the area so we had to show up at 11:30 so we wouldnit have to wait. It was a great lunch and George was very charming. Gma was very impressed.
After lunch, we went to a bookstore in Ocean City that Chris had told us about. The Restless Spirt. This was one of my favorite bookstore visits of the entire trip and also Georgeis. Not only did the owner know who George was, he was really nice, showed us around the shop and gave George all kinds of special attention. The guy had lots of cheap, interesting books so we got about a box full. He even gave George a dollar off every book, most that were being sold for $3. George really liked the guy.
After we left, George said he talked about he felt sorry for the guy because there was no way he could be making money and that bookselling was a difficult business. I agreed but also said, iYeah, but George, he loves his bookstore, just like you. He could do something else, he probably doesnit make much money, but at least he likes what he does. Heis a lot like you!i
After the bookstore, we went back to our island, dropped off Gma, and George and I went back to Johnnyis. Chris was having a big party for George that evening so George decided to rest for the afternoon. I went surfing for the first time since I was in Morocco a month ago and that felt really good.
At 7:00PM we went to Chrisis. George was complaining about how he should rest but we had to go. He made me promise that we would only stay an hour, and I consented to get us out the door. The party was really fun, lots of the coolest Margate locals. Michael Van Stein (Actor from NYC), his girl friend Abby, Barbara (funniest girl in Margate), Margo (Chrisis Mom and artist extraordinaire), Big John (Margois boyfriend), Art Naffy, a rich friend of Chrisis from Miami, and, of Course, Chris and Anita. Quite a motley crew. Lots of beer, wine and boisterous conversation.
George was pretty quiet, but he did spend some time flirting with the girls and telling travel stories. George is not a big party guy. He likes to make an appearance, talk to a few people, maybe have one cocktail and then he is ready to leave. He is a bit shy, but the big difference with George is he has no ego. You will never hear him boast about anything. We had a fun time and our designated hour, we departed back to Johnnyis. George was happy to get back to his room and I was happy to return to the party.
Sunday, June 22 - First Rest Day of the Trip
George was a wreck. He was coughing violently all day so he just rested in front of the TV. Mike Van Stein was having a big Barbeque right down the street so I spent the day riding my bike between Mikeis and Johnnyis. When I would return to see George he would be watching one of his favorite channels, CSPAN, Turner Classic Movies, Telemundo (to work on his Spanish) and CNN. For most of the week he would spend the morning watching Congress in session on CSPAN. iIs this always on?i he said, iItis amazing to be able to watch the government live.i If I suggested doing anything during that time he would snap back, with a little smile, iBe quiet, Canit you see Iim catching up on my Americana!i
Monday, June 23rd - Atlantic City and Hobie Sail on Quincy Avenue Beach
I knew going up to Atlantic City would be trying and that he would not like what he would see. We had to go. He couldn't go all the way to Atlantic City and not see the boardwalk. Atlantic City is a slum off the Boardwalk and on the way up he said, iHow could there be all these poor people right next to these giant capitalist hotels?"
Then he shook his head and saaid, iItis horrible! Typical America!i
We parked at the Tropicana and took a walk through the casino on our way to the boardwalk. He was not impressed with the lights, the high chandeliers, or the ring of the slot machines. He muttered, iAll these people throwing away their money, its disturbing.i
Next we went out and took a short walk on the boardwalk. He didnit like it, but I canit blame him. The boardwalk near the Tropicana is just a strip of Casinos with hardly any shops. iI thought the Boardwalk would be filled with souvenir shops, food stands and rides for children.i he said. iWhatis wrong with this place? Itis nothing like I expected.i
I should have taken him to the Ocean City Boardwalk which is like he expected. The AC Board walk used to be filled with Amusement Piers and Shops but that all went by the way of the Casinos.
After the boardwalk stopped by Princeton Antiques and Books on Atlantic Avenue, one of the oldest bookstores in Atlantic City. They keep all their books at the back of the shop and youire not allowed to browse so we left after a minute. No browse, no George.
After the bookstore we went back to Johnnyis to rest up before going down to the beach.
On the way home, driving through Margate, George noticed that there were hardly and people on the streets. iWhat is this place on strike?i he said. iTypical America! Where are all the people, just in cars? From one box to the next?i
I told him that people walk on the beach, but not too much on the street. iTypicali he replied.
We met Chris down on Quincy Avenue Beach and pulled down his 16 foot Hobie cat to give George a ride out in the Atlantic. George wasnit so happy on the Hobie Cat. As soon as we left the beach, George said, iOk, Iim jumping off and swimming back to the beach.i
Itis quite dangerous, and Chris told him not to, but George kept on moving towards the side of the boat. Then Chris raised his voice, iGeorge, sit down! Youire not allowed to leave the boat until we are back on the beach, itis against the law!i
George looked uncomfortable so after a few minutes we jibed and returned to the beach. I donit think that George is comfortable on small boats. He worked on that trawler, and on Cargo ships but he doesn't like little boats. Later in the week we tried to get George to take a ride on the bay on Chrisis Garvey, but George declined. iOK, if itis on a big Yacht! Thatis what Iim used to riding on,i he said.
