The East Village is, was and always will be my hood in the big apple. Sure, I now stay on the Upper West Side and much to the dismay of my husband, I gravitate downtown. He will often say “downtown again?”
My friend Peggy always lived on the Lower East Side and she was my friend-to-stay-with in New York. It was really seedy and exciting then, the 70’s. It’s been totally gentri-yuppie-fied in recent years.
The Hells Angels owned the block — or maybe even blocks — around where Peg lived. And each day as I ventured out, one or another of them would ask me to fetch him something like matches perhaps -from the corner store. So I did. Who wouldn’t? It was always more of a command — and I was to obey.
One hot summer night when Peggy and I were feeling playful and fearless, I actually hopped on the back of Mike the Bike’s Harley for a quick spin around Alphabet City. She was on the bike of another Hells Angel whose name I cannot recall; I only remember his toothless grin and his notoriety from the Altamont infamy of some years earlier.
I am not the biggest adventurer — in fact, I’m not adventurous at all. But I describe myself as a person with the opposite of xenophobia. I love foreigners and strangers. In those days, I’d been known to see a street filled with Puerto Ricans, dancing to the beat of their segregated world, and I would jump in to dance wildly with them. But I also backed out quickly when I sensed danger (clearly, they were xenophobic).
In the 80’s, I moved to New York with my newborn baby Oliver and the ex. Guess where? The East Village. Always fascinating, many other like-minded souls. And hookers in front of the building where we lived. Colorful and familiar. Saint Marks Place, just steps away, was my world and I still love it. Guess I should mention that my father grew up there so it has an even deeper meaning /history for me. (more…)