Button Trends—Summer, 1959
by Alan Walowitz
I was 10 and ready for work:
lunch order in my fist, a ten in one pocket
mail stuffed in the other —
But never down the mail chute,
my father said as I headed to the elevator,
something might get stuck
and there goes the business — though business
was never much up on 8, at 1181 Bway,
and I used to hear him on the phone
— Doll, doncha know the check is in the mail —
with that confidential laugh that got him so far, no farther.
You got to take the mail and get it right in the box;
Aloysius, this ain’t horseshoes. Though Hubert,
the black delivery boy who had signed on
to learn this dying business,
would mumble Horseshit in its place,
though I wasn’t supposed to hear.
So I’d head out on the street,
to listen to the Jamaican guy
who hunkered near the entrance
banging away on his homemade pan;
and the old Jews — Commies, anarchists,
artists-schmartists — as they made their way
toward Parnes Dairy across the street,
always in the middle of some tzimmis
and now ready to kvetch about the size of the dollop
that came in their borscht.
And the old Irish jocks, no place to go,
Belmont closed for repairs, Jamaica shut for good,
and how the hell d’ya get to Aqueduct anyhow.
And in all that whirl to find my way back to 28th St.
seemed like plenty to do,
turned around and dizzy among the dress racks,
carrying two corned beef, one pastrami, one tongue,
a cream, ginger ale, and Celray to share,
sides of slaw, packed in cardboard, and leaking through the bag.
Except when the elevator got back to 8,
I still had the envelopes in my pocket
and had to drop them down the chute —
the checks never to arrive, the invoices not to be paid,
statements of accounts ignored, bills of lading denied,
the aroma never to be delivered, but all over the mail.
AUTHOR PHOTO CAPTION: Me, age 11, advertisement for D.C. Comics, another early job that didn’t pay much!
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: Like many of us, my first job was with and for my father, who took me with him to work long before there was ever a “Take Your Kids to Work Day.” On special days during the summer, my dad would take me with him to “The City” — Manhattan — where I would make myself fairly useless in the office where he sold buttons to manufacturers of women’s clothes. The location — 1181 Broadway — was the heart of the garment district, an exciting and bustling place then. Occasionally, my dad would give me a really important job like getting the mail in the mailbox and getting lunch for everyone. Though I was only 10, and almost always screwed something up, this was special, one of the best jobs I’ve had.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alan Walowitz has been published in various places on the web — and off. He’s a Contributing Editor at Verse-Virtual, an online Community Journal of Poetry, and teaches at Manhattanville College in Purchase, New York, and St. John’s University in Queens. Alan’s chapbook, Exactly Like Love, was published by Osedax Press in 2016 and is now in its second printing. His website is alanwalowitz.com.
Alan Walowitz delivered aromatic the mail then, and now he is delivering us this aromatic poem — decorated with a splash of coleslaw and a bit of pastrami grease. This was a wonderful walk into NYC’s garment district. At least then, Alan was getting paid for it. Keep these wonderful aromatic poems coming!
Thanks, Peter. I was fascinated by the mail chute. Thought it was the coolest thing. My father was the kind of guy who paid everyone, whether they did any work or not.
Alan,
Your poem brought us back in time. Your first job was actually very important. It came before the time of food delivery companies and email. It is a pleasant reminder of special moments created during a different time.
Thanks, Donna. Going to work with my dad in the City was a very big deal!
Never been there, Alan, but your poem put me right in the middle of it–the rush, the smells, the tastes, the language–so much real characterization in these few lines!! Dizzying and exciting!! I too was sent out into the city crowds to deliver packages and pick up lunch, all such an adventure at that age!
Thanks, Mary. I’m happy I was able to capture it for you. When I head to that part of town these days, it doesn’t feel the same. But that’s what old guys like me always say!
A very enjoyable journey into the early life of AW! Thanks, Alan!
Thanks, Bob. You were too young to be allowed out onto the streets of the Big City!
Your life made you whom you are today and that is quite special,
We all need to travel back in time to sense how important it was to what we have now achieved. No smart phones, credit cards or parents treating us like we are a prince or princess. We earned our way through life.
keep on writing
Marvin
Thanks, Marvin. I didn’t earn much “working’ for my father–just a special day and a deli lunch, which was pretty special in itself. I appreciate your comment.
I really enjoyed this. Your dad obviously did not give up on you even though you made some BIG mistakes it seems. There’s nothing like a first job to get your feet wet with your family’s blessings.
Rhoda, there are some things we never told our parents–and our kids never told us. Ignorance can be blissful. Thanks for reading and for your comment.
Your poem brought back many memories of my own youth. The “mail chute, the check is in the mail, Mom with her socialist leanings, the three horse tracks in Queens, and especially…my father’s love of Celray and the pickle juice leaking through the brown bag.”
Thanks for bringing us back to those wonderful memories.
Thanks, Brian. Happy to have some of my very foggy memories confirmed. I thought I had made most of this stuff up!
Brings me back to our shared youth… liked the “no fa(r)ther.” Well written and enjoyable. Thanks Alan.
Thanks, Isaac.
Terrific read along this rambling, slice of life Whitmanesque coming of age journey. Loved the Irish jocks and the tzimmis….the long ago long gone bustle of immigrant life in the garment district.
Jeanette
Thanks, Jeanette. I pass the building sometimes when I’m in the city. It looks the same, but the streets are different. Certainly, the garment racks are mostly gone, and lots of the bustle. Of course, as a kid it was scary and magical. Now it would probably be one annoyance after another!
Liked the poem, Al…brought back my own first job remembrances, and a society and culture that was refreshingly simpler, and certainly less violent than the one ten year olds now have to face growing up… …..
Ken
Ken, thanks for the time comment. Hard to believe there was a time when 10, 11 year olds were let loose in the city with friends or even alone. Maybe that’s why we’ve tried to hold on to our own kids so tight.