Chris said, iTell him to buy us a big yacht and we will give him a ride.i I told George and he shrugged and shook his head.
Tuesday, June 24th - New York City
Clear, sunny and hot. A perfect day to go up to New York City. George was tired of going everywhere by car so he wanted to take the train to NYC. Unfortunately there is no train to New York from AC so we took the Greyhound instead. Johnny dropped us off at 9:00 AM at the bus station and we were at Port of Authority by around 11:30AM.
This was a really incredible day. We walked around the big apple for hours, no sign of vertigo.
George really knows his way around the city. He guided us the whole way from Midtown, all the way to Grenwich Village. Thatis a long walk, especially for a 90 year old, but not for George. He was so excited to be back in NYC, he was full of energy. The first thing we did was walk up 42nd street to Times Square. He was so happy. He grabbed my arm and said, iNow this is a real city. Look at the people everywhere! And they have some of the best bookstores in the world!i
The first bookstore we visited was Midtown Books. To get there we walked up 6th Avenue to 48th Street. Midtown books was cool and the guys that worked there were really nice. They had all heard of Shakespeare and Company and were glad when George gave him his brochure. George invited the entire staff to visit us in Paris. George invites people to visit all the time, but the response usually is, iOh, I wish I could go to Paris, but....i
This was the response from the guys at Midtown.
But they were cool and gave us directions to The Strand Bookstore, our primary destination besides the Shakespeare and Company in the village.
iThe biggest bookstore on the eastern seaboard!i George kept on saying. It was a long way, but George insisted on walking. We took 6th Avenue all the way down to Broadway and found the Strand. It truly was amazing, i8 Miles of Booksi as the adverts said.
We spent over and hour exploring the dusty shelves. George was really impressed. iLook, they must have 50 people employed here! They have an excellent stock, I wish we had books like these!i he exclaimed. Funny thing though, there were no real bargains so we didnit buy a single book.
Next we were off to Check out the Village. It was now about 90 degrees out, but we walked anyway.
It is quite stressful walking the streets with George. The cars in NYC are moving very fast and when George wants to cross the street he just goes. Sometimes I would grab him because there was a car bearing down on us and he would tear his arm away and the car would slow down. iWhy did you do that? What, do you want to get me killed,i he would yell at me.
My attempts to save him only seemed to slow him down, and make it more dangerous. Many times on our trip I would shake my head and think, iHe really is a nut!i
It was really sweltering out on the streets! About half way I talked George into stopping at a cafE for some Iced Tea and a burger. Man, I really needed a break! It was a funny little cafe called Johnny Rockets with juke boxes on the tables and waitresses with classic red and white 50is dresses.
After lunch we made the rest of the way to the Village. We tried to find the Shakespeare and Company but were unsuccessful. He couldn't remember the location and I forgot to look up the address on the internet. This was a drag. George said that the employees there have visited our bookstore before
Next we went down to 4th Street to Washington Square Park. This part of town had changed a lot, but George still recognized most everything. We spent about an hour at the park relaxing in the shade watching people go by and children playing in the fountain. George told me he had attended some political rallies in the park in the 20is
After a great rest we took a walk down Bleecher Street to see if any of his old haunts were still there. He was especially looking for a certain Italian Restaurant that he used to frequent. We were going to stop there for a beer if we found it. George said it was open all day when he was used to go and lots of artists and writers hung out there. We never did find the spot but he did find the building where his apartment was located.
The whole time we were walking around the city George kept saying he really hoped to run into someone he knew. Now that we were in the village he was especially hopeful. He hadnit been there since some time, but he iAlwaysi saw someone from his past. No luck there either.
After exploring the area around Bleacher, George was finally starting to tire out. I suggested we take a Taxi back to Port of Authority. He said, iCertainly Not! What are you rich? Did you just inherit a fortune? We will go up to 5th Street and take the Bus back with the regular people. You can take a cab if you want.i
I chuckled, put my arm around him, and said, iOk then, have it your way, the bus it is.i
The bus came right away, but when we got on I realized I didnit have enough change. I was 25 cents short. Like most places, the busses donit give change and all I had was a $20. Crap! I thought. There was a big black guy behind me and noticing my predicament, he threw in 25 cents for me. How cool I thought. I thanked him and he barely acknowledged me. He gave me a little iNo big deal,i shrug.
The bus dropped us one block from Port of Authority and soon enough we were back on the bus to Atlantic City. Crazy, Crazy, Crazy is what I thought on our way back to the shore. We got back to Johnnyis around 9:30 PM and watched a little TCM before going to bed.
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